A/N: Here is the second and final part—just a quick out-and-back into the Forever world. Thanks for the follows, faves, and reviews! It's no fun to fic a fandom in a vacuum. :)

Also, I randomly gave Jo a brother, because I can't remember if we've learned any specifics about siblings. If you have noticed canon deets about her family, please do let me know!

BOTH SIDES NOW

CHAPTER 2

Jo had a much better view of the water from the search and rescue boat, but so far it wasn't helping. Still no sign of Henry. They had begun searching the opposite shore from the marina, half a mile upstream from where he'd hit the water, and they were working their way down. The yacht had been close to the center of the channel when he went overboard, so maybe he'd gotten disoriented and headed the wrong way. Disoriented and weak from blood loss, she thought grimly.

The boat's massive flood lights methodically swept the shoreline, while on the port side more lights searched the deeper water. Jo's mind wandered back to the last time the NYPD found Henry in the East River, and a chuckle escaped her.

Hanson turned to her. "What, do you see something?"

She shook her head. "I just got a mental picture of finding him wearing those swim goggles and red Speedos you gave him."

Hanson snorted. "See? It was a very thoughtful gift for a guy who ends up in the water so often."

"Why do you suppose that is?" Jo asked. "I mean, seriously. This river is salty, polluted, and dangerous. What's the appeal of midnight swims? Or any swims?"

Hanson shrugged. "Don't ask me. Maybe he's one of those thrill-seeking types; all repressed and British on the outside, kinky on the inside. You know the guy better than anyone, what do you think?"

Jo sighed. "When I was a kid, my brother and I used to play Spy vs. Spy with the neighbor boys, the Garcias. He and I would write messages in code to each other using a key we'd memorized, and the Garcia boys got so mad because they could never crack the code. I think there's a key to understanding Henry Morgan, and I don't have it yet." Jo smiled to herself, and Hanson couldn't be sure if it was her childhood friends or Henry who inspired it. He had an idea, though.

That's when they heard the shot.

Abe pulled up and opened the passenger door as Henry hurried to the car, gratefully picking up the bundle of towel and clothes sitting on the seat.

"Are these the specific clothes I asked for?" he asked without preamble. "I need to look like I haven't changed."

"Yes, of course they are. Henry, what's going on?" Abe demanded. "Why do you need a gun?"

"Jo and I were pursuing a lead and ended up with the suspect on a yacht in the middle of the river. There was a struggle. I was shot."

Abe blinked in surprise. "Jo actually saw you die?"

"Not exactly. I pretended the shot went through my shoulder, then I fell overboard." Henry continued to put his clothes on while seated, a skill he had perfected over the years.

"And it wasn't really through your shoulder."

"No. Nicked my aorta, I suspect. Possibly a ventricle. If I hadn't managed to get out of sight she would have seen me die and disappear about seven minutes later. As it is, she is now searching this very stretch of the river looking for me." He finished buttoning up his shirt and looked at Abe. "And I'm supposed to have a gunshot wound in my shoulder."

Abe shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. I am not shooting you."

"You don't have to! Sherman shot me in direct contact, so I can recreate the wound myself—in a less fatal place, of course. I just need a gun."

"Listen to yourself. This is crazy!"

"Abraham, please! This is the only way I can—"

"Can what?" he interrupted. "Keep your secret from Jo? You can trust her. You know know it, and I know it. Maybe it's time, Henry. Time to let someone else in."

Henry was silent for a moment before he finally answered. "You're right. I do trust her, and I believe I will tell her—in time. Just not tonight. I'm not quite ready yet." He looked up with eyes near to pleading. "You know what a difficult moment revealing the truth will be for me, Abraham. Help me choose a better moment than this one."

Abe gave him a long, searching look, then nodded. He reached into a bag in the back seat and pulled out a revolver, antique but well-maintained.

"All right. You aim and I'll fire."

Henry shook his head. "No. Jo and the search team are close. You need to be gone before they hear the shot and come running, or we'll have even more creative explaining to do."

They both got out of the car and walked to the water line. Henry took the gun and waded out until the water was waist-deep, then dunked everything but the gun under the surface to soak his clothes.

"Are you sure about this?" Abe asked.

Henry nodded. "I'll be fine, Abe; I always am." He smiled. "Now go. And thank you. I'll see you soon."

Abe raised his eyebrows and turned back to the car, calling over his shoulder, "You call this fine?"

Henry waited until the car had turned away from the river and out of sight. He positioned the gun against his shoulder in a way that would inflict the least serious damage, although it was still going to bleed like hell. He would need to throw the gun out into the river when he was done. He silently apologized to Abe for losing such a fine piece—World War I service revolver, only minor scratches in the hilt— and wondered if he might find it next time he reawakened.

For now, one death at a time. He double-checked the gun's angle, took a decisive breath in and out, and fired.

Damn it, he hated being shot.

The gun report had come from nearby, echoing across the water, making it hard to locate exactly, but Jo knew it was close. She also knew that it would lead her to Henry, because of course he was involved in whatever dangerous thing was happening within reach. They turned the boat toward their best guess at the source of the sound, back to the opposite bank.

Within ten minutes, they found him half-hidden behind a rocky outcrop. Jo climbed over the side of the boat once it came shallow enough and waded to where he was sitting on the shore, barely clear of the water, wet and shivering and cradling his arm. He had taken off his jacket and somehow tied it around his shoulder to slow the bleeding, but Jo could see a lot of blood saturating his formerly white shirt, and more still seeping down his arm. She knelt next to him and put her hands on his face, his leg, his back, his good arm, unconsciously reassuring herself he was really there.

