She has no idea what's going on.
Jo is a detective and she's good at her job. But even she can't come up with an answer to this mystery with so few clues to go on. The evidence she does have doesn't add up at all. She stares at the bones on the table in front of her and wonders who this woman really was. How did Henry know her? He obviously has his own personal connection to her, one that has much more to it than her just being some distant mother of his supposed roommate and friend. But most of all, Jo wonders: how had this woman made such a deep impact on Henry? This woman died in the eighties when Henry would have only been a child but even now, thirty years later, he feels her loss so deeply that he's on the brink of tears. She doesn't know how to make sense of everything she's seeing and has seen for days now.
But none of those questions matter now. Her confusion doesn't matter and at this moment she doesn't care if she ever gets her answers. Maybe they will come later but right now she couldn't do Henry the dishonor of pursuing them. She won't ask him to explain. He can't explain. She knows. Many people don't understand that but she does. Even if he wanted to explain, right now he couldn't put to words what it is that he has just lost. There are a lot of things that Jo doesn't understand in this moment but she understands that completely.
Lucas has just delivered the sobering cause of death and they're all in silence trying to digest it. Henry has just gotten the worst news of his life. She remembers what it was like to get that news. She remembers everything she felt and she sees it all on Henry's face. The disbelief, the pain, the anguish of the truth; it's all there. She knows that pain all too well and she knows how much changes in that moment. This is the moment his loss becomes real and she knows how he can never be the same again. This knowledge will change him forever.
This moment is terrible but at least he's among friends. It doesn't make it better but it surely helps. She had to hear about Sean from a complete stranger. Someone from a hospital in D.C. had called her and delivered the news with cold professional detachment. It had been so impersonal when they'd told her that her husband was dead. They'd explained the cause of death to her like it was common, like it was ordinary. She's glad Henry doesn't have to go through that right now. She's glad he's with people who care about him and who want to help him through this.
But, blinded by the sorrow as he is, he doesn't seem to realize this. In the next moment, he starts to stumble his way out of morgue. As she watches him leave she knows she just can't let him go. She kept her mouth shut and herself distant throughout this case but she just can't do that any longer. She knows what it feels like to be in this pain and feel you have no one to turn to. She just won't let Henry believe that. She reaches out a hand to take his, halting him and keeping him from fleeing from the room.
He turns around quickly to look at her, his face covered in panic, obviously desperate to get away. She can practically feel the agony he's in as he stares at her. "Please," he whispers, his voice strangled.
She can see so much of herself in him and it brings tears to her eyes. He's anxious to get away but she knows why. He's in tears already and he's only moments away from losing himself completely. He wants to leave before that happens; he thinks he has to do it alone. She knows that's what he's going to do because that's what she did.
She knows that feeling all too well. She also knows how much worse it makes the grief. There's no way she can allow her partner, her now best friend, to go through that. She stops pulling on his hand but she doesn't let it go. She won't make him stay but she won't let him leave by himself either. He stares into her eyes and he understands. He glances around quickly in embarrassment and she's relieved to see that Lucas was kind enough to turn away and pretend to be very busy with his work. Henry focuses back on her and she nods her head ever so slightly before he relents.
Henry was not an assertive person on a good day and he was far from being at his best at the moment so he easily follows her lead. He's close by her side as they walk out of the morgue and if she wasn't mistaken his hand even tightened around hers, holding on in reciprocation. Neither one of them say anything as she leads them down one of the far hallways. It gets progressively quieter and quieter until they reach an old file room where she's sure they won't be disturbed. It's a bit crowded, filled with boxes of old paper files that have been collecting dust for decades, but they're sure to have privacy here.
Henry let's go of her hand and walks into the room, his back towards her even when he stops. She doubts they'll be interrupted here, out of the way like this, but she turns to lock the door just for good measure. Henry hears the click of it and turns around to face her, his expression startled.
"Jo, I-" he says beginning to stutter some kind of explanation. He even holds his hands up to his sides like he does when he's about to go off on some grand, but likely made up, tangent. But it's weak and she stops him.
She shakes her head. "No," she says simply. She stays where she is even though there is a now a long and uncomfortable distance between them. She doesn't want to scare him by closing in; he already looks terrified.
He's been reckless on this case and he knows it. He's been sloppy and impulsive and he hasn't even tried to cover it up like he usually would. He's been completely emotionally and personally invested in this case and everyone knows it. He knows she has been watching him with a careful eye throughout this whole investigation and he thinks that this is when she will finally demands answers. They both know she deserves them; she's his partner and he's obviously been lying to her. He's demanded enough of her without giving her much of an explanation in return and it would only be fair that she get to ask her questions.
