AN: Hello again! This took me a but longer to get up than I'd anticipated, but here it is! Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one! Your support is very much appreciated!

Also, I might possibly hate the way this turned out. Just FYI.

A Crack in the Silence

Chapter Two

He had to tell her.

It had become glaringly apparent that it was time.

In no way did it make him want to do so.

But.

What if it happened again? Considering the turns his life had taken since Jo entered it, it was entirely possible they would find themselves in another situation where she was compelled to take a bullet for him.

The next time, she might not be so lucky.

And he would never be able to live with himself if he could have prevented her from taking such a pointless risk, regardless of what her reaction would be.

He had to admit that he was touched, very touched, by her willingness to save him. He was a veteran of several wars - it had happened before in combat situations, much to his dismay. But none of those situations involved a woman he cared about. Abigail would have, he was quite sure, but she had known early on that there was no need.

Jo had not known. Jo still didn't know.

He'd sent her flowers in the hospital, visited her every day and brought real food. He'd seen what passed for a meal there, and it was a wonder anyone survived their stay.

Relatively speaking, her wound was minor, or as minor as gun shots could ever be. She'd been hit with a small caliber pistol, entering just below the top of her shoulder. In just a few days, she had been discharged and sent home. She was sore, but well aware it could have been grievously worse.

All of these facts didn't stop him from waking up in a cold sweat, remembering how her blood had looked on his hands, the terror he'd felt when he'd realized what she'd done.

Yes. He needed to tell her.

And so, hesitantly and very tentatively, he began to create a plan, an outline. She would need proof. Even if she said she didn't need it, if she believed him, he was going to insist on it. Nora was still on his mind, even if it had been two hundred years ago. He didn't want there to be any ambiguity where Jo was concerned.

Abe was quite supportive of his decision.

"She'll believe you," he said, taking inventory of a small collection of silver he'd just acquired. "It's going to be fine."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm so glad you're sure of that."

"Look," Abe said, "this is Jo we're talking about. She trusts you."

Indeed, she did. He knew that. He was just afraid of shattering that trust by telling her something that was quite ludicrous, at least to the average rational person.

"I intend to prove it," he told his son.

Slowly, Abe nodded. "Well, I'll make sure to be around then. Someone has to come pick up your naked ass before you get arrested."

"Thank you," he said, with half a smile. Then, with fingers that shook just a little, he picked up the phone and invited Jo for dinner that night.

He then spent the next six hours changing his mind approximately forty-seven times.

By the time she arrived, he was a bit of a mess.

She noticed, of course, but still smiled at him from across the table as Abe served them chicken cordon blu. He was sure it was delicious, but it all tasted like sawdust to him, and he nervously drank his wine.

As soon as she was done, he pushed back his chair and stood. "We need to talk," he said.

Her eyes widened, but she carefully put her glass on the table. "Okay," she almost whispered.

Clearly confused, she followed him to the living room, sitting on the couch. He dropped into the chair across from her, Abe taking his place at the opposite end of the sofa.

"I'm just here for moral support," he remarked when Jo looked at him. "For both of you."

He managed a tight smile when Jo turned her gaze on him.

"What's going on, Henry?" she asked, and he could hear the worry start to creep into her voice.

He took several deep breaths in a row. "Do you trust me?" he finally asked, very softly.

"Yes," she said, without hesitation. "With my life, obviously. I think I've proved that."

She had.

"Please remember that. What I'm going to tell you is going to sound insane, I know, but I'm prepared to offer you any sort of proof you require. In fact, I'm going to insist on proving it."

She stared. "O...kay," she whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair, a very uncharacteristic gesture. Nervously, he wet his lips. "There was no reason for you to take that bullet for me," he told her.

She visibly relaxed. "Is that what all this is about?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Henry, look, I'm a cop, you're not. It's my job to protect you. Besides, I'm fine, or I will be."

"Something you had no way of knowing when you stepped in front of me," he pointed out.

"That's true," she acquiesced, "but that wouldn't have mattered. I would have done it anyway."

"I know," he said, tone a little harsher than he'd intended. "That's my point. You didn't need to."

"Henry," she said, eyes wide. "You could have died." She sounded like she was explaining something to a stubborn toddler.

"Possibly," he admitted, then sucked in a bracing breath. Here we go... "But the thing is, I wouldn't have stayed dead for very long."

She blinked. "What?"

