The scenario felt oddly familiar to Dr. Henry Morgan, ME, as it should have; for he had sat at this table in the 11th Precinct's Interview Room like this before. He on one side, Det. Jo Martinez on the other, legal-sized notepad and pencil at the ready, throwing questions at him. She even appeared to have a small item in a plastic evidence bag, just as she had had his blood-smeared pocket watch in, during that first grilling.

Back in the Fall of 2014, he'd been taken into custody by her, suspected of having caused the deadly subway crash in which the conductor, he, and 14 other passengers had perished. Of course, since he was an Immortal, he'd died and come back to life in the East River naked like so many times before. Therefore, the newspapers and the authorities never knew that he should have been numbered with the dead. Back then, no one knew of his secret except Abe, his elderly son, and a mysterious caller who would later reveal himself to also be an Immortal but much older. And quite insane.

Back then, he was confident that the toxicology reports would exonerate him, but the need to quickly identify both the poison and the perpetrator had spurred him into action. He'd involuntarily emerged from the shadows of his necessarily secretive existence and joined the beautiful, female detective as her unofficial crime-solving partner. After the case was solved, he'd remained in that unofficial capacity, dividing his time between the autopsy table and her side in crime-scene investigations. Together, usually with her official partner, Det. Mike Hanson, they had solved numerous murders that probably would have been ruled to be accidental or from natural causes. Worse yet, they probably would have eventually had whatever evidence associated with them, boxed up and shelved alongside the disturbingly high pile of other cold cases.

How could he have known back then that despite the sense of satisfaction gained from helping the NYPD solve murders, that he would also gain a stalker? The most menacing kind: one who couldn't permanently die, like himself. It was for exactly that reason he'd never sought help from the NYPD - not even from Jo - in a desperate attempt to keep his own secret hidden.

Henry looked down at his hands, clasped together in front of him on the table. Just as he'd done before but this time with a much lowered confidence level. He couldn't help but notice that he was dressed almost exactly as he had been during that September interrogation, too. Back then, he had been innocent but this time ...

Outwardly, he appeared relaxed and calm he watched Jo lean forward in her chair and call him by his title again in order to get a response from him. His eyes darted over to the two-way mirror, knowing that Lt. Reece and Det. Hanson were most likely watching from the other side, then back down to his hands. He winced at the look of controlled pain in Jo's expression as she struggled to maintain a professional demeanor. For they had forged out a friendship over the past several months that was slowly growing and deepening. The thought of never again sharing relaxed conversation with her over drinks or meals sent a pang of pending loss through him.

But he'd been lying to her for so long. Causing her pain like this was ... unforgivable. Her friendship and trust - what were left of them - were greatly valued. If Abe had kept him grounded in the present, Jo had kept him anchored to his life and work in New York City. What would she think of him now that he was facing possible criminal assault charges against a blasted individual who, in his opinion, didn't deserve to live, anyway.

Henry swallowed in an unsuccessful effort to un-dry his throat, and just as he opened his mouth to attempt some type of response, the conference room door opened. His mouth opened wider and his eyebrows shot up as he watched Abe being ushered past by a uniformed patrolman. Both men's eyes met for an instance before Abe moved out of his line of vision past the doorway. Another patrolman leaned into the room and informed Jo in a very routine way that the "other suspect" had arrived and was being placed in the Interview Room next door to them.

"Thank you, Officer," Jo said, her eyes moving from the patrolman as he tipped his hat and closed the door, and back to Henry, whose face now displayed what she recognized as anger. His hands now balled into fists. She also saw something else: hurt and betrayal. Well, she reasoned, as much as he'd skirted the truth with her ever since they'd first met, if anyone should be hurt and feel betrayed, it should be her. But setting her mind back on getting answers out of the ever evasive ME, the detective in her took over again.

Jo regretted that he was angry but he had no way of knowing that the patrolman opening the door at that precise moment to allow Henry to see Abe also in custody and referred to as the "other suspect" was all a ruse. An effort to get him to talk to her, knowing how protective he was of his elderly roommate. She hated using that tactic but it had usually worked when confronted with an uncooperative suspect or witness. All the ones who were worth their salt, eventually spilled the beans when they realized that their failure to be forthcoming threatened to involve an innocent person. An innocent person who mattered a lot to them.

"Alright, Dr. Morgan," Jo said. "Your refusal to answer any of my questions means that you are asserting your right to remain silent?" Really? she thought. He's not going to let Abe get caught up in this criminal assault case.

"I'm going to ask you again, Doctor," she began, enunciating each word slowly and clearly.

Henry shook his head and replied, "No, no, Detective, I was merely gathering my thoughts since it was so many months ago." She saw right through his attempt to stall for time but said nothing and waited for him to continue.