He tries to come up with an excuse but it was too pitiful to watch him try. "I can explain," he says but it's so desperate his voice cracks. He can't explain and she knows it. She's not going to make him try. She could never be so cruel.
"No," she insists again. "No words. No explanations."
Henry looks at her confused. "I don't understand."
"You don't need to explain anything to me," she says, slowly walking closer to him. He seems to take some comfort in what she's saying but he still seems nervous as she comes to stand right in front of him.
"But I haven't told you anything…you have no idea what's going on," he says shaking his head in bewilderment.
"I don't need to understand. I just need to be here."
"How…how can you?" he asks in disbelief, shocked by her words, by the mercy she's showing.
She has to swallow before she can speak, her own eyes tingling with emotion. "You would have done it for me, right?" she says, her own voice cracking now.
She's thought from time to time about what it would have been like if she'd known Henry when Sean died. She has thought about how different it would have been to actually have had a friend during that terrible time. Henry would have made it all different. She knows without a doubt he would have been there through all the ups and the downs and the ugly. She also knows she'll do the same for him.
She watches as his face crumbles and she sees his body start to tremble slightly. He's breaking and his eyes are already red, tears at the corners of them to prove it. She reaches out a hand to his cheek and he lets out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes at her touch.
"You don't have to do this…I'm alright," he says one last unconvincing time.
She shakes her head. "No," she says simply calling him out on it. She always lets it slide but she won't accept it this time. "You're not. You're not O.K. And this is terrible," she says placing her other hand on his face and holding it in her hands. He can feel that she sees him, that she understands, and that scares him. He closes his eyes even tighter but he can't escape her gaze just by shutting his own eyes.
She wishes that someone would have had the courage to say something like that to her when Sean died. She remembers how lonely it was during that time. She'd been surrounded by people but she had been all alone. She'd not had family or friends she was close enough to that she felt she could open up to them. She remembers standing for hours while a line of what seemed like hundreds of people had come to 'pay their respects.' She'd felt at the time she just wished they'd all held their breath. She had only wanted to go home and curl up in bed, to deal with her grief in her own way. Instead, she'd been there, expending all her energy to put on a front for them.
People were afraid of grief. She wasn't sure why that was but she knew for a fact that most of them were. She couldn't even recall how many times someone had told her 'you'll be alright.' She hated that and wanted to scream at every person who had said it. Of course, she wasn't going to be alright; her husband was dead. Everyone always asked 'how are you doing?' but they never wanted the truth. She found herself telling them what they wanted to hear because no one wanted to hear the truth. No one wanted to hear that she wasn't doing alright at all. No one wanted to hear that she felt like dying herself without him there. Everyone wanted to feel that they had comforted her through her grief without actually having to witness it for themselves. Cowards.
A couple of tears ran down her own face now. She hadn't realized how much of that was still so close to the surface but it was good. If she could use it to help Henry she didn't mind. She wouldn't tell him 'it's alright'. She wouldn't expect him to be strong. She wouldn't shy away from his pain or explain it all away. She wouldn't hide from his grief. She would bring out and make it face the light.
"I know you're hurting," she says. "You feel like you want die. It feels like nothing will ever be good again and that this pain will never end. And that is alright," she says, her heart fluttering in an unexpected way as she gives Henry the permission that no one gave her.
He finally opens his eyes to look at her. They're swollen and full of emotion. He looks at her and she knows that he sees that she does understand. "You can feel all of those things," she continues, looking straight into his eyes. "You don't need to be strong and put together. And most importantly…you don't need to be alone."
He looks down but she can see he wants to give in. He's afraid to but he knows it's going to happen regardless of anything else. He only has to choose to let her be there with him. He looks back up at her and doesn't say anything but his eyes are pleading. She knows that, for whatever reason, reaching out is a new concept to him. He needs help to do it.
She reaches out for him and pulls him to her, one arm around his back, her other hand rested against the back of his neck pulling his face to her shoulder. He doesn't resist her completely. He lets her hold him and wraps his own arms around her but she can tell he's just barely holding on to her and he's still holding back the flood.
"Come on now; I won't break," she whispers.
"I might," he says. He says it so quietly that she almost doesn't hear it and maybe wasn't supposed to hear it.
"I know," she says softly back to him her arms tightening around him and her hand gently stroking the back of his head. "That's alright."
