Author's Note: This is my very first "Forever" fanfiction, and can I say, I am soooooo in love with this show. Henry and Abe just...they make me happy. I ship Henry and Abigail crazy hard, and though it took longer for me to get on board, I don't think there is another fictional pair that I am rooting to get together more desperately than Henry and Jo. Since I am a fully committed member of this fandom, I want my contributions to the fan literature to be worthy. So if anyone notices anything a bit off, or incorrect, or out-of-character, PLEASE tell me! I welcome any constructive criticism or random comments. :) Let me know what you think! I'm working on my second Forever story as we speak.


Coffee, Maybe?

Classical music. Jacob's ladders of sunlight slanting through the windows of the old antique shop, not yet open. The mahogany, cherry, and walnut furniture, the carefully dusted china, the worn and slightly faded painting of the 16th century woman on the couch. They all seemed to be sleepily greeting the day, serene and comfortable in the familiar company.

Henry Morgan felt akin among them.

A misplaced relic in a society moving too fast.

The milk swirled and billowed into the dark, fragrant coffee. Henry watched it, and carefully added a teaspoon and a half of sugar, and a few grains of salt. A secret he had learned from a Welsh fisherman in 1820. It brought out the fullest flavor of the coffee, while doing away with the additional bitterness.

"Come in out o' the rain," the man growled, pulling Henry into his little hut roughly by the shoulder of his sopping jacket. Henry stumbled in, taken aback by this reception. He had only just knocked on the door.

Water dripped out of his hair and down over his face; his eyelashes felt heavy with the cold raindrops. He shivered. But clutched in his hand was the doctor bag, and before he was even all the way through the door he was asking about the patient.

"Where is she? From what your boy described it could be acute pertussis-"

"Hush down," the fisherman interrupted roughly. "She's sleepin'. Can you treat her?"

Henry looked relieved at that announcement.

"When she wakes. Sleep is the best thing for her; let her have it. In the meantime-" Henry set his bag down on the uneven board top of the nearby table in the tiny stone room, and opened it, intending to mix a remedy.

"In the meantime you'll warm yerself," the fisherman interrupted. His voice was gruff, but the weather-beaten lines around his eyes were kind. He put a large hand on the doctor's shoulders and steered him forcibly toward the fire. "Yer no good to body if ye ketch yer own death o' the cold an' wet."

Henry dutifully removed his heavy, soaking coat and stood close by the fire in his vest and shirt-sleeves. The old fisherman pressed a tin cup almost too hot to touch into his hand. Black liquid sloshed within. Henry gratefully raised it to his mouth.

The fisherman regarded him coolly as he sputtered and coughed at the sudden sharp bitterness of it.

"Not used to strong fisherman's brew, are yeh? Keep us goin'. A bit o' salt takes the bite offun' it."

He rolled his eyes as the mournful rhythmic wail of jazz music started up in the kitchen; Abe was up and making breakfast to the accompaniment of his favorite record. Jerked back from his chilly memories, Henry sauntered back to bid his son good morning.

"Hey, I was wondering…do you think you could mind the store this afternoon? I got a buyer coming in to look at the Tiffany chandelier."

Henry's mouth jerked up in a pleasant smirk.

"And which attractive and unfortunate damsel is your target this time?"

Abe pretended to be offended for banter's sake.

"Now, Henry! That's grossly unfair. Not everybody can stay thirty-five forever, you know. And treating a girl to coffee isn't exactly the most devious dating activity I could think of."

"Abraham!"

Abe shrugged.

"It's a coffee. You talk, you tell her she's pretty, you ask her about her favorite books, her favorite movie, and you ask her out for coffee again sometime. Why -after two hundred years- do you not understand how this works? Didn't you ever ask mom for coffee?"

Henry was ready with a retort.

"No, I did not. Things were done a bit differently when we were considering one another for marriage."

Abe laughed.

"It's not a mystery, Henry. Why don't you live a little after two centuries."

Henry stared dubiously over the edge of the tea cup Abe had waiting for him on the table.

"What time do you two have plans to go out?"

Abe turned the bacon and wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

"We don't. I haven't asked her yet. But she's coming later to pick up some China."

Henry raised an eyebrow, and Abe matched his smirk like a master.

"Watch and learn, old man," he said, smoothly. Henry couldn't help an exasperated but fond chuckle.


Henry looked up from his desk in the back corner of the shop as the doorbell jingled. He started to rise to go and assist the customer, but Abe hurried past him.

"Sit back down, I got this one. It's Fiona."

Henry went back to his notes and sketchbook, but he kept an eye on his rogue son and the middle-aged woman in the front parlor. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It took Abe a record seven minutes before he called to Henry, "Going out for coffee; watch the store!"

Henry stood and nodded, pleasantly.

"There's coffee here, if you want some," he said, indicating the kitchen with an innocent expression. "Might as well brew some properly here than pay an outrageous amount down the street for yesterday's pot." He couldn't help it. If Abe was going to be an incorrigible flirt, fine. But Henry wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to hassle him. It was his job as a father.

Abe gave him an eye roll and an "oh please" look and hustled his date out the door.

Henry went back into the kitchen, and reached for the coffee pot. His hand paused in the air several inches away from it. There, taped onto the pot, was a torn notebook page with Abe's jaunty hand in capital letters.

"GET COFFEE."

Underneath the message, the rascal had written Jo's phone number. Henry huffed in exasperation, and threw the paper away.


"I'm just glad this one was an early wrap-up," Jo said, pulling her coat tighter around her and crossing her arms. Her breath puffed visibly in the cold air. A criminal was escorted past, glaring daggers at she and Henry as he was manhandled into the car. "It's freezing out here. I just want to get a hot drink and get in someplace warm; I should probably get back to the station. I'm sure there's some kind of paperwork for me to get on. Good work, partner."

She smiled. Henry watched her brush her bangs out of her face on one side.

"Jo, I was thinking-" he stopped as a police officer who just walked up interrupted to ask Jo a question about the arrest. He worked his jaw to one side and narrowed his eyes as he stared at the back of her head and tried to work the nerve up.

"Sorry Henry, you were saying?" she asked, turning back to him. Her eyebrows were arched in that interested, expectant look.

"I was just about to say that maybe you'd like some coffee?"

She stared at him, and cocked her head over to one side, an incredulous smile just hinting around her mouth.

"Henry. Are you…asking me out for coffee?"

He mentally berated himself. Bad idea. Of course it had been. Stupid. Maybe she didn't even like coffee.

"Or," he quickly amended, "Or, we could go to an estate sale on Camden Street. Abe's been wanting me to pick up some antiques. It can be diverting if you've an interest in that type of thing."

He winced. Jo grimaced sympathetically, and Henry laughed at the pathetic suggestion.

"Coffee, maybe?" Jo asked, grinning.

"Yes."

"Yeah."

Henry cocked his head slightly to one side, with a curious little grin as they turned away from the crime scene and walked down the sidewalk.

"Jo," Henry said.

"What?"

"What's your favorite book?"

THE END


Author's Note: First one to review gets to request a story! They can give me a Forever prompt and I'll write them a oneshot. I reserve the right to reject requests I am uncomfortable with writing. ;) Let me know what you thought!