Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
c. 1787
Henry lay in bed, staring out at the moon that shone softly through his window. He fidgeted beneath the coverlet, rolling over to stare at his wardrobe instead. He groaned, and rolled fully over to punch his pillow. Propping himself up on his elbows, he stared blindly at the black headboard before his eyes.
The day had begun normally, as it always did. Belle – the maid, she always said that he must call her 'miss', but she didn't look that old yet! - had come in to waken him, but he had hidden beneath his blankets as soon as she left. He had nearly fallen asleep again when his mother came marching into the room, tickling him awake; he giggled at the memory.
Then they had breakfast – he groaned at the memory of the porridge he had been forced to eat then – and his mother had planned on taking him for a walk around the grounds; but then a messenger came with a letter for her. When she read the letter, she had turned as white as the paper itself, and had locked herself in her room. After that, nothing had gone right – the house was too silent.
He flopped over onto his back, still too uncomfortable to sleep, or lie still. He had heard the servants whispering all day about 'tragedy', and 'who knows', and 'black cloth', and 'weeds', and 'morning'... He frowned. They had all stopped talking whenever they saw him, but he failed to see what morning had to do with whispers and silence.
With a put out sigh, he abruptly sat up, throwing the blankets back. His mother would tell him what was wrong, wouldn't she? He frowned. Of course, she seemed...sad? If the letter made her sad, then why didn't someone make her happy?
The boy thought about it for a while, and a grin spread across his face. Sliding out of bed, he padded across the room and peeked out of the door. Seeing no people nor lights in the corridor, he tip-toed down the hall, looking for his mother's room. When he found it, he grinned, trying the handle. To his surprise, it opened, and he slipped into the room.
It was dark, but he could see his mother leaning against the foot of the bed. For a moment, he faltered, wondering if this was a mistake; but then he moved forward. If no one else would cheer his mother up, then he would just have to do it himself.
"...He-Henry?" She lifted her head to look at him in confusion, and she glanced towards the shut door, wondering how it had gotten unlocked.
"Mama, you're sad." Cautiously, beginning to question the wisdom of his plan, he came up to her. Seeing that she didn't seem to want him to leave, he sat down beside her, resting his head on her shoulder. "Mama – let me tell you a story, please? Your stories cheer me up – you need a story this time."
She didn't answer, but she didn't tell him not to; so Henry went ahead. He didn't know what kind of story she would like; so he told her one of his favourites, one that his father had often told him.
"Once upon a time, there was a queen. She lived in a beautiful palace and had all she could ever want or need, but she was all alone. Many princes and lords stopped by the gates of her palace, demanding her hand – but she sent them all away.
"She had a secret, in the highest tower of her castle. There, she had a magical loom that she worked on every night, weaving a veil for her wedding. When the morning came, if the veil had unraveled itself overnight, then she knew that the suitor from the night before was not to be her husband and king – so he was sent away and another sent in.
"Hundreds and hundreds of princes and lords were sent away – the veil never stayed woven. Finally, the suitors heard of her loom. They thought that she herself tore it apart, and they wanted to destroy the loom. A young man overheard their plans, and he crept into the castle before them. As quietly as possible, he moved the magical loom to a different tower, and replaced it with an ordinary loom. When the angry men destroyed the decoy, he hid with the magical one until they left; then replaced it..."
Henry yawned, interrupting himself. Surrendering to sleep, he forgot the reason he had come here in the first place; and fell asleep, his head falling into his mother's lap.
She looked down at the boy lying in her lap, an innocent child who had no idea what was going on around him or what had turned the house upside down – but he saw that she was upset, and tried to find a way to fix things. He did it the only way he knew how: with a story.
Running a hand through his dark, curling hair, her whispering voice began to finish the story.
"When the queen awoke the next morning, the veil was finished; the reflection of the man – a man of low birth – was etched into the material. The magic had done its part."
She blinked the tears back again, glancing down at the crumpled letter she still held in her hand. The words written therein still rang in her head, and she could never escape them.
Her knight would never come back to the castle again, nor could she go and find him. He was gone, slain by the dragon of death – and she felt as if the world would end.
Odd how her son would choose the story that her husband had always told her before he left for a journey, and when he would return – odd how Henry had memorised the story that was the sum of his parent's love in a way.
She pulled the child closer, and he smiled in his sleep.