He finally starts to cry. It's slow at first but once it starts it quickly gains speed. Soon, he's sobbing. They're hard, loud, ugly cries, the kind that are so mournful that they are usually only allowed to be heard by the person creating them. But he lets her hear it, see it, feel it too. He even holds on to her tightly now, as if for dear life rather than try to push her away. He clutches her body so close against his own it almost hurts and as the sobs wrack his body they both shake with it. Occasionally, some word of sorrow leaves his mouth but it's so distorted she can't make any of them out. His grief is coming out unreserved and the cries ring in her ears and pierce her heart. They leave him gasping for breath and they leave her in tears of her own.
Everything seems to pour out of him in anguish and she joins in with him. She lets herself cry with him because even though she has no idea what is going on here she knows exactly how it feels. Her own quiet cries are covered up by his loud ones but she's in it with him and she wraps her arms tight around him hoping she can hold him together. Even though it hurts to participate there's something good about being with him in his grief. She's there for him in a way that not many would be able to and that makes her own painful experience mean something. It was terrible and she still wishes she could remove it from her past but because of it she can help him. That gives her loss some purpose that it never had before.
He cries until he's almost choking and it's only then that she intervenes, whispering to him to take a deep breath. He willing complies, grateful to have the reminder. The first few are very shaky but as she rubs his back soothingly she feels him start to relax into her. The worst of it has passed for now and he's calming down. He takes several more deep breaths and then she feels the wet press of his face against her shoulder as he rests his face there. She continues to rub his back and the back of his neck as he breathes deeply for several minutes to compose himself.
"I don't deserve you," he says finally, breaking the silence in the room.
It's not what she expected him to say and it makes her smile. If it had been any other time and he said that to her she would have joked with him about how true that was. It's different now though. He doesn't say things honestly like this often and she knows how much what she just did must mean to him. She doesn't even know what to say to him. She wants to say something in reply but she's still so close to edge of coming undone herself she doesn't chance it. She finally decides to just hold him a little tighter as her answer.
Maybe Henry doesn't deserve her. But she knows she doesn't deserve him. He has a lot of secrets and they drive her crazy sometimes. But he is such a good man. He has a big heart and when he loves someone he obviously loves them completely. She's glad that friendship isn't based on merit because she's sure she could never earn him.
She doesn't let go. This is about what he needs, so she lets him be the one to let go first. When he pulls back to face her he's a pitiful sight, his face a complete mess.
"Sorry about that," he says when he notices his face left a spot on her shirt.
"Don't worry about," she says waving a carefree hand. "I'm a cop; believe me I've had much worse things on me."
He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and attempts to clean his face. She can tell that he's exhausted and completely spent. He doesn't need to be at work; she knew that before this happened but now she thinks she can make him accept what he needs.
She reaches out a hand to arm. "Let me take you home."
He takes a deep breath and then nods his head. "O.K." he agrees without a fight. "I, uh, need to go back and get that report," he adds uncomfortably.
"I'll get it," she offers quickly, "and I'll meet you out at the car. O.K?"
He nods, seeming to understand that she's trying to spare him the embarrassment of having to walk back into his office with a very red and obviously recently tear stained face. "Thank you."
He says it so gratefully and heartfelt that it breaks her heart further. He looks at her with a look of unconcealed deep affection. She is always sure he feels it for her but she so rarely sees it. Her eyes are suddenly damp again; only Henry could make her feel so much with just two simple words. She forces a small smile and squeezes his arm. He turns and walks out of the room and towards the exit.
Oh, Henry…what are you hiding? she thinks as she pauses a moment to watch him walk away. She is hit with a pang of sadness only it is a different kind than the one she'd just been feeling. She likes taking care of Henry. She likes protecting him. Perhaps that was the real reason that, despite the fact she is a detective, she hasn't poked too hard at the mystery that surrounds him. But she fears that very soon she wouldn't be able to protect him from his secrets anymore, whatever they may be. It will soon be coming to light and she was sure it was going to cause him further pain.
Something has been building up ever since they met. He is hiding something big and his sloppiness on this case tells her that the truth is all going to come out soon. She isn't sure she wants it to. Thinking about it makes her sad and, truth be told, a little bit afraid. Whatever it is, it's big and she worries it will change everything. Surely, their relationship will weather it, but she has doubts. She doesn't know where this crazy desire to protect him has come from but she's always had it and she's not ready to give it up.
She forces herself to shake off the sudden heaviness looming over her and focus on today. And today his secret remains his own. For now he's safe with her. Today something terrible she went through made something terrible he's going through a little bit more manageable. Today he let her see a part of himself that he wouldn't before and that was good. This experience also told her that, even with her brief fears about his secrets and the future, if he would allow her close enough to see him she would continue to stand by his side, whatever may come. And she would consider it a privilege to be there.