I have NEVER written this fandom before. And it's so new, *Freaks out* okay, sorry, freakout over. Please, PLEASE get back to me on this one! *nervous*
"When you die, I'll find you. Again, and again, and again, and again…" the man whispered, his shaking hand filling a syringe with some kind of poison. The 'scientist' had long, stringy hair and an un-kept beard; under his eyes were dark, black smudges. He was tall, and boney, and mad. Not the angry mad, the psychotic, desperate, mad.
"You don't have to do this," Henry said as steadily as he could, bare chest rising and falling with labored breathing. "Yes I do," whispered the man, Scot, as he had come to know him. "I don't want to die," he said, anguished, wild, green eyes meeting Henry's browns. "You're going to save me, doctor. I'm still your patient, don't you want to help me?" Scot asked, holding the syringe up to flick the needle.
"Wait, you can choose another path, there are still options—" Henry said, voice starting to take on a more frantic tone as he fought the restraints keeping him to the operating-table. His black pants were covered in his blood from lacerations, along with his upper body, crimson coated.
"No, you're lying. I'm going to save myself. I'm going to become immortal, Dr. Morgan," Scot said dangerously, proceeding to roughly stab the sharp object into a protruding vein in one of Henry's arms.
It didn't take long for the poison to set in, burning through his body, heart pumping the venom throughout him. His back arched off the table and he fought the bindings once more, squeaking sounds turning to wretched painfilled screams.
"Henry!" At that he startled in his chair, shooting up straight in the chair he had fallen asleep in. "Present," he said hastily, uncomfortably coughing and getting into a more comfortable position, hands resting on the chair arms, legs crossed.
Abraham came into his sight and he visibly relaxed. "The Frenchman called," Abe stated, half laughing, half grunting, then walking to the chair across from the M.E and sitting down less than elegantly. "Oh. She truly believes the saying about getting better with age," Henry said in a musing way, light teasing hidden in the wonderings.
"Oh. I thought we agreed never to talk about that," Abe replied.
"She likes you," Henry grinned impishly.
"So does Maureen," Abe replied, and Henry's smile faltered. "But hey, if the saying is true, what does that say about you?" Abe retorted, smoothly switching subjects.
Henry made a throat clearing sound, shifting in the chair awkwardly, but after a moment huffed a laugh despite himself. "Look at us. We should be… talking about—" "The weather?" Abe suggested with a smirk. "Yeah, the weather," Henry said distantly, holding back a sigh.
"I didn't want to bring this up, but, I heard you a minute ago… Henry, I don't say this often, but if you need to talk…" Abe left the sentence open. "No," Henry declined, but went on to elaborate, "None of it matters now. Things are different. It's best not to dwell on the past," Henry said.
"Not if you don't deal with it before trying to push it away," Abe said thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow at his surrogate father.
Henry smiled, a weak, sad smile. "What?" Abe questioned. "Nothing," the immortal shook his head, "What?" Abe repeated, more impatiently. "Nothing! I said nothing," Henry threw up his arms, before standing up, repositioning the grey scarf and starting to walk away.
"For the record," Abe called after him without looking, "There would never be anyone else," he finished. It was Henry's turn for the quizzical expression and question, "What?" he asked curiously, confused.
"You know," Abraham said, his voice grating with old age. It only reminded Henry of something he never wanted to think of, the old ache in his heart starting to claw its way to the surface again. "I wouldn't want it to be different. I'm—I'm proud to be your son," "Abe, you don't have to—" Yes, Henry realized his voice had risen an octave, "No. But I want to," Abe interrupted, the sincerity in his voice sent a wave of fondness through him, but accompanying it, a sense of dread for the one thing that seemed always right out of his own grasp, but following him for his entire life.
"And I'm proud you are," Henry finally replied. It dropped into a comfortable, yet somehow odd silence for several moments before Abe broke it. "Go make yourself tea, or find a body to dismember, before this turns into a soap opera."
Henry chuckled softly and walked to a different room, his laughter still periodically ringing.
*Nervously stares at ominous FFN screen*