Leave it to the innocence of a child to solve things, to help people heal. Praying that she would have strength to carry on, for Henry's sake at least, she finally fell asleep – the tears that she cried of healing instead of pain.
c. 1812
"Henry Morgan – you're making me nervous! Sit down before you collapse."
Henry came to a stop, although his hands continued to fidget.
She sighed. "Henry, it's a fever – not the plague."
"Technically, the plague was a -"
"Henry. Sit."
The doctor closed his mouth and sat in the chair beside her bed. She shook her head in fond exasperation – anyone else would think she was on the brink of death, and that they waited on word from the physician; not that she was simply bedridden for the day and that her husband was a doctor who knew full well that she was perfectly fine.
"Henry, tell me a story."
He turned to her in shocked surprise. "Pardon?"
"A story, Henry – tell me what you will tell our children to put them to bed at night." When he began to relax and smile; she sank back onto the pillows, convinced that he would stop fidgeting for at least ten minutes now.
"Well." He leaned forward onto the bed, resting his arms on the coverlet. "Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was locked with a prison of his own making, a world devoid of life. A fairy watched him through the walls, and she took pity on him.
"Now, she was the queen of all her realm, and none could compare to her – ow!" He rubbed his arm where Nora had slapped him.
"Flattery isn't nice, Henry."
"It isn't flattery – but as you wish." He lapsed into silence, thinking for such a long period that she dared to hope he had forgotten and become distracted again. "Then I shall tell a different story. Once upon a time, there was a merchant. He had three daughters, and had the means to offer them all they wished for. One night, as he returned from the town, he took shelter within a walled garden from the storm without. Seeing a rosebush there, and knowing that his youngest daughter would still be awake when he returned, he plucked a bud to bring her.
"As soon as he broke the stem, the rose shriveled into a blackened husk, and a heavy bell tolled throughout the garden – he felt as if it were his death knell."
"Henry – they're children. You wouldn't want to frighten them!"
He smiled and took her hand. "Perhaps I tell this not for the children, but for my wife."
She sighed and shook her head, blushing. "If that's what it takes for you to be still..."
"It is. As I was saying, the merchant plucked a rose from within the garden. He turned to leave the garden, but the gates slammed shut of their own accord, and he was trapped. Still holding the rose, he turned back to the palace at the other end of the garden, beyond the clearing fog.
"A creature stalked through the fog towards him, and the merchant could feel his heart stop as the beast growled. The beast demanded to know who dared to take what did not belong to him – and declared that the merchant would die for his trespass.
"The merchant fell to his knees before the creature, begging for mercy – asking permission to at least bid farewell to his daughters. The creature was intrigued by this, and inquired after his family. Finally, the beast said that the man might return; and if one of his daughters was willing to take his place, then his life would be spared.
"The gates to the garden opened, and the merchant fled, still clutching the black rose."
The lace had fallen from her hands, forgotten, as she was swept up in his story. Even knowing the end of the tale, it still captivated her – she knew that he would be a wonderful father.
"When the merchant arrived at his house, his youngest daughter awaited him. Seeing the black rose, she asked what had happened – and he told her. She declared that she would go in his place – but he refused to allow it, ordered her to put it from her mind.
"Although she agreed, fixing him some dinner and returning to bed, she had no intention of obeying. After the merchant had fallen asleep, she crept out of the house, saddled the horse, and rode back to the castle, taking the rose with her.
"The beast waited at the gates, and she sent the horse back to the house. Bravely, she stood before him, saying that she was here in her father's stead. Expecting him to kill her, she shut her eyes.
"Surprised by her loyalty, he brought her into the house, telling her that all within was hers – but she could never leave. She was frightened and surprised, but she followed him within.
"The castle was a magical place, filled with odd quirks and happenings. Every night, she spent dinner with the creature; and, gradually, she grew out of her fear of him. Through their conversations, she came to know the witty soul beneath, and the chivalrous knight. Slowly, steadily, the black rose that lay upon her vanity turned red again.
"A few years passed, and they came to care for each other – neither wishing that they hadn't met. At last, the creature asked for her hand – but she spurned him, frightened by the prospect. She locked herself in her room, and he did not follow her."
Henry paused, smoothing the hair away from Nora's face; smiling as he realised that she had fallen asleep. Speaking in a softer tone, he finished the story quickly.
