A.N.-

Hi, readers! If you've read my other fic, A Moment, then you're advised to read this one. It'll contain spoilers for A Moment, so I respectfully (actually not really haha) ask that you read A Moment before this one.

Anyway, I was feeling bored, so I decided this would be the best way to rid me of the boredom disease. Get the tissues out, because here's your long-awaited sequel!

BTW - This fic contains some beautiful (actually not really, but beautifully written) angst. Yes.

Also, Mortinez. Maybe.

The antique shop was empty this time of day. With Abe gone, it was always empty. Maybe people just entered from seeing the charm of the older man, but business had slowed to a snail crawl.

With the sun sinking into the horizon, Henry had long since flipped the sign to closed when a small knock sounded on the door.

"We're closed," he said lazily, his voice lacking any intonation. There was the knock again, and Henry groaned, standing up from where he was seated at Abe's desk. He looked toward the door and straightened slightly.

He stood up and unlocked the door, allowing the woman standing there to enter. "Hello, Jo," Henry greeted, a ghost of a smile fighting its way onto his face.

Jo smiled. "Hi, Henry," she murmured. Henry saw her shiver, and he closed and locked the door without hesitation. "I, uh... I saw you're selling the store." She motioned briefly to a sign on the door that, from the outside, read "For Sale".

Henry deflated. "Yes," he said simply.

Jo shook her head. "Why?" she asked, her voice cracking. "I..." She sighed. "Look, dealing with a loss is hard, but Abe wouldn't have wanted this. Don't you think I wanted to give up when Sean–" She stopped herself, and she covered her mouth, shaking her head. "Yep," she murmured.

"But you have to keep on going. Abe would have wanted you to keep it going. Keep it–keep all this–for him. Do what you want, Henry, but I think Abe would be proud to see you running this." She forced a smile, something that Henry did all to often now.

Jo reached out for Henry's hand. Reaching tentatively, Henry took it, grateful for the comfort it lent him. He hadn't felt that in a long time. Peace. Tranquility.

After what seemed like hours, Jo withdrew her hand. "I–I have to go–d-do–" She was blushing fiercely. "I have to go." She turned and unlocked the door, exiting quietly, though Henry saw her smile as she took a last look back at the shop.

Henry visibly deflated. Jo had made the whole room light up, and now that her figure had become a minuscule detail in the Manhattan background, the shop got dimmer.

Suppressing a sigh, Henry locked the door again and whipped around, walking soundlessly upstairs. Maybe he'd get a well-deserved rest.

Though his main goal in life had been death, Henry didn't know how much he wanted it until now. His heart ached every morning he walked to the kitchen and saw that Abe wasn't sitting there, scanning for obituaries in the morning's paper or threatening to microwave his breakfast.

And now, as he left the office and sighed in relief, that was coming back to him. He'd often pondered it as he was walking back to the antique shop. He'd purchased a cell phone now that Abe was gone–who else would tell him who called when he was out?–and slipped his hand into his pocket reflexively as the contraption buzzed.

Jo - iMessage. He unlocked his phone and read the text message.

How are you doing? Honestly, he didn't know. Good, he typed. That was the only thing that was good about phones. You could lie over them and no one would know.

Are you sure?

Henry shrugged to himself. He really wasn't sure, but it wasn't true, being good. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and decided.

No. He wasn't good.

"Ab–" Nope. He still wasn't used to calling Abraham's name without getting a reply. He kicked the wall, groaning with pain, though he didn't know what caused it.

Abe's face flashed in his mind and he forced himself to blink away the tears. He glanced outside the window and sighed sorrowfully as snow flurries began lightly falling from the sky.

Henry pursed his lips. Abe hated snow. He'd never been one to like the cold weather, and snow made him want to cry. It was both cold and wet, and on the bad days he had to go out and shovel the snow surrounding the antique shop so people would know it existed. Henry winced at the memories.

Then it dawned on him. It was his fault.

He was the one who decided to stay out a little later–okay, a lot later–than usual. He'd decided, screw it, and went to go have a drink or two–or way more–with his colleagues. If he hadn't gone, Abe might still be alive...

He needed to stop. These thoughts were not good for him. Not in this state. He shook his head and sighed.

But they weren't lies. They were the whole truths, and they needed to be told. To be taught. If he hadn't been so freaking careless, there wouldn't have been a casualty.

Maybe, when he'd thought he wanted to die, he wasn't thinking straight. Because, now, sitting here, realizing the truth, he actually wanted to die. Not for the purpose of science or anything, but because of the guilt.

He had to do it. No, he wasn't crazy. He just felt guilt. Survivor's guilt, they'd call it, but for him, it was plain guilt. It was absolutely his fault for probably getting a slight bit tipsy that night and staying out way too late.

No. It was just a game. It was his mind playing with him. But it felt so real. And, deep inside, he knew it wasn't a game.

He reached for the door of the antique shop. Tonight there would be no rest. Only unrest. And Henry would cause it.

Jo sighed raggedly as she threw her purse aside, slamming the door to her apartment. She ran a hand through her long black hair and strode toward the kitchen almost robotically. She knew what she was doing, and part of her was trying to stop it, but a much larger part was urging her on.

Dulling pain was something she was used to. It was easy–a few aspirins–but couldn't always be accomplished the orthodox way.

