I was washing my face that night when it hit me.
Henry Morgan was immortal. He died frequently in many and various ways, and he always came back. But it only took one death to take away Sean Moore. One ridiculous, unexpected, far too early death.
I was glad that Henry wasn't dead. I just couldn't stop thinking about how unfair it was that he was here, and Sean was not.
Slowly I dried my face with a towel and set it on the counter. I went through the motions of getting ready for bed: brushing my teeth, changing into my pajamas, setting my alarm, even pulling back the covers. Then I turned off the light in my bedroom and went to sit in the living room. Maybe late night talk shows would distract me enough to sleep.
Four hours later, I decided that the talk shows were getting me nowhere. I switched off the television and went to the kitchen for some wine.
The sun was rising when I finally fell asleep, my head on the kitchen table, only to encounter an angry Sean pointing to a blanket-clad Henry. "Why does he get to live?" Sean shouted.
The phone ringing jerked me out of my doze. I tried to grab it and failed; my arm didn't seem strong enough to reach across the table. Numbly, I watched the screen go dark. "They'll call again in a minute," I mumbled to myself, and fell asleep again. This time I didn't dream.
The sun was setting when I woke again to the pounding on my front door. I got to my feet, stumbling a little, and peered through the peephole. It was Henry. Of course it was Henry.
I opened the door a crack. "What do you want?" I asked. My voice sounded strangely muffled.
"Jo, what happened to you?" Henry pushed the door open further and caught me when I started to fall. Without a word, he carried me inside, shut the door, and laid me gently on the couch. He knelt on the floor next to me.
"I'm fine, Henry," I whispered after a minute. "Just tired."
"Jo, it's seven o'clock at night," he told me. I couldn't decide if he sounded amused or concerned. "If you were tired, perhaps you should have slept all night rather than all day."
"I didn't sleep all day," I protested. Seven at night? That was ridiculous. Hanson had only called just a moment ago.
"Somehow, I don't believe you." He reached over me to grab the blanket from the back of the couch. I felt its weight settling over me. "Rest, Jo. I'll find you something to eat." He got to his feet and headed towards the kitchen.
"I'm not hungry."
"You need food, Detective," Henry called from the kitchen. "And probably Abe's hangover remedy."
"I'm not hungover," I mumbled. "I only had a few glasses of wine."
He returned to the room with a package of crackers and a glass of water. "The empty bottle on the table says otherwise," he replied, kneeling next to me once more. "Can you sit up?"
I tried, just to prove him wrong – because wasn't I mad at him for some reason? – but my body wouldn't cooperate. He slid one arm behind my back to help me into a sitting position, re-settling the blanket over my legs before handing me the water. "Drink slowly," he warned. I nodded and took a couple of cautious sips. "Are you done?" he asked. In response, I held out the glass. He took it and replaced it with some crackers, which I nibbled on.
"I took the liberty of using your phone to text Detective Hanson," Henry said while he watched me eat.
"Why?" I asked through a mouthful of crumbs.
"He was quite concerned about you when you didn't show up at the crime scene. If we hadn't been on a high-profile case, he would have been knocking down your door himself."
My heart started to pound. "High-profile case?"
"You can worry about that tomorrow," Henry deflected. "Right now, you need to worry about recovering." He paused. "Why are you recovering, Jo? What happened last night?"
I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to remember, but how could I forget Sean yelling at Henry in my dreams? "Sean," I whispered, not wanting to say the whole truth. "Sean. He's gone."
"I know, Jo. I'm sorry."
His sincere condolences cracked through my smokescreen. I opened my eyes. "Get out, Henry!" I threw the blanket at him, then the crackers. "Get out!"
"Jo, what-?"
"Just get out!" I turned away from him, burying my face into the couch, trying not to burst into tears until he was gone.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said after several minutes, sounding hurt and confused. He draped the blanket back over my shuddering body and left.
Hello again! This story came to me a lot more quickly than I expected. It's a good deal longer than my last one, word count wise. Reading "Homeless" would help you understand this story, as it's set directly after the end of that story. The title for this one - "Together" - has a variety of meanings. I hope you'll enjoy the journey as you figure it out. :)