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, I would like to hear Hanson's take on that night.)

Author's Note: This is the first of two one-shots that I have mentioned in the author's note of the last chapter of "Heart's Journey". I hope that you will enjoy it.

"Cognac. The older, the better."

"Got it."

Mike gave Doc another look, smiled, and stepped through the threshold separating McSorley's bar and front. It was hard to believe that the eccentric medical examiner was joining them for a round of drinks. For as long as Mike knew Doc, he couldn't remember the ME spending time with anyone other than his elderly roommate Abe and, until recently, Jo. Judging from Lucas' exasperated complaint earlier in the week, Doc had no desire to ever step foot inside the bar…

…until tonight. Something about Doc's near death experience must have changed his mind. He-.

Mike's vision began to blur as he settled at a spot near the end of the bar. Just a few hours earlier, he and Jo had rescued the eccentric medical examiner from a possibly fatal electrocution. Fortunately, the only injuries that Doc had sustained were several bruises and a pair of sore arms and shoulders. If they hadn't arrived when they had….

Mike took a deep breath. He had barely been able to hold onto his emotions when Jo had choked back the news about Sean's fatal heart attack. He had no idea whether he could have kept them in if they had to inform Abe of Henry's demise.

They were lucky tonight, though. But, Doc had a weird combination of a lack of self-preservation and a tendency to get into trouble. If he wasn't more careful, Doc's luck was going to run out one day, and they would have to live with it for the rest of their lives if it were to happen out in the field.

The voices happily chattering about everything from the Yankees' chances of reaching the playoffs next year to their kids encouraged Mike to think of other things. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and complied. After all, Doc was alive. He was here, and he wanted some cognac.

Mike blinked and shook his head again. He did not hear Doc correctly.

"Cognac?"

He peered around his colleagues at Doc and Jo engrossed in their conversation. He started to consider heading back to ask Doc if he wanted something else. As he watched them, though, he realized that he didn't have the heart to interrupt them.

Mike pivoted back to the antique oak bar, stared at the faded photos behind it, and gulped. McSorley's didn't sell cognac. Ever since their opening in 1854, the New York legend served only two types of alcohol, pale ale and dark lager. If he were to approach a bartender with Doc's order, he would never hear the end of it the next time that he came to the bar.

Still, it was an easy—and, for Doc, rare—mistake. It was his first time in the bar, and his aches and pains probably caused him to not notice the signs stating the bar's only offerings. Maybe he could talk the bartender into something.

Mike rotated his shoulders, laid his hands on the counter, and leaned over them. He stared at the more casually dressed bartender, Nate, wiping a glass and setting it on the shelf behind him. Here goes.

Looking for some inspiration, he turned his attention to the glasses closer to the threshold. He smirked. If those glasses could talk….

"What can I get for you?"

Mike snapped his head toward the curious voice. His eyes landed on the brown-haired man who couldn't be much older than himself. His mind raced for some way to the ridiculous request. He finally found one, and screwed up his courage.

He nodded back to toward Doc and Jo. "My friend—." The word sounded funny in his ears. "Well…" He cleared his throat. "He wants a cognac. He's a Brit, and he hasn't been here before. Couldn't you just, I don't know, mix a pale ale and a dark lager and put it in the weirdest shaped glass that you can find?"

The moment the suggestion left his mouth, he cringed inwardly. The OCME's resident Sherlock Holmes would figure out the ruse the second that he would see the glass. Chances were, he would be ticked off by the attempt to save them all from being laughed out of the bar. And who knew when the reclusive ME would join them for drinks again?

Mike huffed. He wished that both agencies had picked another watering hole to frequent. Preferably one that sold the fancy-pants drinks. That way, he could save himself some embarrassment if Doc ever came back.

A gray-haired man emerged from the sea of tables appeared beside Nate. Mike immediately recognized him as Eric, another one of McSorley's bartenders. "Cognac, you said?"

Mike stared at the man. "Yeah."

"Who's it for?"

Mike pivoted back toward his table and pointed at Doc. He hoped that his colleagues standing at the other end of the counter wouldn't block the older bartender's view of Doc and Jo.

"Him."

Eric peered around the detective. His lips parted. "Well, I'll be…."

A moment later, he stooped down behind the counter. When he surfaced, he placed an expensive-looking bottle of cognac and a large, very fancy glass on the surface.

Mike's right eyebrow shot up. Since when did McSorley's start offering the hard stuff?

Eric laid his hands on the counter, scoffed, and shook his head as he gazed at the items. "I never thought that I would live to see the day…."