She found herself reaching toward the back of her fridge for something she hadn't held in a long time. The cold glass bottle felt welcoming, almost comforting, in her shaking hands. She popped open the top of the whiskey bottle and, without thinking, put her lips to the top and tipped.

After a few rounds of chugging until the alcohol spilled over, she groaned heavily. She was tired–maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the whiskey–and she had a horrible headache. She lay down on the couch and fell asleep. Granted, an alcohol-induced sleep, but she hadn't slept that well in a long time, and it was great. The hangover was a small price to pay for that ounce of moral clearance.

8 a.m. sharp. The doors to the M.E. office swung open, and Henry Morgan stumbled in. He was unbalanced and uncoordinated, and dark circles hung beneath his eyes. "Good morning," he said to no one in particular.

"Whoa, Doc," Lucas called out, steadying Henry so he didn't fall over–again. "What–what is going on lately?"

Henry shook his head. "Nothing," he sighed, standing up straight. He rubbed his eyes. "O-kay. What have we got here?"

Lucas shrugged. "Um, nothing. Not yet." He turned as the door opened again, this time allowing one exhausted-looking Jo Martinez into the office.

A sigh came from Lucas. "Is–is this–a thing now? Like, are–are we all under-sleeping now, o-or– what?

"And, by the way, what is that?" Lucas motioned to something indiscernible on the M.E.'s arm that Henry quickly hid with his coat.

A protruding silence followed, and Lucas cleared his throat. Leave it to him to make an awkward situation more awkward, Henry thought. "Um, do you two wanna–"

"That would be best," Henry said uneasily. Lucas walked, head down, out of sight.

Jo walked toward Henry, worry showing under the tiredness in her eyes. "What the hell is going on?"

"I would like to know the same," Henry said simply. "And, for your information, nothing. I've been having trouble sleeping, is all. I've even taken down the For Sale sign."

"Good," Jo replied dismissively. "So have I."

Suddenly, Jo tensed. "How are you really feeling?"

Henry froze. He was strong. Everyone knew that. But something inside made him want to break the dam and cry it out. He hadn't done that in a long time–maybe never–and maybe today was the day. He collapsed to his knees, the images in his head making him bawl. Images of Abe's smiling face, of when he and Abigail found him, of all the happy moments... They all seemed so sad now.

"Henry," Jo breathed, kneeling down to Henry's height. She put her right hand on his shoulders and, with her free hand, pushed his chin up. Henry was grateful for his partner's stubbornness.

"Henry, look at me. Henry, it's okay." He saw Jo struggling to put a smile on her face, and that made him want to cry even more. But he quickly rebuilt the dam that shielded his emotions and straightened.

It broke. He broke. So the two sat there, Henry crying, Jo trying her best not to, for a very long time.

His dream had never been as close as it was now. And yet, he was still there. Standing atop a building, looking at the skyline before you let yourself slip into the clutches of death, is a beautiful thing. He realized that there.

Though he was hesitant. Nobody seemed to care that a young-looking man was standing near the edge of a building and getting quite ready to drop. But there were still people who cared. He had to let himself believe that much.

He unwrapped the scarf from his neck and let it fly with the wind, making its way downward gracefully. The opposite of how he'd do it. He chuckled. Maybe he'd be like the scarf, or maybe... He picked a pebble up from the roof and chucked it down with force. Maybe–most likely–he'd be the pebble. A headstrong drop. Yes. He'd like that.

He stepped onto the edge with reluctance. Did he really want to do this? The only answer in his mind was yes. There was a chance he'd actually die–maybe the injures would be too much for this strange body of his and he wouldn't reappear in the East River.

He whipped around when he heard footsteps approaching. A faint shouting came in the distance, but he paid it no attention. When he turned, someone burst through the door, gasping for breath. Henry stiffened, realizing who it was without turning around.

"Henry!" shrieked the voice.

When he turned, he saw Jo running toward him with open arms. He stepped off the edge and walked toward her. He felt tears stinging his eyes and broke out at a run. They met in the middle, both trying their hardest not to let the tears come. They stood there for a long time, just hugging, standing at the edge of the earth but still safe. Henry knew as long as he was in her arms, he'd be safe.

Henry let go and saw that Jo was crying. She collapsed, leaning against him as she hiccuped loudly. Henry did all that he could and straightened her up. He put her chin up, the same way she'd done with him. Jo sniffled, wiping her face.

Jo sighed. "Henry..." she murmured, her eyes full of worry. Henry nodded, putting his right hand on the right portion of her face and caressing it gently with a thumb.

"Henry, please," she said finally. "Ple–you ca–don't le–" She sighed, shaking her head as a new set of tears began to flow. "Please don't leave me, too," she forced, her voice barely a whisper. She started to sob again, leaning against Henry, who held her in his arms.

Maybe when he wanted to die, he was being stupid. And, sure, the guilt still hung fresh in his mind, but it wasn't overwhelming. He was strong. He wouldn't let himself break again, because it almost led him to make a horrible mistake.

After a long amount of silence, Henry kissed Jo gently on the cheek. It was awkward, but it seemed right. "I won't," he promised.

"Never."

A.N.-

Okay, I may have lied about the "beautifully written" part, but I'm quite the emotional one and may have sorta cried just imagining this, haha...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Do not expect a part three, but it may just catch you by surprise.

Watch on, Foreverists!