"Henry! Thank God!"

"Ah. Jo. You're here. Good." He spoke in short, breathy bursts. "Would you please...call an ambulance? I believe I'm about to..." and with that, he slumped forward. Jo put a hand to his chest to stop him from falling, then she quickly scooted behind him and wrapped one arm around his waist and the other under his uninjured shoulder, steadying him at a half-reclined angle. She spoke into his ear, her voice a little hoarse from yelling so much already.

"Henry! Henry, wake up! Are you awake?"

"I...yes...no need to shout..."

"Henry, the ambulance is almost here. If you pass out you can't tell them exactly what the bullet hit. Unless you don't know?" she baited him.

If a man in severe shock can look affronted, he did. "Don't be...of course I do..."

"So tell me. What do the live-people doctors need to know?"

In a slurred, half-conscious voice, he began to catalog his injuries and recommended treatments. He had gotten to his favorite whip stitch options when the ambulance arrived. They stabilized him, and a young EMT with a kind face asked Jo if she wanted to ride along. She nodded gratefully and climbed in. She didn't let go of Henry's hand until the doctors in the ER wheeled him out of sight.

"Jo?" Henry murmured when he first opened his eyes late the next morning, but it was not her face he found leaning over his hospital bed.

"Hey, look who's finally awake!"

"Hello, Abraham." He scanned the room, but no one else was there. "I thought I heard—"

"Jo?" Abe guessed. "So you said. She just stepped out for some coffee. She's been here all night." His look held mild accusation. "You really worried her with that stunt. I wasn't so fond of it either."

"I know, and I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to hurt either of you."

Abe pulled his chair a little closer. "I know you think you're protecting her by not sharing your secret, and you think you're protecting yourself, but Henry, you need someone else on your side who knows the truth."

"I've got you."

"And I won't be around forever!" Abe said in a burst, then waved off Henry's interruption. "No, don't protest. I may be hale and hearty now, but I'm just a mortal schmuck like the rest of humanity—present company excepted. You need someone young you can trust. Preferably someone with a car, who doesn't mind fishing you out of the river once in a while, because I wouldn't mind sharing that job, especially when you call right in the middle of dinner with—"

"Abe, you're starting to ramble."

Abe sighed and put a hand on Henry's arm. "You want to trust Jo, you just don't know where to start. The answer is— start anywhere."

Henry smiled wryly. "Sometimes you are entirely too perceptive."

"You're a hard man to know, but in 70 years I've made some progress." Not letting the topic slide, he pinned the man who raised him with a shrewd gaze and said, "It's time, Henry."

"Time for what?" Jo stood in the doorway, holding two machine-dispensed cups of coffee.

"There she is!" Abe jumped up, ignoring the question, and took one cup off her hands. "Didn't I tell you he would wake up the minute you left the room?"

She crossed to the seat Abe had just vacated, set her coffee on the bedside table, and took Henry's hand. "Hey, how do you feel?"

He grimaced a little. "Like I've been shot."

"Yeah, well, that happens when you wrestle with people holding guns." Her hand stayed wrapped around his, but neither of them seemed aware of the gesture. Abe couldn't remember the last time Henry had gotten to "unconscious contact" stage with anyone besides him—fifty years?— and it made him smile.

"Did you get him?" Henry asked.

"Sherman? Yeah, we got him. I think he was more surprised than anyone that he shot you. It's easy to cuff suspects when they're stunned."

"Happy to be of service."

Her face suddenly turned serious. "Henry, that was incredibly stupid. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know." He had the good sense to look penitent.

She went on, picking up steam. "I am still wearing yesterday's clothes, which smell like river, I don't have a toothbrush, there's apparently a mountain of paperwork involved when the M.E. gets shot while partnering with you in the field, and you scared the hell out of me. So don't do that again, got it?"

"I promise."

"Okay." She squeezed his hand and stood up to leave when she suddenly remembered something. "Where did the second shot come from?"

He raised his eyebrows innocently. "The what?"

"The second shot. The one that led us back to you."

He feigned confusion. "I heard it as well, but I assumed that Sherman tried to escape and one of you fired."

She narrowed her eyes. "No, it didn't come from the yacht."

Henry frowned. "How strange. It must have been a lucky coincidence."

"Yes, very lucky." Jo looked skeptical, but she didn't have any evidence to contradict him, so she let it go for now. "Well, I'll leave you to rest. Promise me you'll take it easy? I told Lucas to hide your tools until Monday at the earliest, so don't bother coming in before then."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Abe offered. "He puts one toe out of line and I'll call you right away."

Henry raised his uninjured hand in surrender. "I know when I'm outnumbered. Don't worry, I will take it easy—for a few days, anyway."

"Good." She started to leave again, but he called her name and she stopped in the doorway.

"Jo, thank you for coming to find me. Not just last night—I mean that first case after the subway crash, as well. Our partnership, your friendship...they mean a lot to me."

She smiled, knowing how much it took for him to say those words. "You're welcome. But Henry?" she added, "Steer clear of the river for a while. Fishing you out is becoming a regular thing with us, and that's...kind of weird."

He smiled back. "You have no idea."

After she was gone, he finished his sentence.

"Not yet, anyway."

She was halfway down the hall when she finished his sentence.

You have no idea.

"No, I don't. But I will."

THE END

Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome. This story was kind of a warm-up to get my cogs turning, so hopefully they'll keep turning and I'll post more in the near(ish) future.