He seemed to remember that he had an audience. He uncapped the bottle. "Do you want to know the story?"

Mike opened and closed his mouth several times in an attempt to say something. On the last try, he found his ability to talk.

"Would I? You bet."

The older man recapped the bottle and passed the glass over to the still stunned detective. "Come back after you've finished. We'll talk then." He cocked his head. "By the way, no charge."

"Okay."

As Mike headed back to his table, he inspected the golden liquid bouncing with each step. He could have sworn that, for a moment, Eric had recognized Henry.

He scoffed. That was impossible. Doc had never been to the bar before. There was no way that he could have met the bartender before today.

Mike glanced back up and found Doc and Jo, the pair oblivious to everyone around them. The detective eased his way around the pair beside him. After all the trouble that Doc had put him through tonight, he didn't want to spill a single drop of the drink.

Jo stared at Doc. Mike quickened his pace. He wished that he was close enough to hear what Doc had said. Jo rarely showed her emotions, even burying it deep inside of her after Sean's death. But, whatever Doc had said had provoked a reaction out of her.

"Shut the front door!"

Mike froze. Why did Lucas have to choose tonight to join them? And how did he not notice the man when he had come in?

The lanky assistant ME's long legs closed the distance between the threshold and the table. Mike bit back a laugh as Lucas swooped down, threw his arms around Doc, and squeezed the poor man tightly. For the second time tonight, Doc needed a rescue, and this time, Mike was looking forward to it.

Mike snuck a peek at his watch and yawned. It was later than he had thought. Maybe he should start heading home if he wanted to be awake enough for work tomorrow.

He propped his arms on the table, studied the empty glasses in front of Doc, and smiled. The snifter—as Doc had called the fancy glass—had long been replaced by a pair of regular beer glasses. Out of all the people at the table, Jo was the one to convince Doc to try a beer. He complained that the pale ale tasted too malty. But the dark lager had seemed to have won him over, prompting him to order a second glass.

Mike peered around Doc and Jo and found Eric setting a clean glass on the shelves behind the bar. Maybe he should stay for a few more minutes. He hadn't thought much of the older man's reaction since he had rescued Doc from Lucas' bear hug, but he still would like to know about the expensive drink.

He reached into his pocket at the same time that Doc had his. The ME pulled out his antique pocket watch and checked the time.

Doc sighed and pushed his chair back. "I've really enjoyed myself, but I must be going. After the scare that I gave Abe this evening, I don't want to upset him by prolonging my time here."

Mike lowered his gaze. During their time together, he had almost forgotten about the rough night that Doc had had. Mike couldn't imagine what was going through Doc's head as he hung on Clive Warner's insane contraption, waiting for the final shock to hit him. Hoping that, somehow, help would reach him in time before he breathed his last breath.

Jo found her purse under the table and dove into it for the money for her drinks. "Me too. Something tells me that we're going to have a long day tomorrow."

"Allow me." Henry reached for his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash.

Mike resisted the urge to whistle. He hadn't seen that much money on anyone other than a suspect or a drug dealer. It was a wonder that Doc hadn't been robbed. Maybe he should investigate getting a credit card like everyone else.

Remembering the secret gift, Mike fished out his wallet and found the cash for his, Jo's, and Doc's drinks. "Don't worry about it, Doc. We'll take care of your tab tonight. Our treat."

Doc's jaw dropped, and his eyebrows wrinkled together. Mike bit back his smile. It wasn't every day that someone rendered Doc speechless. The ME probably could talk someone to death without realizing it.

He bowed his head. When his eyes met Mike's again, one corner of Doc's mouth lifted up. "Thank you."

"After tonight, you deserve it."

Jo nudged Doc. "Come on. I'll take you home."

Doc flashed her a grin. "All right." He nodded at the two men still at the table. "Good night."

Mike waved a hand. "See you."

Lucas nodded back. "Catch you tomorrow, Doc."

As they watched Doc and Jo leave, Mike sipped the last bit of beer in his glass. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, but there was definitely something going on between those two. For most of the evening, they had been almost inseparable. It was almost as if Doc's kidnapping had brought them closer together.

He gingerly lowered his glass. He knew what it was. He and Jo were like her and Doc before Sean's death.

Lucas took another sip and grinned. "This has to be the best night ever."

Mike swallowed back his sadness and met the assistant ME's glowing eyes. "Why? Because Doc was here?"

"Yeah. I don't think anything can top this." He checked his watch. "Well, I have to get going myself. I want to edit a scene from my latest horror film before bed." He untangled his long frame from the table. "I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah."

