Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.
Author's Note: Hi everyone! Happy Holidays! I'm back, my muse finally decided cooperate with me. This is the first publishable thing I've written for awhile, I think it turned out pretty good.
That's enough of me babbling. Here's the story. Hope you enjoy and as always, I would love to hear what you think of it.
Hanson couldn't take it anymore. With Christmas so close, his sons were off the wall unmanageable. So he'd left the house, and with nowhere else to go, he found himself in front of Abe's Antiques. After knocking on the locked door, he saw Henry coming to open the door.
"Detective Hanson? Is there a case? Jo didn't call."
"No, its just… Can I come in?"
"Yes of course. Come upstairs and get warm." He accompanied the snow dusted detective up to the festively decorated living quarters. Henry returned to the chair by which were placed a steaming cup and a book.
"Henry, did someone come by? I thought I- Oh hello detective Hanson."
"Hi." Hanson greeted, settling into the couch nearby.
"So what brings you here this evening, Detective?"
"I need some time away from my boys. They're worse than ever 'round Christmas, it was either leave or go crazy. Was Henry anything like that when he was a kid?" The last question was addressed to Abe.
Abe looked momentarily toward Henry for some direction. A barely perceptible nod accompanied a slow consenting blink came as answer from the seated englishman. "I wouldn't know. I'm not Henry's dad."
"Oh." Hanson found himself sitting with all his assumptions of the two men's relationship blown to pieces.
"It's okay, I get it a lot. I'll go finish up dinner and leave you young people to it then." Abe turned to go back to the kitchen, a wry smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, his progress followed by Henry's amused gaze.
Lost in his own lamentations, Hanson hadn't noticed this exchange. "I'll tell you one thing doc never have kids."
"Oh. It's not so bad."
The nonchalant statement came as surprise to the detective. "You got a kid, doc?"
"Yes, a son." An undoubtedly proud twinkle could be found in Henry's eye as he spoke.
"Never would've guessed it of you. He here?"
"Yes."
"Got custody of him for the holidays?" Having never seen or heard of this child, he assumed that the ME only on occasion had the boy with him.
Henry's face fell slightly. "My wife died, Detective, we were not divorced."
"Oh." He seemed unable to have a single thought without it being false this evening. A short awkward silence followed. "Can I meet the little guy?"
"You have already."
"Huh?"
"In order to make sense of what I'm going say, I must tell you something that's not going to make sense."
"Nothing with you does, doc. Shot."
"Alright then, I'm immortal."
"What?" Hanson felt a bit like a wall had collided with reality and shattered it and his sense of logic with it.
"I was born in 1779, and I can't stay dead. Whenever I die, I come back to life in water."
"You're saying that you're over 200 and can't die."
"Indeed."
"If anyone else told me that I'd think they were nuts. But you're just weird enough for it to be true." No matter how unbelievable that sounded, Hanson found himself believing it. A lot of the ME's oddities found explanation in it. "But what does that have to do with your son?"
"I was an army doctor during World War Two, and One but that's irrelevant, near the end of the war I was in a division assisting with the liberation of the camps in Poland. A young nurse approached me with a rescued infant. To make a long story short, we adopted the little boy and got married. We were very happy for quite a few years."
"How long ago did your wife die?"
"Thirty years ago."
"Wow." Hanson breathed, still trying to wrap his head around the concept of Henry Morgan and his strange relationship with time. "Those 80's cold cases must have been hard on you."
"They were." This path of conversation was reaching a rather heart aching place, that he would have preferred to avoid altogether, but it was necessary nonetheless.
"What was her name?" Hanson asked after another short lull in conversation.
"Abigail. Though you know her as Sylvia Blake."
"Abe's mom? You mean… if she's your wife… then he's…"
"Abe." Henry called to the man he was standing patiently behind the kitchen door.
"Yeah Pops?" Abe replied, entering the living room. Hanson's mouth dropped open rather comically at the confirmation.
"Do sit down and join us Abraham, I believe this is the point in the proceedings where your input is welcome."
