Disclaimer: The concept, canon, and canon characters belong to Forever creator Matt Miller and Warner Bros. Studios. All other characters, the plot for the story, and Henry's flashbacks are my own creation. I have posted my story here, and I don't profit from it. (Translation: I don't own Forever, but, if I did, we'll be finding out Season 2 and Season 3 details now.)

Author's Note: I know that I'm posting this story a week after the date mentioned in the story (not the year though xD!), but I needed to take a one-week-long Internet break.

This is inspired by an "On This Day" feature in my local newspaper. (Hence, this Jenry shipper's inability to write Jenry scenes!) I hope that you will enjoy this story.

There are references to the Pilot, "The Art of Murder", "New York Kids", "The Wolves of Deep Brooklyn", and "Memories of Murder".

New York City, New York, September 19, 1966

Abigail licked the last stamp and affixed it onto the envelope. She smiled as she placed the last bill onto the pile. The last of the day-to-day bills were taken care of, and Henry would settle his latest bill from Paul Stuart in a couple of days. There was nothing else to worry about tonight.

She looked at the clock on the wall. Henry should be home at any minute. She placed the unopened letter from Abe on the table where Henry would see it, and she laid the bills on the counter so she could mail them in the morning.

A couple of minutes later, she heard the door open. She entered the kitchen in time to see Henry step through the threshold and close the door. She took a moment to compose herself. Even if it had been two weeks since Henry had become a grave digger, she was still unaccustomed to seeing him appear so dirty. His coat remained immaculately clean, but, based on the amount of dirt on his face, she knew that he was covered in soil from head to toe.

He suddenly noticed her standing near the entrance to the living room. Mustering a smile, he pulled off his coat, laid it over his arm, and walked over to her.

"Good evening, my love." He leaned over and kissed her.

"Did you have a long day?" She stepped into the living room and moved to the side.

He nodded as he trudged through the entrance. He reached over and rubbed his right shoulder. "Every muscle in my body aches. I just want a hot shower, a light meal, and some sleep."

Abigail suddenly grew nervous. She had prepared something special for the night, something that she knew that he would enjoy. The tiredness in his voice and his expressed desire for some rest threatened to end her plans.

She strolled toward him, her hands behind her back. "I had hoped that we would go out tonight."

"Could it wait until tomorrow?" He turned toward the hallway leading to their bedroom.

She joined him and kissed the only clean patch of cheek that she could find. "You can find out after you take a shower."

She looked him in the eye and smiled. As she held his gaze, she could see his resistance weakening. He returned her smile and walked to the bathroom.

She watched him disappear behind the door. Once the door closed, she walked to the bedroom and looked at the photographs sitting on the drawers. It had been twenty-one years since they had met, and she still couldn't believe her good fortune. A farm girl from Oxfordshire marrying a well-travelled doctor from London was one of her—and her schoolmates'—wildest dreams. Henry had gone beyond that and had been a loving and devoted husband to her since he had invited her to join him in his journey through life.

The squeak of the shower knob and the sound of running water alerted her to his obedience to her request. "Where do you want to go?"

"Ramore's."

She could almost hear his thoughts about the restaurant. "We'll need a reservation, and it is impossible to get one on such short notice."

She smiled. This conversation was going according to her plan. "I called a week ago and requested one. The maître d' was surprised to hear a woman's voice, but he gladly reserved us a table."

She could hear his bar of soap hit the bottom of the bathtub. A moment later, his voice drifted back into the room. "What's the occasion?"

She resisted the urge to spoil the surprise. "I'll tell you after the shower."

She waited a minute, but he asked no further questions. She pulled out her hair pin and unclipped her earrings, and she laid them on the drawers. She looked in the mirror behind them and studied her reflection. She had been able to keep her youthful appearance for far longer than most women her age. Yet, one day, gray hairs would replace her blonde locks, and wrinkles would adorn her face. Her Henry, however, would maintain his youthful appearance forever. Nights like this could become rarer, but she hoped that society would accept their matrimonial bond in spite of their apparent age difference when the time came.

She looked down at the picture of the two of them and an infant Abe in front of the apartment complex that they had lived in when they had first arrived in New York. Tonight wasn't the night to think about the future. Today was Henry's birthday, and she wanted them to enjoy the evening's activities.

