A.N.-

Hiya! Here's a little thing. Ok, um, rated T because, once again, I'm a paranoid piece of trash (and also language and violence but whatever), trigger warning for the same aforementioned reason, and, uh... I think... oh! Yes, the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I don't own none of dis Forever biz. All I own is the OC whose name I randomly came up with and the actual content of the story. Forever belongs to Matt Miller and ABC. Thank you!

Jo sighed as the door to the precinct swung open. A very tired-looking medical examiner walked in, blinking a bit, with a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Coffee? That's not you," Jo commented, walking up to Henry with a light grin.

"Long night," Henry sighed, taking a swig from the coffee and wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Eugch, that's bitter." He put the cup on a desk and sighed, blinking tiredness from his eyes.

"This week's going to be fun," Jo murmured offhandedly. She watched, a smirk forming on her face as the medical examiner looked up, tiredness forgotten.

"How so?" Henry asked. He leaned against aforementioned desk, causing slight annoyance from the woman sitting at it, his interest caught.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, just a little search of the Ortega property."

Henry looked up, a glint in his eye that Jo rarely saw–adventure. He straightened, ceasing to lean against the desk as he smiled. She had been sure to mention the case they'd been working on–the murder of a 31-year-old tourist from Florida. Henry had an unusual interest in this case. Maybe it was because they'd worked on it for so long, or maybe it was the strangeness of it all, but it was amazing seeing him this excited.

Henry grabbed her by the wrist and took her into a less-populated part of the precinct. "Please let me go," he begged, taking her hand.

Jo froze. She hadn't expected this reaction. "I–Henry, the station–" She sighed. "You don't have a weapon. I can't–"

"I don't need one," he insisted, an edge of a whine in his voice. "Please."

"Henry," Jo said sternly. She could see Henry visibly deflate and a part of her ached. She sighed.

"I'll-I'll ask Lieutenant Reece." She could see Henry brighten and smiled slightly. "But you do know there's almost a 100% chance that she'll say no, right?"

"I know." Without him saying it, Jo knew he wanted to say Please again.

He's never been this persistent about any case, Jo thought. He must really want this. Jo sighed, turning on her heel to go talk to the lieutenant, praying she'd say yes.

Henry looked up and smiled as a knock sounded on the door of the antique shop. With a swift stepping, he walked over to the door and opened it for the detective. It had been three days since the two had discussed him going on the search, and he'd been getting antsy.

"Um, hi," Jo said, an awkwardness to her voice.

"Detective," he greeted, allowing her inside. She stepped into she shop without hesitation, allowing Henry to close the door behind her.

"You–oh, God," Jo sighed. It was as if she couldn't get the words out. "She said yes." She looked at him, as if expecting a reaction.

He stiffened, a smile crawling upon him. No. They were tricking him. There was no way in hell the Lieutenant would allow him to go, with or without a weapon.

Jo pursed her lips; Henry could see that she was trying extremely hard to hide a smile.

"No." Henry felt the grin break through.

"Yep," Jo confirmed, opening her arms. Henry took the offer, hugging her tightly. He didn't know how he could thank her.

"But you cannot leave my side," Jo said sternly. "I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you." She didn't let go of him. The two stood hugging.

"Thank you," he murmured. He had to return the favor somehow.

The door flew open. The place was a seemingly abandoned warehouse that they all knew was not.

"Do not leave my side," Jo reminded the medical examiner more harshly than she should have. He walked beside her, hands in his pockets, a nonchalant air about him. He does realize we're searching for a murderer, right?

Calls of "Clear!" came from different areas of the warehouse. She turned to beckon Henry toward the area she was entering. All she met, however, was empty space.

Damn you, Henry, she thought, teeth clenched, as she held her gun before her. He didn't listen to her. She shouldn't have brought him. Hell, she shouldn't have asked. She knew it was going to happen.

An eerie quiet set itself upon the warehouse. A lone "Clear!" echoed in the distance, and Jo sighed, continuing along her way. She had to find Henry. He was her priority now. She had to find him, make sure he was okay, and slap him across the face.

Her footsteps and ragged breathing were the only sound for a while–it may have been a few seconds, or a few minutes, but it felt like hours. It made her anxious.

Then it came. Two loud gunshots came from a room adjacent, echoing in the empty warehouse, along with a pained scream. Worry immediately filled up inside of Jo's chest as she imagined the medical examiner's body. She shook away the thought, instead reaching for what little hope she had left.

Jo held her gun in front of her as she burst into the section of the warehouse where the noise had come from. A broken window made her curse under her breath–the suspect had escaped. A groan broke through her frantic thoughts and she turned, her heart ramming inside her chest, about to burst.

She fell to her knees, tears stinging her eyes. Her medical examiner had two dark holes in his body: one in his upper arm and one in his shoulder, dangerously close to his collarbone.

This was her fault. She should have never let him come. She shouldn't have asked. If she hadn't succumbed to Henry's pleas, maybe he wouldn't be lying here. But feeling bad for herself wasn't going to do him any good.

"Hold on, Henry," she murmured. "I-I'm here." Please, God, she prayed, both of their ragged breaths the only sound in the warehouse.

Henry rolled over to face Jo, a pained grunt following. "Jo–" He coughed weakly. "Jo, please–please–li-st-en to me." She could almost see him fading away in the way he held himself, the way he tried so hard to no avail.