Mike eyed Lucas as he left. It was weird. Usually, he bristled at Lucas wandering right up to his and Jo's table and taking a seat beside her. He would wish that the assistant ME would hang out with one of his friends from the OCME. Yet, tonight, he didn't mind Lucas' presence, and it was the first time that they and Doc felt like a team.

His eyes traveled to the glasses. If he wanted to hear what Eric had to say, he should do it before he needed to catch a taxi home instead of drive.

He pushed out of his seat and wove his way back to the counter, dodging past a busboy along the way. On the other side, the bartenders tended to the latest load of glasses. He examined them and then the shelves, hoping to see Henry's snifter. It, however, had been tucked back into its hiding place.

Mike caught Eric's eyes. The other man wiped his hands on his towel, leaned over to Nate, and whispered something. Nodding, the younger bartender turned back to his task.

Eric smiled and walked over to Mike. "It looks like you had a good time tonight."

"We did." It was funny. Although Doc still hadn't mentioned much more about himself, Mike felt that he knew the eccentric ME a bit better.

Eric eased around the corner of the bar and motioned to Mike. "Come on. Let's go somewhere quieter."

Mike followed the bartender to another table on the other side of his and Jo's. As Mike settled into the seat in the corner, the older man sank into one across from him.

He studied the detective for a minute, almost as if he was trying to determine something. Mike swallowed. He hoped that Eric wasn't planning to back out now.

Mike's curiosity got the better of him. He folded his hands together and leaned over them.

"Why all the secrecy, Eric? You afraid someone will find out about your secret stash and report it on Yelp?"

Eric chuckled. "That's not it."

"Then what?"

The older of the two rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure if you'll believe me."

"I'll try to keep an open mind." The craziest thing that he had seen so far had been hearing two gunshots coming from Grand Central's roof, finding Jo shot in the shoulder, seeing Hans Koehler's body lying beside the parked taxi, finding no sign of Doc anywhere…and Jo insisting that Doc had fallen off the roof as well when she had initially woke up from her surgery. Nothing could hold a candle to that.

"Well…" Eric rested his elbows on the table. "It was 1984. I was barely old enough to drink, let alone serve them. I wanted to run a bar one day, and my old man managed to get me a job here. Anyway, one night, this group of grave diggers came in. One looked exactly like your friend..."

Mike's right eyebrow shot up for the second time tonight. That was impossible. According to Doc's records, he was a five-year-old kid bugging his parents in London at the time, not a grave digger here in New York. There had to be some other explanation for whom Eric had seen.

Eric studied the detective. "You don't believe me."

Mike drew in a deep breath and shoved his skepticism to the side. "I'm a detective, Eric. I have to reserve judgment until I get all the evidence in." Right now, that was proving to be difficult, but he could try. "Now, you've asked me if I wanted to hear the story, and I'm not leaving until you tell me all of it."

Eric huffed and leaned back in his seat. After a few minutes' silence, he dared to look at Mike. "The one who looked like your friend said—in the same British accent, I might add—that he made a mistake in coming here, that he should be getting home to his roommate. He tried to leave, and a couple of his buddies grabbed him and told him that he needed to drink to forget about the woman who broke his heart. He got angry quickly. I mean, if looks could kill, the entire NYPD would have swarmed this place faster than this guy could run."

Mike scoffed and ducked his head. He knew the feeling. A couple of times already, Doc had given him the same type of glare.

Eric tilted his head. "Somehow, I knew that, whoever she was, she had hurt him pretty deeply, but he still loved her. Well, they finally talked him into taking a seat against that wall." He pointed to a table in the other corner near the wall. "I went over to take their orders. Imagine my surprise when he ordered cognac. I thought that he was crazy."

"Like he should have read the sign outside."

Eric nodded and laughed. "Exactly. I went back to my dad and told him what happened. He poured the rest of the orders. When I asked him about the cognac, he reassured me that he would find something."

The older man's gaze finally broke, and he examined the grain running along the table. "I, um, I headed back to their table with their drinks. A couple of guys came in here and went up to a man right over there-." He gestured to a spot close to the entrance. "Before I knew it, they started fighting. I set the drinks on the table and headed over to break it up..."

"I, um, I don't remember exactly what happened next. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. The Brit's kneeling beside me and telling me not to move, that I was bleeding." Eric scoffed. "He took off his jacket and his shirt, ripped off a sleeve, and tied it around my arm. I could swear that he had some kind of medical training."