"Soon, she saw that she did love him – and she went in search for the creature, bearing the rose with her. Searching the house and not finding him, she ventured into the garden. She saw him lying beside the rose bush, and she knelt beside him. Placing the rose in his hand, she told him that she would accept, gladly.
"And they lived happily ever after."
c. 1946
Henry stared into the flickering flames of the fire on the hearth, keeping his arm around Abigail, holding her close. Outside, it was raining heavily, and the lightning lit up the sky nearly as bright as day. Beside him, Abigail was nearly asleep, her breathing slow and her eyes nearly shut.
"Cinderella was a rather grusome tale."
Abigail pulled away a little and looked at him, confused at the non sequiter. "Pardon?"
"The stepsisters cut off their toes and their heels attempting to fit into the glass slipper, and only the warning of a bird saved Cinderella's chance.
She frowned. "Henry, you read the oddest versions of tales...Is that truly the story?"
"Yes."
She leaned against him again, smiling. "Tell me."
"Very well." He reached forward to place another log on the fire. "Will you stay awake?"
"Likely not – I shall have to ask you for the tale again in the morning.
"Then this shall be a bedtime story: once upon a time, there was a lord. He had a daughter, and she was the light of his life – his greatest treasure. As she grew older, he began to consider marriage again – as her mother had died in childbirth. After a set amount of time, he chose another bride – a widow with two daughters of her own.
"Shortly after the lord married, he was killed in an accident, leaving his daughter alone with his new wife. At first, all was well; but as the girl grew older, the widow could see that she would be far more beautiful than either of her own daughters – and she was jealous.
"She began to heap work upon the girl, sullying her features with dirt and marring her hands and skin with labour. The child was too sweet and gentle to complain, and accepted her role as the servant without question – having long been taught to honour those in authority over her.
"Shortly after she was thrust back from the family into the role of the servant, she found a bird trapped in the fireplace. Taking pity on it, she cleaned the soot from its feathers and set it free. The next morning, a tree grew outside her window. The bird told her that, in return for the rescue the day before, this was a gift that would give her what she needed in food or clothes – she only had to sing below it.
"Years passed, and she was forgotten as ever being the lord's daughter; her only name the slur her stepsisters had given her: Cinderwench. Beneath the soot and dirt and rags that covered her, she was still very beautiful – nothing could change that.
"The king announced a royal ball for his son, inviting all maidens of the land – regardless of wealth, age, birth, or background. At the news, the house was filled with excitement as the stepsisters prepared for the ball. All day, the girl was sent on various errands, obeying their calls and filling their whims – never letting herself think that she might be able to go.
"When the day was done and the widow and her daughters departed, the girl was left alone. Hearing the bird singing outside, she went to the tree to listen. There, she found a magnificent dress laid out beneath the branches. Putting it on, she left for the ball – heeding the warning to return by midnight.
"At the ball, she was the most glorious there – the shining star of the occasion. All the maidens were captivated by her, and the Prince devoted all his time to her. The hours passed quickly, but she remembered to leave by midnight. When she returned to the house, she laid the dress beneath the tree, and the bird took it back.
"When her stepsisters returned, they told her glorious stories of the mysterious lady; and they wondered as to who she could be. All the girl would say was that it sounded magical.
"The next two nights were the same: the stepsisters would leave for the ball, and the girl would find a gown more fantastic than the previous lying beneath the tree. Each night, the girl would go to the ball and leave before midnight, welcoming her sister's home with tired greetings.
"The night of the last ball, she dropped a slipper as she hurried away; and the Prince kept it. He announced that he would marry the maiden that it fit; and he sent the slipper throughout the kingdom.
"All the maidens tried on the slipper – but it fit no one. Some were too long, some were too short; some were too wide, some were too thin; some were too tall, and some were too flat – they could not find the lady who wore the shoe."
He glanced down at Abigail, sound asleep beside him with a smile on her face. Standing up carefully, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her to her bed. As he walked, he continued the story.
"Finally, the messenger came to the house of the widow, calling out to all maidens within. The two stepsisters came running out, and the eldest tried the slipper on first – but alas! Her foot was too big. The widow handed her a knife and told her to cut off her toes, for she would not need them when she was a queen. She left with the messenger, but the bird in the tree warned the messenger of the trick – pointing out the trail of blood behind her.