Nervously, he glanced at Abe, who looked steadily back.

"I wouldn't have stayed dead," he repeated. "I never do."

"Henry, what the hell are you talking about?" Jo demanded, now starting to look properly alarmed.

"Please remember that I am going to prove this to you," he said. "Jo..." he hesitated. "I can't die. I always come back, always."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"I'm cursed," he said quietly. "I don't know how it happened. I don't know how to end it. I've tried, believe me, but nothing has any effect."

Abruptly, he stood. "Come with me," he said. He didn't offer his hand, afraid that she might reject him. "I'll show you. We can have the rest of this conversation after."

Heart racing, he led the way to his laboratory. He thought it was a mark of Jo's trust that she followed him, Abe right behind, clearly knowing what he intended.

He'd thought about this, about what way would be quick. But he wanted to avoid violence, not wanting her to live with the image of him blowing his brains out. In the end, he'd decided on a fast-acting poison.

With a bit of a flourish, he uncorked the bottle, then tipped the contents into his mouth. It was bitter, harsh, but he made himself swallow.

"Henry," Jo said quietly. "What are you doing?" She looked frightened.

"It's all right," he whispered. Already, he felt sluggish.

"Henry," she repeated. "What was in that bottle?"

He managed a smile. It was difficult. "Poison," he said, voice starting to rasp.

"Oh, my God, oh, my God," she hissed, reaching for her phone. "I'm calling 911!"

Abe stepped forward and plucked the phone from her grasp. "It's okay," he said. "He'll be fine in about twenty minutes."

Suddenly, his legs wouldn't support him, and he stumbled awkwardly to the ground. Jo sprinted to his side, pulled him into her arms. Through darkening eyes, he saw tears on her face.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she screamed at him. "What's the matter with you?!"

It took every last ounce of strength he possessed, but he reached up and touched her cheek. "Don't cry," he murmured. "You'll see."

Clinically, he knew his breathing was far too shallow, far too labored.

"Henry," he heard Jo's anguished voice from far off. "Don't you dare leave me! Please!" Her words broke.

"I'm not...leaving you," he managed. His eyes closed.

And then it was over.

The water was cold, very cold, and he thought he might freeze to death (again) by the time he reached the shore. Fortunately, there were very few lights to reveal him, and he covertly slunk into some nearby bushes, trying to get his bearings.

He had planned this earlier. Using data from his most recent returns, he'd come to the conclusion that he was coming back within five or six blocks of the same spot each time. Hoping the pattern would hold one more time, he'd hidden a bag in a spot he thought would be safe from robbery, at least for a few hours.

He just had to figure out where he was in relation to it.

Which was damned difficult when one had to creep around whilst naked and frozen.

Eventually, he managed it, sending a silent thank you to the universe for this one thing working out.

There was a pay phone three blocks from where he'd stashed his clothes, and he dialed the number with numb fingers. Abe answered on the first ring.

"I'll be by that little coffee shop next to the used bookstore on Elm," he said without preamble. "How's Jo?"

"Uh," Abe said flatly. "I think the clinical term is 'freaking out'. I guess she doesn't have a lot of experience with dead bodies disappearing in front of her."

His lips twitched involuntarily. "Could you put her on for a moment?"

There was silence, and then he heard shaky breathing. "Jo?" he said softly.

Her voice was choked, stunned. "Henry?"

"I told you it would be all right," he murmured, tone affectionate. "I'll explain everything," he promised. "See you very soon."

She wasn't in the car when Abe arrived, and he felt a thrill of panic.

"I left her on the couch with a stiff drink," Abe explained. "She looked like she needed one."

"She probably needs the whole bottle," he remarked, adjusting the heating vents so they pointed directly at him.

Even though this was undoubtedly stranger for her, he still was nervous when they arrived, and he made for the back stairs. "Give me five minutes," he told Abe quietly. "I smell like the river."

The hot water burned his half-frozen limbs, but he ignored it, showering quickly.

Jo was sitting motionlessly in the living room when he emerged from the bathroom, and he approached her cautiously. Her empty glass was resting on the coffee table before her.

"Hello," he said gently, and she looked up with an expression that was part fear, part hope, and part disbelief.

Carefully, carefully, he sat beside her, holding her eyes, willing her to still trust him they way she had just an hour ago.

Abe had disappeared, and he was grateful for the privacy.