Mike's eyes widened. If he didn't know any better, he could swear that the mysterious grave digger was definitely Doc.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes. That idea was totally crazy. If it were really Doc, he would have to be in his sixties by now, Abe's age at the most. And no sixty-year-old looked like they were still in their thirties.

Eric's gaze latched back onto Mike's. "He then motioned for my father and told him to get the hospital to check me out. Dad agreed." He took in a deep breath. "The emergency department doctor informed us that one of the guys cut my arm with a knife and nicked one of the arteries in it. If the Brit wasn't there, I could have..." He tried to choke back a sob.

The older man huffed, swallowed, and then smiled. "When we got home, Dad and I agreed that we should buy a bottle of cognac and a snifter in case the man or one of his descendants came in and ordered one. It would be our way of repaying him for what he did for me."

"...the man or one of his descendants..."

Yeah, that had to be it. Doc and his family must have moved to the United States some time that year, and his dad must have taken a job as a grave digger to make ends meet until they could get their feet under them. Since Henry looked exactly like his dad, it was only natural for Eric to mistake the two. That also could explain Doc's weird fascination with death.

That, however, didn't explain the mystery grave digger's medical skills. Or his reluctance to join his friends. Or his desire to get home to his roommate. In fact, they all sounded like...

Feeling the bartender's eyes on him, Mike cleared his throat. "They had been sitting under the bar for thirty years?" That was about as hard to believe as what he was thinking.

Eric folded his arms in front of him. "We kept them dusted, just in case. For a while, I thought that I would have to ask Nate on my death bed to hold onto them until the man showed up. Then I gave up hope on ever seeing the man again."

"Until tonight."

"Until tonight."

"Why didn't you come over and say hello if you recognized him?" He would have if he were Eric.

Eric opened his mouth and snapped it closed. He then burst into laughter. "I didn't want to take a chance in case I was wrong. That, and your friend seems pretty interested in your partner. I don't know about you, but maybe he should ask her out sometime."

Doc and Jo? No way. Yeah, sure, Doc was a bit embarrassed when Jo had caught him in Iona Payne's apparatus, and Jo couldn't resist ribbing him about it, even midway through drinks. But nothing indicated that he had any romantic interest in her. Honestly, Iona kissing him on the cheek in front of the precinct had gotten him into trouble tonight.

Feeling his grief about what could have been raising up, Mike dropped his gaze and studied his hands for a moment. "Well, Doc had a little girl trouble earlier. I don't think hooking up with my partner was on his mind."

He briefly shut his eyes. He was going to have to get some brain bleach to get that thought out of his head.

"He should think about it." Eric checked his watch, unwrapped his arms, and placed his hands on the table. "I've got to get back to Nate and finish closing. I'll see you around?"

Mike nodded. "We'll be back sometime this week, if our next case doesn't overwhelm us."

"Bring your friend too."

"We'll try." Since Lucas had had no success, maybe Jo could talk Doc into joining them more often.

Mike checked his watch and noted the time. He needed to head home. His bed was calling out to him, and he couldn't hold out much longer.

He rose from his seat and made his way for the door. As he neared Doc's chair, Mike slowed to a stop. Eric's words echoed in Mike's head. He had questioned suspects with incredible stories before, and there were always parts which seemed to give them away. Eric, however, showed none of that. Instead, it was almost like he was sure that it had happened.

Mike stared first at the empty seat and back to where Doc—or his father—had supposed sat thirty years ago. Then again, there were too many coincidences in Doc's behavior that seemed to corroborate Eric's story. It was almost as if Doc could be….

Mike shook his head. Nah. That was impossible. Immortality didn't exist. It was something that he either heard about during funerals or saw in the movies. No one in real life could come back from the dead. If so, he, the NYPD, and the OCME would be out of jobs.

He slapped the back of the chair and marched toward the exit. Doc was going to have to give up some of his secrets one day, though. He couldn't keep everything to himself forever. In case he had forgotten, two of his friends were detectives with the NYPD. They would investigate, and they—or, at least, Jo—would uncover whatever Doc was hiding. If he was in some type of trouble, they might not be able to help him unless he said something. And Mike certainly didn't want a repeat of tonight.

Yet, what if Doc would talk to them? What stories would the eccentric ME tell?

Author's Note: A little background on the story: In a review for another fan fic, someone pointed out that McSorley's does not serve cognac. My response: I have an idea that can realistically incorporate that fact with what we see in "The Ecstasy of Agony". Well, this story's it. I finally got around to writing it in June. (By the way, I checked McSorley's web site while I was getting the overall feel of the areas that we don't see in the episode, and they sell bottles also.)