"The second stepsister tried on the shoe, but her foot fit no better than her sister's. Once again, the mother handed her the knife, telling her to cut off her heel. She obeyed, and left with the messenger; but the bird in the tree again warned of the trick, and told the messenger that the true lady still waited inside."
He laid her down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her.
"Again, the messenger returned to the house, calling for any young maidens. The girl finally heard his calls, and stepped forward. The slipper fit her perfectly, and she pulled the matching slipper out of her pocket and wore it as well. And as she rode away to marry the Prince, the bird flew with her; and the tree disappeared."
He smiled, brushing Abigail's hair back from her face. "Sleep well, my dear."
c. 2015
"Lucas!"
Startled, Henry dropped the scalpel and spun around towards the horrendous crash that was behind him. He opened his mouth to scold the assistant for being so clumsy, but fell silent when he saw no one there.
"Lucas?" Cautiously, he stood up and walked around the row of slabs, unsure of what to expect. However, he did not expect to see Lucas lying, unmoving, on the ground.
He knelt beside the boy, hurriedly examining him. Relieved to find that Lucas was still alive, and only had a concussion, he let himself relax again. He focused on waking Lucas, making sure that he was alright mentally as well. Eventually, the assistant's eyes cracked open, and Lucas groaned.
"What – what happened?"
"You slipped and fell, and hit your head on the floor -"
Lucas interrupted and gave the answers to the questions Henry was about to ask. "See? I'm fine – why are you on the ground?"
Henry blinked at the younger man. "You have a concussion, nearly gave me a heart attack, and you're wondering why I'm on the ground?"
"Well, yeah – it's a good question, considering as you usually get annoyed with me, and..."
"Lucas Wahl! You may annoy me at times; but all chil – employees annoy their bosses at times."
"Oh. Alright...um." Lucas tried to sit up, but fell back with a cry, clenching his eyes tightly.
"Yes, just lie there for a few more minutes." Henry pulled off his lab coat and placed it beneath his assistant's head.
"So, um – could I ask you something? I mean, if it's too weird, just blame it on delirium or something, but..."
Henry rolled his eyes. "Lucas. What?"
"Could you talk? I mean, about anything – you don't even have to talk about things I understand, just give me something else to think about and you don't have to do this, really because I know you've got a bunch of other stuff to do and -"
"Lucas. Enough." Henry shook his head slightly, smiling. "I will tell you a story – but you mustn't fall asleep!"
Lucas saluted, wincing.
"Just lie still," Henry chided, settling down on the floor. "Have you ever heard the story of the dragon, the maiden, the tiger, and the man?"
"No..."
"Then I shall tell you. Once upon a time, there was a man. Up in the mountains, there was an oracle that would answer any three questions per person in a year. The man wanted to know who would become his bride, and if he would have wealth; so he went up the mountain. Along his journey, he met a dragon that blocked the road.
"The dragon wanted to know where he was going, and the man told him. Hearing that the man went to see the oracle, the dragon asked him to ask a question for him: how much longer must he wait to be freed from the curse that prevented him from leaving the river?
"The man promised to ask the question, and continued on his way. Soon, his path was blocked by a mighty tiger; and the man faltered, expecting the cat to attack him." He reached out to prod his assistant. "Do not sleep."
"I'm not! Honestly! Really, you're story's interesting – keep talking!"
The Doctor sat back and continued, reassured that Lucas wasn't falling asleep. "The tiger discovered where he was going, and asked him to bring a question for him as well: how much longer would he be trapped without love or family?
"The man promised to ask the question, and continued on his way. At the foot of the mountain, at the heat of the day, he stopped at an inn for some water and food. Having little business, the innkeeper sat with the man while he ate, talking. Hearing that he went up the mountain, the innkeeper also had a question: when would his daughter learn to speak?
"Finishing his meal, the man promised to ask the question; and started up the mountain. As he walked, he realised that he had left no question for himself! As he toiled away on the final part of his journey, he debated which of the three questions to leave -"
"What? No! He can't do that! He promised! But then the whole trip was made for nothing! What's the point of a story like -"
Henry sighed. "Lucas. Be silent, and listen.
"The man debated which of the three questions to leave out – but could not bring himself to break his word. He knew that he could return in another year, so resigned himself to waiting. When he reached the oracle and asked the questions she said that the dragon had only to give up one of the seven pearls growing on his horns to be free; the tiger had only to give up one of the seven bags of gold hidden in his cave in order to find love and family; and the daughter would speak again when she saw the man she would marry."