Slowly, Jo reached one trembling hand out and poked him in the chest. As she made contact, she let out a deep breath, eyes welling up.

He didn't stop to think before pulling her into his arms.

She hesitated for a beat, and he felt his heart sink, but then she let out a sigh that sounded like a sob and turned her face into his neck.

He took a ridiculous second to be very grateful indeed that he'd showered before running one hand through her hair.

"I thought," she whispered, "I thought you were..."

"I know," he breathed back.

"And then you disappeared, and I didn't..."

"I know," he said again.

"How is this even possible?" she demanded, words muffled by his shoulder.

He shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know."

Eventually, she sat back, and he turned towards her, resting one arm along the back of the sofa. He wasn't quite touching her, but this made him feel a little like she was still within the circle of his arm.

Her eyes were red, and he could see her struggling for composure. But she hadn't run...not yet, anyway.

She swiped at her face.

"Tell me everything," she said, voice suddenly steady.

So he did.

"It's a long story..."

XxXxXxXxXxX

Hours later, when his throat was scratchy and his voice hoarse, he finally finished.

He reached for his often-refilled drink, hoping the cognac would provide him a little relief. God knew he had certainly needed the courage it had proved earlier.

Jo looked exhausted, disheveled. She had listened to his story with confusion, and then sympathy, and finally outrage as he explained about Adam.

But.

She was still there. Still close enough for him to touch.

Of course, there was always the possibility she was just too overloaded to process everything at the moment. Perhaps she would run later.

"I bet you're never going to accept a dinner invitation from me again," he felt compelled to say, even as he informed himself that it was definitely not a time for humor.

To his great surprise, she chuckled, sound weary to her very bones. "I'm certainly going to think twice," she said, "but if Abe's the one cooking, I could probably be convinced." Then she sighed. "I knew from that first case that there was something you weren't telling me," she said, closing her eyes. "I didn't think it would be anything like this, obviously, but I knew there was something."

"Very astute of you," he commended her, taking her glass out of her increasingly limp fingers. "You're taking this very well," he added.

"Thanks?"

It was his turn to laugh. "Thank you," he said. "For believing."

She opened sleepy eyes, giving him a baleful look. "Sort of hard not to, what with you dying in my arms and all of that."

"Much better than you dying in mine," he told her. "Which brings me back to my original point of having this conversation with you. Don't you dare ever put yourself in the line of fire for my sake again."

Her brows furrowed. "That's the reason you told me?"

"To keep you safe? Absolutely."

She looked...touched, he finally decided. He wanted to ask what she was thinking, but didn't want to push, not tonight.

"Thank you for trusting me," she whispered. Her lashes fluttered shut again, and she leaned back against the cushions.

He reached for her hand, brought her knuckles to his mouth, reverently kissing them.

It was the most intimate, most affectionate gesture he'd made to a woman since Abigail. And it felt right.

Reluctantly, he stood. A quick glance at the clock in the corner told him it was nearly two in the morning. He snagged the throw blanket from the back of the couch and spread it across Jo's half-asleep form. She didn't need to go anyplace else, not tonight.

She was silent, but smiled a little when he brushed a thumb across her cheek.

Fifteen minutes later, he was staring at the ceiling in his room, arms folded behind his head.

He felt...good. He had been hiding the truth for a very long time. There was now one more person who knew him, one more person that he could be honest with.

And, speaking of honesty...

He rather thought he had fallen in love with Jo tonight, at least a little.

It would have been impossible not to.

She had been extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary.

And, as stupid as it was for him to feel this way, he had learned a long time ago that there was no way to prevent his heart from, well, wanting what it wanted.

There was a soft knock on his door, so soft he hardly heard it. Before he could stand, it opened, and Jo, looking a bit determined, walked in.

She strode purposely to the bed, then lifted up the corner of the comforter. "Scoot over," she said.

He didn't even consider disobeying.

She slipped in beside him, tucking herself in before rolling to her side, not facing him. "It's been a weird day," she declared, sounding like she was daring him to contradict her. "Just humor me."

He gave a low chuckle. She was correct - it had been a very weird day. And, oh, what the hell?

He slid closer, wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. She rested her hands on top of his.

He focused on listening to her breathing, growing deeper and steadier as she drifted off. It was peaceful, laying here like this. He could smell her shampoo, feel her warmth. In the morning, he hoped she would tell him what she was thinking.

But for now, tonight, this was enough.