He attempted a smile that looked more like a flinch. Then, with a look of weary resignation that strengthened into resolve, he locked gazes with her, well aware that his co-workers must be standing expectantly behind the mirror. He made a conscious effort to hold his head up, chin out, and square his shoulders.

"Yes, Detective," he began. "I have visited ... Dr. Farber several times in his hospital room." He hoped that his hesitancy to call Adam by his public false name went unnoticed. His anger flared, however, at the thought of his innocent son in custody. "But why drag my, my roommate in here for something that - "

"For something that you did?" she finished for him. "And I ask the questions, Doctor," she firmly reminded him. Inwardly, she recoiled at the sharp tone she used with him. The Lieutenant, however, had rejected her request not to be the one to question him.

"Lieu, it's Henry, our Henry. I can't trust myself to go by the books with him," she'd sadly confessed. "I'm the wrong person to question him."

"That's where you're wrong, Martinez," Reece had quietly corrected her. "You are the right person to question him. He cares for you. A lot." She'd leaned back a bit, studying her. "And I believe the feeling is mutual." She'd smiled a bit while Jo had done her best to hide her embarrassment. "If to no one else, he'll open up to you. Let's just get some answers that make sense."

"Did what?" he snapped at her, jarring her back to the present.

The detective sighed and opened the file folder in front of her and pulled out two documents. Turning them upside down, she pushed them across the table to him.

"These. Two separate statements from an orderlie and a nurse, both of whom attended Dr. Farber at Bellevue. They claim that Farber, upon emerging from his waking coma, told his doctor and them that you had attacked him, causing his locked-in condition." Her tone was as no-nonsense sounding as always. The tone she always used when questioning an uncooperative suspect. This was Henry, though. Deep down she clung to the hope that all this wasn't true. Henry couldn't wilfully harm anyone, she told herself. He'd only killed his stalker, serial killer Clarke Walker, in self-defense.

"These only say that he mumbled something to that effect once he'd regained consciousness. And not full consciousness, mind you," Henry replied dismissively after skimming over them. "According to their statements, Farber admits to having some memory loss, which would not be unusual for a patient such as he in the early stages of recovery." He pushed the statements back across the table to her. "Anything he says at this point should be taken with a double grain of salt. Or dismissed altogether."

Despite the wave of anger coursing through him, a wave of fear - fear of discovery - rolled underneath it. What if Adam's path to full recovery also meant that he would inadvertently reveal the truth about how they knew each other and their conditions? Hadn't the syringe he'd used to inject air into Adam's brainstem vanished along with his body when he'd died after Adam had shot him in the chest with the old flintlock pistol? He wasn't so sure now. He'd seen Adam yank it out of his neck and toss it carelessly away to his right. Oh, no.

"Farber claims that you injected him with any empty syringe. His doctor says that's what caused the embolism, the air bubble that led to his present condition."

'No matter that he had shot me right before that,' he grumbled to himself. He watched Jo as she placed the statements back into the folder and closed it, then held up the plastic evidence bag with an empty syringe in it.

"This was found lying on the filthy, concrete platform in an abandoned portion of the subway system." She leaned forward a bit more and continued. "I followed you there that day," she informed him. "Two shots rang out that helped lead me to where you had been." She placed the evidence bag down on the table between them. "Farber made it up to the active platform where he collapsed and someone called 911," she told him. "I have no idea how you managed to get past me so quickly, though."

Ignoring that last statement, he managed to remain calm but inwardly despaired at seeing the syringe. Was it really the same one that he'd used to attack Adam with when they had had their confrontation? He was familiar with Jo's and Mike's tactics of making suppositions that eventually broke a suspect down.

She tapped her index finger near the bagged syringe and asked, "Look familiar?" She studied him to see if his resolve was melting away. When confronted with incontrovertable evidence, a perp usually deflated and fessed up.

"A common syringe," he replied, his features remaining calm and his shoulders squared. "I'm sure there are quite a few more where that one was found. What with drug addicts frequenting that part of the subway system." He was more than hinting at it being a ploy and not the actual one he'd used against Adam.

"Except this one has your fingerprints, as well as Farber's, all over it," she told him. He listened calmly as she explained how his prints showed that he'd gripped it in a stabbing motion and depressed the plunger with his thumb. He lowered his head and tilted it to the side as she explained how the crime-scene reenactment team had also concluded that Farber's prints evidenced a gripping and pulling motion.

"Apparently, you didn't just inject him, you stabbed him in his brainstem first, then injected him with air," she stated. She suddenly stopped herself, overcome with dismay at her own last statement. This was Henry! How she wished that she could just jump up and run out of there. End this farce. End the heartache she was enduring. Personally, she didn't want to know if he was responsible for Farber's unfortunate condition. She felt strongly the need to protect him because, knowing Henry, if he did attack Farber, it was only as a last resort. But her detective's mind needed to know the truth. If, for no other reason than to clear him and Abe of these vicious charges. The Lieutenant's words haunted her now.