"Then everything goes right for them, but he doesn't get anything? He made the whole journey and – yes, being quiet..."
"You are trying to, at least." Henry shook his head. "Having asked his questions, the man returned down the mountain. As he passed the inn, the daughter greeted him at the gate, asking him what answer he brought her father. Hearing his daughter speak after so long, the innkeeper was so overjoyed that he gave her to the man in marriage.
"Returning to his own village, he passed the tiger and passed on the answer. The tiger was so excited by the prospect, that he immediately gave one of the seven bags to the man in gratitude. Likewise with the dragon: when he heard the answer, he immediately gave on of the seven pearls to the man, and sprang into the air in a flash of blue light.
"When the man returned to his house, laden with riches, and happily married; he realised that his questions had been answered nevertheless – and that they might never have been had he not kept his – Lucas!"
The assistant's eyes shot open. "I was sleeping! Really! I was just thinking and then I closed my eyes, and then I started imagining and..."
Henry smiled. "One of these days, I will stop telling stories to people who wish to stay awake."
c. Twenty-first Century
"Hey. Quit standing there by the door and get in here."
Henry inched into the room, wincing at Abe's quiet voice. When he came no further, Abe rolled his eyes and waved him over; snagging his hand and pulling him the last few feet.
"There. Much better."
Henry pulled a chair over the Abe's bedside, avoiding looking at any of the monitors. "You're going to be alright, Abraham."
"Oh, don't bother. I've been around you long enough – I'm getting old."
Henry shook his head, curling tighter. "No. No, you will be fine."
"Henry." Abe waited until his father finally looked up. "Henry, please stop. Don't do this. We both know the truth – don't keep pretending."
For a long moment, Henry just looked at his son; and Abe half-expected him to continue denying it and trying to convince himself that his son would be alright. Suddenly, the mask broke, and Abe winced at the heartbreak pouring from him. "Abraham..."
He reached out and grabbed his father's hand. "Dad. One last time, let's just be the way we always have. Jo will be there for you, and Lucas and Hanson will as well – you aren't alone."
"But they aren't you – they aren't my children, my family."
He gave a little laugh. "Oh, they're definitely your family. And they're going to stick around with you for a long time – don't you try to leave them."
Henry smiled, a smile full of sharp edges and broken glass filled with sorrow. "Abe..."
"No, Dad. This is... Just -" He broke off, struggling to find the words to say; struggling to find a way to spare Henry some of the pain – or at least postpone it for a little while. "Dad, will you tell me a story?"
The Doctor pulled back, surprised. Abruptly, he relaxed a little, and his face softened. "Of course, Abraham. I'll tell you a story – what would you like to hear?"
"Tell me again how you met Mom."
"Just your Mother?" He hastily swiped a hand over his eyes, forcing himself to smile.
"And me."
Very well then, as you wish." He took a deep breath and leaned forward, beginning a story that they had both memorised. "It was the end of the second World War – the war that people said could never have happened. I was a doctor, of course; and I was in Germany as they began to shut down the concentration camps. Not only did I have to deal with the shattered bodies sent back from the front lines, I also had to deal with the skeletons that they brought back from the camps.
"It was night, and I was quite tired as we were just recovering from an attack. I was finishing up, getting ready to find a place to lie down until morning; but then I heard a baby's cry. At first, I thought that I surely imagined it – a child could never have been anywhere near the place we found ourselves – but I heard it again.
"I went to find the child, to see if I could help it; and I saw her standing there, holding you. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen – it was if I had seen an angel, a princess." He frowned as Abe started chuckling. He playfully slapped his son's shoulder. "Now, stop it – I am the one telling the story; you are only listening."
"Sure, Dad – and you're not exaggerating at all..."
Henry laughed, a real one. "They say that hindsight has perfect clarity – I find that absence does the same. But all the same, when I saw her standing there holding you; it was as if I had stumbled across a miracle.
"I tried to leave her once, writing her a letter to avoid the heartache I feared – but she woke too early. She came after me, her hair still down and having wrapped a robe around her nightgown – and I couldn't tell if she was upset, sad, or disappointed. But she loved me, and insisted that it was enough."
"Was it?" Abe's voice was weaker, and his eyes were shut.