"Wouldn't mind if I did, I was getting tired of eavesdropping from the door,"
"A skill at which you are well practiced, after all." Henry mentioned to his son.
"It comes in handy." Abe replied. "But I think I'll go to bed."
"Alright, goodnight Abraham."
"Night. You're goin' good, Pops."
"Suppose so." Henry sighed, he certainly never would've thought a few months ago that he'd be speaking like this to the detective. Once Abe had left, Henry continued, addressing Hanson. "How old are your boys?"
"10 and 8."
A humorous laugh escaped the impossible man. "They can be quite the handful at that age, as I well remember."
"I can't wait til we get them out of the house."
"You say that now. But cherish these years, they go by quickly and you can't get them back."
"You can say that doc, but that was what the 50's for you?"
"Things change less than you might imagine. Your boys, they listen to music you don't approve of?"
"Yeah."
"Do idiotically dangerous things and get hurt?"
"Yeah, four emergency room visits last year."
"They abuse any and all resources to further their knowledge of the female body?"
"Definitely. Nicely put, by the way."
"And all these things were true of you as a boy?"
Hanson paused a short number of seconds in thought before answering in a tone of realization. "Yeah."
"Young boys will be young boys, no matter what the decade, and there's no doing anything about it. As fathers we can only make the best of the situation, and let it run its course. We turned out alright, after all."
"We? Somehow I find it hard imagining you as a kid, much less a troublesome one."
"It was more difficult back then, we had to be very creative, though there was no shortage of dangerous situations. I once tried to ride an unbroken horse, my mother actually fainted from fright. Poor woman, I was quite horrid."
"You've certainly changed, but I guess that's what happens after 200 years." Hanson was surprised by how easily the impossible number rolled off his tongue after so short a time of knowing the truth. Henry, on the other hand, was slightly sobered by the detective's final thought, so close to the warning Adam had given him on the effects of time on one's personality. "But tell me, what was the forbidden music of 1790's England?" Hanson asked, amused by the idea and intrigued.
His familiar crooked smile returned. "Anything American, or French, and the songs sung by sailors at the London docks."
"The boys listen to rap music. Any suggestions on stopping the noise."
"I'm afraid I can offer nothing but pity and empathy. For Abe it was jazz, I couldn't stand it and was grossly unsuccessful in bring an end to it."
"I think I've got you beat. Jazz at least has merit."
"I'll have to give you that. But when one or both of your sons decides to go to war against your wishes, then becomes an unkempt tie-dye wearing protester; or gets married, and divorced, to the same woman, whom you dislike, twice; I'll be here to offer advice."
Hanson laughed as he asked, "Did Abe do all that to you?"
"And more." Henry replied, laughing himself.
"I'll have to take you up on that offer someday."
"That someday will sneak up on you."
"The 'cherish these years' thing again?"
"Remember, they won't always be little boys, but they will always be your little boys. And they won't always have you, so make the most of the time you have them for."
"Doesn't quite apply the same way for you." The remark wiped the smiles off both men's faces.
"I try not to think about it."
Shaking his head in awe. "Don't know how you do it. For all the trouble they are, I can't imagine losing even one of my boys."
"I hope, for your sake, that never comes in your lifetime."
"That's the first time I've been thankful for someone wishing me an early death."
"If we had more than one cup of cold tea, I'd offer a toast."
"To dieing before our children." Hanson instantly regretted opening his mouth. Henry's gaze shifted to the depths of his aforementioned cold tea. Silence followed for a short time. "So 200 years… musta seen a lot."
"Oh, yes. But all that would take days to tell, and you should get home to your family."
"Yeah." Hanson agreed, yawning as he stood. "Thanks, Henry. That is if…"
"I think first names are appropriate at this point." Henry followed the detective to his feet, extending a hand. "Have a goodnight, Mike."
"You too, Henry." They shook hands, the official sign of a newly formed friendship. "Can you imagine Jo's face when we walk into work using each other's' first names?" The two laughed at the thought and tacitly agreed to do that very thing.