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September 8, 1814
Henry broke through the water with a gasp, his heart racing in panic. His hands automatically came up to his chest, seeking to apply pressure to the bullet wound that had been given him only minutes before. Frowning in confusion, he realised that he could feel no pain, nor wound – and he sputtered and gasped, throwing his arms out and trying to keep his head above water. Despite his frantic efforts, he sank below the surface of the water, straining to hold the meagre amount of breath he had taken before sinking. As the water turned cold around him, he convulsively breathed in, searching for air.
His eyes shot open, and he looked first at the sky and then at the endless horizon of dark, choppy water. The storm seemed to have abated, but the clouds were still dark and roiling above him. Gasping in clear breaths, he once again tried to tread water, to stay afloat. In the back of his mind, he was panicking – as a doctor, he knew that either he belonged in Bedlam, or something else (he refused to think further about it) was happening. But he knew he couldn't be insane. As the waves quickly prevailed over his weak attempts to breathe and he sunk below the surface again, he clearly remembered that it had already happened once.
The third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and even the tenth time, were much the same. He would break through the dark surface of the water, dragging a breath of air into collapsed lungs through a throat that still felt like it had been shredded with knives – although it was only a phantom memory. He continued trying to swim, constantly regretting the fact that he had never learned as a child; and almost screaming in desperation at the situation and the loop he seemed to be caught in. Whenever he surfaced, he automatically searched the sea for any sign of life or land – never finding any, and feeling a part of him break each time. His mind continued to analyze the situation, never being silent and always informing him what was and what had happened. If it wasn't for the clarity of the memories, and sheer number of them, he would have been convinced that he was insane.
The eleventh time he surface, he burst into tears. At any other time, he would have been terribly ashamed of such a childish, weak, show of emotion – but the desperation and horror of his situation had erased all other cares. Letting himself relax, not even trying to keep himself afloat, he gave up, surrendering to the inevitable.
He felt himself sinking, and felt the waves wash the tears from his face – but then nothing. With each breath that he took, he rose up from the water and away from the lethal depths below him. Surprised, he stiffened – and immediately sunk. Now that hope of an escape from the loop was within his reach, he struggled again to reach the surface, accomplishing the same as he had every time before.
Gasping for air, he remembered what had happened the time before, and forced himself to relax – to focus on naught but his breathing. In and out. In and out. In and out. Breath in fast, and hold it – breath out fast and refill lungs. In and out. In and out.
As the minutes passed, and he finally stayed above the surface of the water, he nearly shouted for joy – but calmed himself lest he sink again. Closing his eyes, he breathed, thinking of spring, of land, and of Nora.
As he reorientated himself, relaxing again and learning how to float, he tried to remember what had caused him to sink this time. He had been remembering, staying calm and still, and then he had been back aboard the ship – he smiled slightly as he realised that he had fallen asleep.
To keep himself awake, he began to recite medical practices to himself, telling stories of what he had learned and what he had been taught. The information was rote, but worked to distract him and keep him awake.
As his eyes were closed as he remembered, he failed to see the wave coming until it crashed down on him, submerging him and ending yet another life.
He managed to survive the rest of the night, although he startled at the brush of seaweed or the rumble of thunder in the air. He had learned to float by morning, and how to tread water. Now able to lift his head and look around, he searched the horizon once again, this time by light of day. Groaning when he still saw no sign of assistance, he determined to teach himself how to swim – to begin swimming in the general direction of land.
He steeled himself to begin, terrified of sinking below the surface of the water again. Mentally reminding himself that he would survive whatever mishap may occur during his experiment, he tried to swim – attempting to imitate what he had seen early in his life.
Coughing and sputtering, Henry stopped swimming and shook the water out of his eyes from the most recent wave that had hit him in the face. Treading water and taking a moment to rest, he checked the sun to correct his direction if needed.
He thanked Providence that he was apparently unable to die – more than twenty failed attempts at learning how to properly swim had confirmed that the events of the night before were not a mistake. He shuddered, feeling the sharp pains wrack his lungs as he remembered drowning – he infinitely preferred being shot.
Sighing, he began swimming again. He was growing tired, and his limbs felt like leaden weights dragging through the water. He swam on instinct – as if a machine, thoughtless and lifeless. He knew that soon exhaustion would take him; that he would helplessly sink below the waves, gaining brief respite from the infinite loneliness and hopelessness.
He wondered whether or not he re-awoke in the same place he died, if he returned to the place where he had been thrown overboard, or if he randomly moved each time. As his muscles seized up in a cramp and he sank, he prayed that he was moving – it was all he had to hold onto.
Henry tread water, watching the moon reflect on the surface of the water. It seemed that there was nothing out here – that all of the world was water, and he the sole inhabitant. Of course, he knew it wasn't so – but at times it seemed plausible.
He blinked. Was that a sail? There, on the horizon? Almost breathless with hope and excitement – praying that it wasn't a mirage or a dream – he swam towards it, shouting with joy when it turned towards him. With shaking hands, he reached up to wipe tears out of his eyes.
He had no knowledge of who was aboard the ship, or what he would return to in England after his ship undoubtedly returned before him – but he cared not. He was saved.
c. 1952
"Abe. You have to learn how to swim – it might be more useful than you imagine"
Abe sulked in the shallows, refusing to come further out into the water where his father waiting. Stubbornly, he shook his head.
"Abraham, come here." When his son shook his head again, Henry sighed. "And why not?"
He finally spoke. "Because it's scary. What if I sink again, Daddy? What if I can't swim?"
Henry waded back into the shallows, sitting beside him son. "Abraham – I will never let you sink. If you never learn to swim, then I will swim for you. I will never let you go – do you trust me to help you?"
Abe looked up at Henry, wide-eyed. Hesitantly, he nodded – but abruptly stopped. "But Daddy! Who's going to hold you?"
Henry smiled, taking Abe's hand and carefully leading him out into the water. "Your mother will now; but soon, you will instead."
"Do I have to learn how to swim? Couldn't you just come rescue me whenever I need it?" Abe clung to his father's hand, laughing as Henry pulled him through the water.
Henry laughed. "No, I fear not - besides. 'Tis a good, hot day - perfect for playing in the water."
Abe pouted, letting his father hold him up in the water. "But Daddy..."
"Yes?" The doctor answered, grinning at the comical look of surprise on Abe's face when he realised that his father wasn't holding him up anymore. Stepping forward to lift the child back up out of the water as he sank in shock, Henry laughed at Abe's betrayed expression.
"Daddy! You left me!"
"Ah, but I didn't let you sink, did I?"
Abe frowned, then shook his head.
"Good. Now put your feet down."
Hesitantly, Abe obeyed, clutching onto his father's arm. His mouth dropped open in shock when his feet hit the ground, and he looked between his father and the water.
"Abraham, you were perfectly -"
Henry's voice cut off as his feet were pushed out from under him and he collapsed beneath the surface of the water. Abigail surfaced, pushing the water out of her eyes and smiling. As Henry came back up, sputtering and searching for the culprit, she pulled Abe away, whispering in his ear.
"Mrs. Henry Morgan! What are you doing?"
She smiled sweetly back at him, ignoring Abe's exaggerated gagging beside her. "Why, Dr. Henry Morgan, I'm being rash." With that, she swung her hand through the water, splashing it all over the doctor.
He jerked back, throwing up his hands to block the water. With a mischievous grin, he splashed Abigail and Abe, laughing as they shrieked with joy.
AN: Working under the assumption that Henry didn't know how to swim before he died. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Gramercy, and God bless!