"Yes, it always was. When she looked at me, when I held you in my arms, it seemed as if time had stopped – nothing else mattered. No matter how many times I died, it didn't matter if I came back to find one of you waiting on the shoreline...
Henry's voice trailed off, and he ran a hand over his son's hair. "Oh, Abraham...You did save my life – you kept me grounded throughout Adam's attacks; showed me what it meant to live again." His voice caught, and he glanced up at the monitor with its flat line. "I am so sorry, Abraham, for all that I should have done better. I love you – and I will always miss you."
Clutching his son's hand to his heart, he let his head fall to the bed; let himself mourn what he had always known was coming.
c. Twenty-first Century
Jo stood in the kitchen, holding a tea tray and watching Henry. As soon as they had gotten back from the funeral, he had collapsed into a chair in the dining room, and hadn't moved since. To be honest, she was worried about him. She knew Abe was his only family – that Abe was his only child – but he had shown little emotion; it was as if he was refusing to allow himself to accept it.
"Henry..." She set the tray down on the table between them and handed him a cup, sighing as he drank it without question. Pulling another chair back from the table, she sat down beside him, wrapping her numb fingers around her own cup of tea.
"Henry, let me tell you a story about a man. He is the bravest, the strongest, the wisest, the oldest -"
"The creepiest?"
She smiled. "Only in the nicest way. He was the best man in all the world. He had his flaws, and he made mistakes – but that only made him better. Once upon a time, long, long ago, he was given a gift. At first, it changed nothing. His life continued as it always had, bu then he made a mistake. He showed his gift to another, and the other feared him – taught him that he was cursed; that he was a monster.
"For a long time, he believed this; and hid himself away from others. He questioned what he had done wrong to deserve it, and tried to find a way to rid himself of the 'curse'. In his roaming, he met someone – someone who told him that it was a gift, a blessing. He could use it to help others, or he could hide away and waste it."
"How can it be a gift? All it brings is loss."
"Only loss? Then what about Abigail? You would never have met her, never have all the memories you've shared with her. And who's to say you would have a son or child at all? Nora might have been barren – or died young.
"Or what about all of the people that you've helped just working as a medical examiner? What about Vicky's parents, or the Frenchman, or Jason Fox, or me, or everyone else? Without your gift, you wouldn't even be here – you would have died long ago, cast off the side of a slave ship."
"And when you leave too? When I am left to stand beside your graveside as well, what then?"
"Henry, you won't be standing there alone – there will be someone standing there with you, someone talking to you when the cars are gone. And if there isn't, then I won't die – it's as simple as that."
He didn't answer her, turning away to drink his tea. She took a sip of her own and sighed.
"Henry, you can't stay like this."
"Like what?"
She winced at the dead note in his voice, longing for the light of excitement to come back. "Like this. Like you're a walking corpse. Like you're a step from following your son to his grave."
Henry flinched, and she sighed.
"I'm sorry. But would he want you to be like this now? How long have you mourned for him? At the very least, mourn – don't wait for him to come back, because you know that he won't."
He blinked, glancing at her for a moment before pouring himself another cup of tea. "I've mourned him for a long time – I've mourned something I never deserved."
"Henry, no one deserves to be a parent – it's a gift. You just got more time with him than most-"
"A longer time? I watched him die – told him a story as he fell asleep for the last time. Jo, he was my only child – my only family. There is no one else now – I have mourned him for a long time..."
"No. You are not alone. You will never be alone. I promised him that I would not leave you – and I won't. You're not leaving me, and I'm not letting your hide away here for the rest of my life." Abruptly, she switched subjects. "Hanson and Lucas wanted to come over, did you know that?"
"No. No, I didn't..."
"They're worried about you, we all are. You haven't reacted to his death, ever since you told him the story." She sighed. "I don't know – you're locking yourself away again, and I can't lose two of my family so soon. None of us can."
He sighed, pushing his tea back and laying his head on the table. "I know, Detective..."
"No, I don't think you do yet." She answered softly, rest a hand on his shoulders as his let himself relax. "But I'll be here when you do. Until then, there is nothing else. There's no one watching you, there's no one to act for – you are a father who just lost his son; don't begrudge yourself that."
AN: My apologies for the last two part - I'm not sure they came out the way I wished them to... Especially the end. But nevertheless, thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Gramercy, and God bless you!