After two hundred years, it was not easy to surprise Henry Morgan. But now he was completely dumbfounded. He was almost afraid to believe what his own senses were telling him, as though acknowledgment would dispel the vision. But as the seconds passed by and the man continued to stand there, blinking at him blearily and swaying a little, Henry managed to overcome his shock long enough to murmur, hoping, almost pleading, "...Horatio?" He took a step forward. "Can it be?"

Horatio carefully negotiated his way around the desk, his head ducking naturally to avoid the ceiling beams. He came to a stop in front of Henry, looking him up and down without a trace of surprise. "I must be dead, then," he said, calmly. "I mean no offense, but I should like to see my wife." And with that, he sidestepped Henry and walked out of the cabin.

Jo was the first to react. "Hey! NYPD!" she snapped, darting after him. "I have more than a few questions for you!"

Henry stepped out onto the deck, his mind reeling. Horatio was alive. How? Did he have the same curse? But the circumstances weren't right. He was fully-clothed, for one thing, and hadn't re-appeared in the water.

Horatio had reached the forward rail of the quarterdeck and was studying the skyline with a furrowed brow. "Odd sort of afterlife," he muttered.

Jo reached him first, tapping him none too gently on the shoulder until he turned around. "Not the afterlife, just New York," she said, flashing her badge. "How exactly do you know Henry?"

"New York?" Horatio looked Jo up and down as if noticing her for the first time. "...No," he said after a moment's thought. "This can't New York. Because I am dead." He pointed towards Henry. "And he is dead. And New York…" He motioned towards the skyline. "...does not look like that. Not to mention that it is extremely unlikely that I was transported from my bed in Smallbridge across the Atlantic without being aware of it." He turned back to gazing out over the rail. "I wonder if Bush's got his leg back…?" he mumbled distractedly.

Jo gave Henry a Look. The Look said "what is happening" and "I need a drink" and "do something about this" all at once. Henry found he felt much the same way. "Horatio," he said, closing the distance between the two of them and reaching out to grasp his shoulder. The warm firmness of it finally convinced him that this was real, was actually happening. Horatio winced at his touch and pulled away; the reaction sent a stab of shock and pain through Henry's chest, but he continued. "You're alive," he said, his voice full of emotion. "And so am I. I have been. But I … I couldn't reach you." He gestured towards the skyline. "And we are in New York, just two hundred years in the future." He smiled apologetically. "I know, it's a lot to take in. I promise I'll explain everything … or as much as I can, anyway."

Horatio frowned. "The future?"

"Yes, the future!" Henry wanted so badly to scoop him up in his arms and never let him go again, but recalling the way Horatio had reacted to being touched held him back. "The year now is 2015."

Horatio regarded him with wide eyes, then turned towards the shore. His gaze followed the cars down 12th Avenue, flitted between buildings and billboards, surveyed the small boats moored on the other side of the pier and watched as one of them motored away, the water frothing in its wake. He turned back around, and for a moment there was a look of horrible realization plain on his face. Then, almost immediately, he seemed to shut down. His features arranged themselves into a careful mask of non-feeling, an expression so practiced that it happened in an instant. This accomplished, he fell silent for what felt like far too long. His eyes were looking straight ahead, but didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular. Henry could see Jo itching to break the silence, but they were both caught waiting for him to speak, wondering frantically what his reaction would be. Finally, Horatio opened his mouth, and cleared his throat. "Ha - h'm."

Jo was still watching him, waiting for him to say something, but he never did. After a few moments more, he seemed to forget about her and Henry altogether and started pacing, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. The soft thuds of his buckled shoes on the deck quickly fell into a regular rhythm; Henry noticed he was taking the exact same amount of steps each way. He sensed that there was a whirlwind of thought racing behind that impassive face, but he couldn't begin to guess what those thoughts were, or what he could do to assuage them.

Jo sidled up alongside Henry. "So, uh," she said in a low voice, "don't tell me this is the long-lost son we were talking about earlier…?"

Henry nodded. "His name's Horatio Hornblower. He became a naval officer. A very good one."

"How good?"

"Well, he started off with nothing, and by the end of his career he was an Admiral of the Fleet, a Knight of the Order of the Bath, and a Baron. This ship was his first real command."

"Oh. Wow." Jo watched the pacing figure with renewed interest. "But how did he get here? You don't think he's the same as you?"

"It's unlikely," Henry said. "At the same time, I have no idea how this could have happened." He found himself smiling. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

"Aw." Jo was smiling, too. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a little rub. "You know what, take my car and get him back to the antiques shop. You've got a lot of catching up to do."

Henry would have loved nothing more than to take her up on her offer, but… "What about the case? What about you?"

"Hanson and I can finish things here," Jo said. "And I can have him drop me off at the shop when we're done. Then I'll take my car back and get out of your hair."

"Thank you," Henry said, truly grateful.

Jo smiled. "Hey, that's what friends are for." She stole one last glance at Horatio. "...Do you think he knows anything about the murder?"

"Jo!"

"Sorry, sorry." She threw her hands up and backed away towards the gangway, tossing him her keys. "You'll have to introduce us properly some time," she said, then left the ship and started walking down the pier.