She walked over to the closet and pulled out the same red dress that she had worn when they had danced at the Queensbury All-Service Club years ago. She set it on the bed and began to change.

After they had first met, she had learned that he didn't celebrate his birthday as he preferred not to be reminded of his true age. They started the observation of the day to prevent Abe from asking why his father never had something special on his birthday. Abe eventually learned the truth about his father, but their son had insisted on continuing the tradition as it served as a reminder of Henry's mortal origins. That, and she suspected that it was also an excuse for Abe to showcase his culinary talents once he had learned how to cook.

The image of the letter from Abe flashed before her. This was the first time that he had been unable to participate in the festivities. Then again, his letter had arrived today. In a way, he was still present for the night even if he was half a world away in Vietnam.

She finished pulling up her zipper at the same time that Henry turned off the water. She smiled and twirled around in delight in front of the mirror. The dress was a little snug, but it miraculously still fit her. She stepped over to the vanity mirror, sat down, and began to brush her hair.

A moment later, she caught Henry's reflection looking at her in the mirror. She was glad that she was seated. It's been twenty-one years since the first time that they had laid eyes on each other, but he still made her feel weak in the knees.

She studied him as he pulled a white dress shirt and a relatively new, black three-piece suit from Paul Stuart out of the closet. She could still the fatigue in his eyes, but his body appeared more relaxed.

"Are you feeling better?"

"I feel a little better. I'm still tired though." He sighed as he pulled on his shirt. "I dug two more graves than I did yesterday. I'm glad that I've decided to take the subway to work; I didn't realize that I would be this fatigued when I started this job."

She knitted her eyebrows together. Should she cancel the second part of her plan? He was quite exhausted. Usually, he detailed the events of his day, his thoughts, and his observations with a language reminiscent of Dickens and Keats. Tonight, his language reminded her of their son when he was a sullen teenager.

No.

Henry's sigh indicated an empathy for the families of the deceased beneath his fatigue. That made tonight's events more imperative. Although he had quit medicine nine years ago, he still had a doctor's heart. If she wasn't careful, he would spend the entire evening worrying about the families of those whom he had helped to bury, and he would be unable to rest.

She smiled as she pulled her hair brush through her hair one last time. "You can relax. I plan to drive tonight."

He slipped his tie around his neck and tied it. "That would be unconventional."

"We've never been a conventional couple." Her smile widened as their eyes met.

He grinned as his resistance once again weakened. "Please let me get the door for you when we get out. A lovely lady such as yourself should never have to open the car door while in a dress." He walked over to her, leaned over, and kissed her.

As much as she was enjoying the kiss, she knew that he was skipping ahead to the end of the evening. She pulled away from him and laid her hand on his chest. "I believe that we both need to finish getting dressed."

Soon, they finished dressing, and Abigail found her purse. She quickly opened it and peeked inside as Henry finished tying his shoes. She smiled and snapped it closed.

Henry motioned for the door with his hand. She stepped in front of him and walked toward the kitchen. For a while, she heard his steps behind her. When they reached the kitchen, she heard him stop.

She turned around. He was standing at the table, and his eyes were focused on Abe's letter. Henry picked it up and opened it.

Abigail looked at the clock. They didn't have much time before the maître d' would give their table to another couple.

"You can read the letter on the way to Ramore's."

He reluctantly closed the envelope and followed her out of their apartment and to their green Jaguar. As she climbed into the car, she looked at him. He still looked tired. She was relieved that he had agreed to let her drive for the night.

They pulled out onto the street. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him opening the envelope again. She heard the papers rustle as he unfolded the letter. A few seconds later, she heard him chuckle.

"What?"

"I had almost forgotten that today is my birthday." Nostalgia and paternal pride tinged his voice. "Abe timed the mailing of his letter so that it would arrive today."

She nodded as maternal pride filled her. "What else does he have to say?"

"Aside from the obvious?" He was quiet for a little while as he read.

Suddenly, she heard a shocked "Abraham!"

Abigail stopped at a red light and turned to Henry. "What happened? Is he okay?"