"No, you listen to me." Her voice came frantically, and she knew she was going to babble. "You shut your damn mouth because you're going to end up dying if you try to talk. You don't move, you don't speak, hell, try not to blink unless your eyes are going to dry up and kill you before the wounds do." She thought for a moment, her heart racing and the tears not ceasing. "Damn it, Henry, why did you run off?"

"I-I saw him running–" Henry began, and Jo cut him off abruptly, her gaze stern.

"I told you not to talk!" Her shout echoed, and, in a crazy act, she tore the scarf from Henry's neck, ignoring his cries of protest, and wrapped it tightly around his arm. Henry looked up at Jo, and she saw that he, too, was fighting back the urge to sob.

She stayed there, looking at him, until he let out a pained yelp. The makeshift bandage did Henry's wounds no good, and the scarf was already bleeding through, much to Henry's obvious dismay.

"Jo," Henry rasped, "you listen to me. I need you to go."

The detective stood up, looking down at Henry as another pained spasm rocked the medical examiner's body. "Henry, there's no way in hell I'm leaving."

"Yes, there is," he insisted, pushing himself into a sitting position only to fall back down, hitting his head and obviously causing himself more pain. Jo ran over to him, kneeling back down. "I need you to leave. G-get help i-if you want, but..." He groaned, shutting his eyes tightly. "...please..."

Jo shook her head, her sigh ragged. "Henry, please. I can't." She would not succumb to his pleas again. She had gotten him in this mess, and she would get him out.

"Jo, I–"

"Do not speak." She was surprised at the firmness of her tone. Inside, she was collapsing. "Don't you dare do anything."

"Jo," Henry said softly, his eyes pleading as he drew his gaze over to the detective. He groaned again, breathing labored.

"I swear to God, Henry, you're going to kill yourself." She stood, turned around, and pulled out her phone, ready to call Hanson.

"JO!"

Henry's scream was extremely loud, and made the detective fall silent and drop her phone. She kept her gaze locked on Henry as she picked up the cellphone, her eyes wet with tears.

"I need you to leave." He held a steady firmness in his voice that hadn't been there before. He took a ragged breath. "Please."

Jo groaned; it was heavy with emotion and uncertainty and pain all at the same time. "Absolutely not." She looked into her partner's eyes and saw such a passionate ferocity that made her want to cry. He mouthed the word that she hated coming from him–Please–and she ran a hand through her hair.

"Fuck you, Henry Morgan," she forced through tears, laughing. She was laughing. It was more disbelieving than humorous, but there she was, laughing herself away. She turned, her smile fading and replacing itself with sobs. "Whatever you want." She turned and left the room, remorse hanging over her like a cloud. She still did call the paramedics, even though the sound of Henry's ragged breathing had faded away–or maybe it had ceased.

She saw Henry at work the next day. It took her a second to go through everything in her head, and she froze when it came back to her.

It hung in her mind the whole day. Everything had happened so quickly. She would chuckle at how immaturely she'd acted, what with all the tears and the drama.

And she'd left him.

The fact that she'd left without hesitation was strange in her mind, and she felt an all-too familiar urge to cry.

Why had she done that? The question hovered over her endlessly. Until she spoke to Henry, that question would stay with her.

And she jumped when she got the opportunity.

A tentative hand reached to knock on the M.E.'s office door and did so. She watched as he looked up and smiled. That smile. She never thought she'd see it again after yesterday.

"Hello, Detective," he greeted calmly, as though he'd absolutely forgotten the prior day's events. And Henry wasn't one to forget.

"Henry, what happened yesterday?" She sat down without being asked to, her eyes filled with worry.

"Ah, yes," Henry said observantly, in an almost lighthearted voice, as though reliving a good memory. A good memory. "I'm terribly sorry for all that."

"Henry, don't play stupid with me. Why in the hell did you want me to leave?" she asked.

"I thought it would be... of best interest for you," he chose to say. Jo watched him carefully and saw the uncertainty in his face as he waited for an answer.

"Mm," Jo said disbelievingly. "So, you thought leaving my partner to die was the best thing to do–" She froze, looking at him, and fear flashed in her eyes.

She stood up. "How are you here? Shouldn't you have, like, a million tubes going in and out and God-knows how much morphine in your system and a bandage over your wounds?" She walked over to him, standing over him, watching as he scooted carefully away from her.

"I should," he murmured, sighing. "Well, I don't."

Jo rubbed her temples. "Wait, so you bled out on the floor of a warehouse and didn't go to the hospital? What about the freaking ambulance I sent for you?"

Henry simple shrugged, returning to his paperwork with a dismissive air.

"Henry, I need answers, and I need them now." She kept a stern glare as Henry stood, stretching, and grabbed her hand. It was sort of forced, and his hand squeezed a bit too tightly against hers.

"I am armed," she reminded him as he stood, chuckling.

"And I, Detective, am aware." He led her around the desk and out of the office, keeping the smile glued to his face.

"But, to answer your question..." Henry began, starting to close the door, "that story is quite a long one. Another time, perhaps."

Jo stood in disbelief as Henry shut the door to his office, waving a small goodbye to her as he sat back down to continue his paperwork.

What is going on in your head, Henry Morgan? She turned around with a dismissive sigh. She'd break his shell one day.

A.N.-

And, uh, that's it! Sorry that it's so rushed; I just couldn't find another way to compose it.

Well, anyway, write on!