Henry watched Horatio pace for a few more moments, trying to decide how to interrupt him. He found himself taking note of how much his appearance seemed to have changed since the last time he'd seen him. Granted, that had been a very long time ago, and Henry knew memories couldn't always be trusted, but he could still vividly picture the pale, gangly youth who had left Portsmouth swimming in his brand-new uniform. Before him now was a tanned young man, radiating quiet authority even in this agitated state and looking perfectly at home exactly where he was, striding across the deck of his ship.

Henry realized suddenly that Horatio's pacing had stopped, and he was being stared at. "Who was that woman?" Horatio asked. He was standing stiffly, his hands still clasped behind his back.

"A police detective," Henry said, "and a good friend. Her name is Jo Martinez."

Horatio blinked. "A woman police detective?" His confusion passed as quickly as it had come. "Well. I suppose if this is indeed the future, much has changed."

Henry smiled. It was extremely formal, and didn't sound anything like 'glad you're alive, Dad,' but it was a start. "It has. It will likely take some time to explain everything."

"I expect it will." Horatio, despite his outer calm, still seemed slightly rattled. "Perhaps we might discuss this further in my quarters?"

Henry coughed. "Ah, actually, I had hoped you might come back with me to my house. You will need somewhere to stay."

Horatio seemed to realize on his own that of course the Hotspur was no longer his, and his features twitched as he tried to suppress his embarrassment. "Thank you most kindly for the offer," he said, "but I shouldn't wish to impose - "

"That was actually not a request," Henry said, and when Horatio looked like he was about to mount some protest, he decided tough love was necessary. "You're confused and completely out of your element, and I will not have you wandering around on your own just to get mugged or run over by a car."

Horatio frowned slightly. "What is a car?"

Henry smiled. "You're about to find out. Come on." He started heading towards the gangway, then paused and turned around when he noticed Horatio hadn't moved. "Well?"

Horatio cast one last, long glance around the ship, looking torn. Finally, he let out a quiet "ha - h'm," adjusted his hat, and followed Henry onto the pier.

Horatio tried to keep his eyes from wandering as he followed Henry down the pier. He had already made a fool of himself in front of the police-woman, and though logically he knew there could have been no avoiding it, there was nothing he hated more than to appear foolish, especially as a first impression. He was therefore attempting to maintain as much of his dignity as possible, and for the moment that meant acting as though he was not curious about this new world in the least. This was, however, proving extremely difficult, and was in fact testing all of his carefully-cultivated powers of self-composure. What perplexed him most was how the small boat he'd seen pull away from the pier had done so with such incredible speed, against the wind and without any sail or oars. Perhaps if it was some kind of steamer… but he hadn't seen any steam. He resolved to ask Henry about it as soon as they were out of the public eye, though even then he would be sure not to sound too interested.

The two of them reached the end of the pier, which was blocked off by taut yellow banners with the word "police" printed across their length. Henry grabbed one and stretched it above his head, ducking through. Horatio felt the material between his fingers as he followed; it was strangely smooth and inorganic, yet behaved almost like fabric.

"Here we are," said Henry, reaching into his pocket and approaching what looked like a strange sort of vehicle. It resembled the things Horatio could still see speeding along the riverbank, on a flat, dark-grey path that must have been a road. "This is a car," Henry said, turning what proved to be a key in a small lock on the vehicle's door and pulling it open. "It's rather like a carriage without the need for horses. This one belongs to Jo, actually." He walked around to the other side of the "car" and pulled open a second door, holding it open. Horatio hesitated in spite of himself, and Henry smiled reassuringly. "In you get," he said. "You may want to doff your hat, the ceiling is a bit low."

Horatio complied, flopping awkwardly into the seat and holding his hat in his lap. Henry swung the door closed and walked around the front to slide into his own seat, positioning himself behind a small wheel. Horatio found it briefly humorous that this 'car' might be steered like a ship.

"Oh, here," Henry said suddenly, and reached across Horatio's body to a spot beyond his right shoulder. Horatio reflexively pressed himself back against the seat, watching as Henry withdrew and pulled a grey belt across his chest, attaching it to the base of the seat so that it rested across his hips and over his shoulder. "Always fasten your seatbelt," Henry said, doing the same for himself. "It's an important safety feature."

Horatio tensed. There was only one reason he could think of for needing to be strapped down in such a way. "Do these … cars … make sudden, jarring movements?"

"Only if there's an accident," Henry said, smiling reassuringly again. "Don't worry, I happen to be an extremely cautious driver."

There was nothing Horatio could do but watch as Henry inserted the car key into the side of the wheel and gave it a hard turn, filling the car with a low rumbling sound. "That's the engine," Henry explained, pressing lightly on a pedal near the floor with his foot. As he did so, the car began to move, slowly pulling away from the pier. "It actually uses internal combustion to move a series of pistons up and down, which generates power."

"Combustion?" Horatio felt his eyes widen. "You mean it explodes?!"

"Well, yes, in a sense. But it's perfectly safe." Henry flipped a switch and began slowly turning the wheel to starboard. "People have had over a hundred years to perfect this technology. They say these things could even be driving themselves soon, though I personally find that to be a bit much..."