He lowered the letter and turned to her. "Our son, Marco, and Jerry went skinny-dipping in the river near Ca Mau one night earlier this month, and they were nearly caught by the MPs." His voice instantly turned wistful. "At least they had done so voluntarily."

She rolled her eyes. The war was bringing out an adventurous and rebellious side in their usually reserved and conscientious son.

"What else does he have to say?" The light turned green.

"He said that he wished that he could be here today and that he loves us and misses us."

From his tone of voice, she could tell that Abe had also an insight that gave Henry something to ponder. She thought back to the night that she had encountered both Henry and Abe. The moment that she had placed Abe in Henry's arms for the first time, she could see a bond forming between them. Since then, Abe could reach Henry and remind him of his humanity during the times in which she could not. She would read the letter later to see what Abe had told his father tonight.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Ramore's. Henry handed her the carefully refolded letter, and she slipped it into her purse. True to his word, he climbed out and walked around the car, his steps stronger now than they were when he had arrived home.

He opened the door and took her hand. She slid out of her seat and smiled. He always had a way to make her feel special. He crooked his arm. She slipped her arm through his, and they walked through the parking lot and toward the building.

They stepped into the restaurant. A podium stood between the foyer and the dining room. The maître d' studied something in front of him.

They walked up to the man. He glanced up at the pair as Henry stepped back to let her approach their host.

"Reservation for two for Dr. and Mrs. Morgan." The use of Henry's title stung. He had his reasons for leaving medicine, but he still acted as though he was born to be a doctor at times. She wished that he would either return to the field or find an occupation that would combine his doctor's heart and skills with his empathy for the families of the departed.

The maître d' smiled at the sound of her voice, prompting her to focus on the moment. "You must be the woman who wanted to surprise her husband for his birthday." He gathered two menus. "If you will follow me."

As they followed their host, Henry laid his hand on the small of her back. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I certainly was surprised when you had mentioned it. Thank you." He moved a little further and kissed her cheek.

She soaked in the attention that he was showering on her. Her grasp on her purse quickly reminded her of the surprise that she had for him later this evening.

"You're welcome."

Their host stopped at one table in the half-filled dining room and laid the menus on the top. Henry pulled out a chair for Abigail. She let him help her with her seat before he took his.

As the maître d' left, they opened their menus. Everything sounded delicious; it was difficult to choose a dish. Henry selected a wine, and that helped narrow the selection. She finally selected a dish and closed the menu. She looked over at him, and he had done the same.

The waiter came and took their orders and their menus. Their eyes met as the waiter left them alone. Henry appeared more relaxed.

He smiled. "I did not expect this."

"I know." She took a sip of her water.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Finally, he sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "How will I tell Abe about my recent change in employment? When he left, I was a life insurance salesman." He laid his hands on the table and folded them.

She remembered the events that led to his new job as a grave digger. One day earlier in the month, he had been collecting policy payments for the life insurance company where he was employed. He stopped at one apartment and spoke with the family while taking their check. A former lover of his from the early 1920s recognized his voice and, a minute later, him when she stepped out to see who her daughter was talking to. He quit his job later that day and had begun seeking a job in which he would not have to be seen in public.

Abigail studied her husband for a moment. He needed his concerns addressed before he could enjoy the evening. "You'll find a way. Besides, Abe will understand."

She reached toward his hands. He looked at her as her hands closed over his. "Tonight, though, you don't need to fret about it. I want us to spend the evening celebrating the day of my husband's birth."

He nodded. "I suppose that I'm still weary from my labors today." He slipped his hands out from under hers and enclosed his hands over hers. "That doesn't mean that I don't appreciate your efforts to arrange a pleasant evening." He smiled in an effort to reassure her that he was enjoying this moment.

He was starting to relax, but his mind refused to surrender to the joy of the day. Truthfully, she wanted some way to help him enjoy himself.

The weight of her purse lying against her came into her awareness and inspired an idea. "May I interest you in a mystery?"

He narrowed his eyes in confusion, and she could feel his hands slipping off hers. In his eyes, she could see the last of his mind's resolve to focus on his troubles vanish.

He grinned and placed one hand on his neck. "What's the first clue?"

Just what the doctor ordered.

Before she could think of a hint, the waiter returned with their meals. They thanked him and set their napkins in their laps.