"If to no one else, he'll open up to you.'

"How do you explain your prints and his on the very instrument that was used to attack him?" she asked after taking in a deep breath. He remained silent but his brow furrowed slightly and his eyes lowered to his hands.

"Fine," she said. "If that's the way you want to play it, we'll just have to see what kind of answers we get out of your roommate." Not referring to Abe by his name was harder than she thought it would be. She truly cared for him and valued his friendship. But she couldn't let her personal feelings interfere with doing her job. Gathering up the evidence bag and the folder, she stood up and started for the door. While doing so, she rattled off the handful of possible charges he was racking up against himself if he didn't 'come clean'.

"And don't forget Abe," she reminded him, her hand on the doorknob. "I can't believe that you're willing to take him down with you." When he still didn't respond, she tugged the door open, intending to leave the room.

"Wait!" he bid her loudly. "Please," he begged in a quieter but shaky voice. She closed the door and turned to look at him but continued to stand.

"You're right," he said, obviously struggling with his words. "Please release him." He looked imploringly up at Jo. "Abe had nothing to do with this."

Jo walked slowly back to her chair and sat down. "Is this a confession?" she whisperingly asked.

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them, avoiding her stare. "I'll ... make ... a full confession," he breathed out, laboring on virtually every word. He managed to lift up his face, pinched with fear and foreboding. "You won't believe me, though," he warned her, his voice cracking. She pushed the notepad and pencil over to him.

"Just write everything down," she gently but firmly urged him.

He pursed his lips, dipped his head and grabbed the pencil and pulled the notepad closer to him. After a momentary hesitation, he virtually attacked the paper with the pencil, determined to fulfill his part of the bargain as long as his son would be released unharmed. The words poured out of him, filling three pages. Engrossed in writing out his confession, he failed to notice that Jo had left the room to join Reece and Hanson on the other side of the two-way mirror.

vvvv

Reece and Hanson watched Jo leave the Interview Room and a few moments later, join them in the viewing room. No words were exchanged as she entered and walked quickly over to the mirror. It was evident to them that she was struggling to keep herself together. It was painful for the two of them to watch their ME write out a confession to criminally assaulting someone. But how much more painful it must be for Jo, they realized. It was a long-running joke in both the 11th Precinct and the OCME about how long she and the ME would continue to deny their feelings for each other and get it on. But there was no humor in seeing how painful this exchange had been for the both of them.

'Nothin' to see here but two broken hearts,' Hanson mournfully thought to himself. He, like Jo, found it hard to believe that Henry would initiate harm to anyone else. Only in self defense as when he'd killed the man identified as his stalker, Clarke Walker. A 'righteous kill', he'd told Henry then and he still believed it now. One thing was for sure, though: if he really was confessing to having harmed Farber, he had to have had good reason. Simple. He liked simple.

Reece walked up next to Jo and put her hand on her shoulder. "You did what you had to do, Jo." She looked over at Jo, who shook her head slightly, blinking back tears. "And I'm convinced that only you could have gotten us to this point."

"Where are we, Lieu?" she asked in a whisper. "I feel like a traitor. Backing my best friend into a corner so that he could confess to a crime that he may or may not have committed." She turned to Reece and said, "Just because Farber wakes up from a coma and points the finger at Henry doesn't mean that it's true. Like Henry said, and he's a doctor, Farber is probably not altogether right in his mind. He could be hallucinating or have talked in a dream state or - "

"Jo, Jo, that's why it's called an investigation," Reece reminded her. "We don't yet know what Henry's confessing to, or that he's confessing at all. We compare what's in his statement to what Farber claims happened and go from there."

"Yeah, yeah," Hanson joined in, stepping up alongside Jo on her other side. "Farber's got his side of the story and the Doc has his. We'll see which one holds up to the light."

Jo felt so encouraged by what she'd heard them tell her that a smile danced over her lips. But she knew all of this already. Just was hard to stay focused since Henry and Abe were involved. She nodded and bit her lower lip, embarrassed that she'd had to be reminded of how to investigate a case. She suddenly stood a little taller when reminded that she had met and spoken with Farber in his office at Bellevue when they were investigating Henry's stalker. Farber had pointed them to Clarke Walker, a quite disturbed serial killer. But Henry's demeanor whenever Farber's name had been mentioned was oddly similar to whenever his stalker had been mentioned. What was there about Farber that put Henry on edge other than being accused, maybe falsely accused by him? Would his statement shed any light on that or not?

"Yes, you're both right, of course," she finally replied to them. As Henry ended his writing and put the pencil down on top of the notepad, she stepped back from the mirror. "He's finished," she said, walking to the door with renewed purpose. "And we've got work to do."