Horatio stared through the curved glass pane at the front of the car. They had reached the road that ran along the riverbank; other cars flew by in front of them, a mere couple of feet away. Henry was looking up through the glass at a yellow box that hung above the road. It seemed to have some sort of light source inside, shining out from behind a bit of red glass. It, like the rest of the city lights Horatio had seen thus far, seemed uncommonly bright. As he studied it, he noticed that the cars traveling down the main road seemed to be slowing and eventually rolling to a stop.

The red light in the box went out suddenly, and a green light appeared. An instant later, Henry pressed his foot down on the floor pedal, and the car peeled away from the pier and turned onto the road. Horatio was amazed when he grasped that the lights were a form of signalling, to control traffic. When the amazement faded a few seconds later, he realized that the car was now moving very, very fast.

All around him, the world flew by in a blur. People walking along the side of the road appeared for an instant and then were gone. The noise from the engine increased as the car built up speed, all but flying down the road. Horatio had never experienced anything remotely like this in his entire life, and it was absolutely terrifying. He turned his head slightly to look out the window next to his seat, and immediately wished he hadn't. Now the all-too-familiar complaints of his weak stomach were beginning to make themselves known, as they did whenever he started out on a voyage or rode in a small boat on rough waves. He tried shutting his eyes, but he could still sense the car's movement.

A groan burst out of him, and he saw Henry take his eyes off the road to look at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine!" Horatio snapped. He did not want the man distracted at this rate of speed. But he could feel a pain in his head, and the bile was rising in his throat. He gripped the arms of the seat and willed himself to calm down. Never mind that he was beginning to feel hot, his head was pounding, his stomach twisted with agony. He absolutely could not afford to be sick. This wasn't even Henry's car. Imagine what the police-woman would think of him if he ruined the upholstery.

Henry glanced over at him again. "Are you sure? You look pale. We can stop for a bit, if you like."

"No," Horatio said firmly. It would be the ultimate weakness to have to stop for a break after less than a minute of travel. Bush had comported himself better while bumping over ruined French roads and bleeding from the stump of his lost foot. The reminder of his old friend's iron constitution made Horatio feel deeply ashamed by the betrayal of his insides. He mentally cursed his own stomach, then cursed all stomachs everywhere for good measure. If nothing else, at least this car ride was smooth going.

Suddenly, there was a terrible jarring bump, Henry said "Damned potholes," and Horatio flew forward and vomited into his hat.

The twenty minutes that followed were quite possibly the most miserable of Horatio's mostly miserable life. Luckily, the car spent much of its time crawling through traffic, and Henry drove noticeably slower when it was not.

They finally came to a stop at a corner storefront, and Horatio stumbled out of the wretched vehicle, feeling weak at the knees and still carefully holding his hat upside-down. He briefly surveyed the shop; through its windows, he could see an assortment of furniture and other odds and ends. A sign above the door read "Abe's Antiques," and featured a drawing of an English merchant ship.

Henry appeared at his shoulder, replacing the car keys in his pocket. "There are rooms above the shop," he said, pulling out a different set of keys and unlocking the glass doors. "We have a guest room, but it's a bit cluttered, I'm afraid."

Horatio entered the shop and turned in a slow circle. There was some noise that sounded like it could be music, but he didn't see any musicians. It was probably just as well, because he might have deliberately injured them. The "music" involved squealing trumpets, strange rhythms, and a lot of terrible metallic crashing, and above it all, a sharp crackling noise. Horatio felt he would go mad if he had to listen to it for long, but it never seemed to end.

Henry re-locked the doors and walked towards him. There was something fidgety about his manner; he appeared to be readying himself for something. A moment later, he reached out an arm and, gently, wrapped it around Horatio's shoulders. Horatio stiffened, surprised, uncomfortable, still suffering under the auditory barrage, and really hoping that Henry's gesture wouldn't knock his hat out of his hands because that would be just -

"I love you," Henry said. His voice sounded slightly wobbly, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny. "I've missed you. I never forgave myself for losing you."

Horatio extricated himself from the half-embrace. He had been trying to avoid a personal conversation with Henry, because he could feel the old bitterness welling up within him. He had led a hard life because of him; the lonely life of a poor, friendless orphan. He had married a woman he did not love because she had been kind to him while he was destitute, and he had been afraid to approach the great love of his life because she would find him shabby and common. And the moment all his hardship was over, when he'd finally dragged himself up to the top, he was told that his father Henry Hornblower had actually been Henry Morgan, the scion of one of the wealthiest merchant families in England, and all his life Horatio could have had mountains of money at his fingertips if he'd only known to ask. That discovery had, in its way, been the worst blow of all. But he couldn't possibly give voice to any of this; he was well aware of the ferocity of his own temper when fully unleashed, and he didn't think it wise to mortally wound his emotionally-vulnerable host, lest he be turned out on his ear with no money and no idea how this mad world worked. So he kept his expression blank, and simply said, "You've been alive all this time … Why did you not return?"

Henry gave a sad smile and motioned him towards a nearby settee. "It's a long story…"