Abigail's mind returned to his question. "This isn't the only thing that I had hoped that we would do tonight. Well, aside from what you had wanted to do when we were getting ready." He looked slightly sheepish, but she continued. "It's something that you enjoy doing when you get the opportunity."

He studied her with intrigue as he took his first bite. "Something that I enjoy doing…," he dutifully repeated before he slipped into a contemplative state.

She smiled as she watched him think. She knew that he would enjoy the second half of the evening.

They blissfully walked out to the restaurant, arm in arm. Henry was more like himself. As the meal continued, he finally and fully relaxed. Abigail joyfully listened as Henry excitedly detailed an observation about a soil sample that he had discovered earlier that morning and as they recalled the time that he had helped her parents on their farm in Oxfordshire when he and Abigail were picking Abe up after their honeymoon.

They reached the car. He walked over to the driver's side door and stopped. "I know that you have volunteered to drive this evening, but I feel somewhat guilty for not sharing the responsibility. It might be my night, but I still want to treat my wife with the dignity and respect that she deserves."

His relaxed expression and the smile on his face caused her to happily surrender to his request. She gave him the car keys and allowed him to escort her to the other side of the car.

Once they settled themselves, he inserted the key into the ignition. "Where are we going to next?"

She laid her purse in her lap. "Have you guessed what we will be doing?"

He started the car and wove his way through the parking lot. "I've narrowed it down to two options. Based on your dress and the early meal, we will either be dancing for the rest of the evening or attending a theatrical production. If I must choose, I would say that you have either a play or a ballet in mind. It is rare for a ballroom to be open on a Monday evening."

Henry's deduction was why Abe had nicknamed his father "Sherlock Holmes". Henry was very close to the truth.

Close, but not quite.

She placed her hand on her purse. "Turn here."

Curious, he looked at her. She pointed to the way that he should turn. As they rode, he followed her directions without a single question.

Soon, they arrived at their destination, the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. He knitted his eyebrows together and surveyed his surroundings. "Which building will we be in?"

"The Metropolitan Opera House." She looked at the new building which stood between the New York State Theater and Avery Fisher Hall.

"What?"

She opened her purse, reached into it, and pulled out her surprise. "I came here the other day before I went to work. I wanted to buy you these." She handed him the tickets which she had purchased.

He took them and studied the pair. "Samuel Barber's Antony and Cleopatra."

He paused for a moment before looking at her with a loving expression on his face. "You've planned this entire evening for me."

He glanced down at the tickets again. He opened his mouth several times, but no words formed.

He looked back up at her. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

He tucked the tickets into his coat's pocket and got out of the car. He walked around and helped her out of the vehicle. He offered her his arm, and she graciously took it as he handed their car keys to the valet.

Abigail took in the sight. It looked very different at night. The halls on either side of the Metropolitan Opera House reminded her of the Acropolis in Athens while the fountain was reminiscent of the one in Columbus Circle here in New York. The façade of the opera house and the well-lit facilities reminded her of Paris.

As they walked toward the opera house, Abigail glanced over at Henry. He was lost in thought. This time, though, a smile adorned his face.

"Do you want to know what else Abe had said in his letter?"

"What?" He seemed quite eager to share the rest of it with her.

"He reminded me that the days of our births are a cause to celebrate, that they mean something to the people one cares about. He told me that, if I had never been born, he probably wouldn't have the life that he's lived so far—and neither would you." He glanced down at the ground. "I needed a reminder of that, especially today."

She leaned against him. Abe wasn't the only one who was glad that Henry was born 187 years ago today.

"Happy birthday, Henry."

He turned to her and grinned. She smiled at him as they entered the opera house to enjoy the performance.

Author's Note: On September 16, 1966, the Metropolitan Opera House (the Met) officially opened, and Samuel Barber's Antony and Cleopatra made its world premiere as the Met's first commission. I thought that it would be nice if Henry and Abigail went there for his birthday that year. (By the way, Henry thought that the set design and costuming was atrocious, but the opera itself and the fact that it was a well-intended gift from Abigail made it enjoyable.)

I also used the older names for the two buildings that flank the Met. Avery Fisher Hall is now known as David Geffen Hall, and the New York State Theater is now known as the David H. Koch Theater.