Notes: I do not own "Forever" or any of its characters.
Chapter TextAbe parks and exits his car outside of the antique shop. 'Home, sweet home.' He yawns and stretches as he walks up to the shop's door and lets himself in. "Henry!" Complete silence. "Hey, Henry, you here? I'm home!" The blinking red light on the outdated answering machine catches his eye and he manuevers around the shop's antiquities towards it. 'Guess you're not.' he wryly replies to himself. He pushes the "Playback" button and listens to only the beginning of a message he'd left for his father more than ten hours earlier. He grunts and pushes the button again to end playback and then the button to erase the message. Moot point now to alert him that he's on his way home.
It's times like these that he wishes his father owned a cell phone. He hopes that he's somewhere in the company of a certain hot female detective. 'Hmmm, most likely still working. Drives me batty sometimes to watch him work so hard at working and not enough at living.' He climbs the stairs to the second-floor living quarters and heads for his bedroom. "Well," he groans out to the quiet darkness, "these old bones are gonna hit. the. hay."
It frustrates him that the New Jersey State-sponsored auction in Secaucus yielded very little of value to him. Safe deposit boxes and other folks' cheap, ugly jewelry no longer garnered his interest. Neither did office furniture and computers from bankrupt businesses. His once eclectic tastes have leaned more toward the Georgian, Regency, Victorian and Edwardian era antiques as he's grown older. He wonders just how much of that is attributable to the influence of a father who sprung from and lived in those eras. Despite time spent with the Frenchman, he thinks, 'Wherever you are, Dad, hope you're having more fun than I did. Goodnight.'
Back at the precinct...
...It's been decades since he's had to endure such emotional upheaval regarding disclosure of his condition...He looks helplessly up at Reece and realizes that she knows that he has even more to divulge. More lies to Jo feels increasingly reprehensible to him.
He gathers as much dignity as possible and states, "It might be best to continue any further discussion in a more private setting."
Reece gets his drift. "My office."
"No." Henry locks eyes with Reece. My home."
Because of the late hour and the long day's emotional revelations regarding the Valerie Nelson case, Reece suggests, and they all agree, to continue the discussion in her office tomorrow at 9:00 AM sharp. She and Henry exchange knowing looks as she heads out of the tech lab with home in mind. The silent exchange doesn't go unnoticed by Hanson but he takes his cue from his boss and heads out for home.
Jo offers a ride to Henry and he accepts. She had also noticed the silent exchange of looks between the Lieutenant and him. She eyes him warily during the drive. As they idle at a red light, she turns to him. "So, what was that look you exchanged with Lieu, Henry?"
He inhales deeply, exhales, and looks at her. "It concerns what I should have told you a long time ago, Jo."
A car horn honks behind them and alerts Jo to the now green light. The drive to the antique shop resumes. Once they arrive, she pulls up to let him out.
"I know it's been a long day and we're all very tired," he acknowledges, "but please come inside, Jo. You need to know this before our meeting tomorrow morning." He waits tensely for her response. "Please..?" He heaves a sigh of relief when she cuts off the car's motor.
"Alright, Henry. But I can open my own door, okay?" He smiles slightly and nods in deference to her. Once inside, he locks the door back and they navigate their way through the darkened shop and climb the stairs to the kitchen.
"Something to drink, Jo? Tea? 'Whiskey?' He grabs the potent potable and two glasses.
"Nothing for me, Henry." Her eyes close and she rolls her head around as she rubs the back of her neck.
His motions still and his heart flip flops as he takes in her unadulterated beauty. 'Stay focused.' he recalls Reece's words.
"Whatever it is you want to tell me, tell me in there." She points to the sitting room where she plops down on the couch and waits patiently for him to join her. Somehow she knows it concerns that black and white photo she had confronted him with weeks ago. The memory of that day causes uncertainty to rise in her just as it did then. Her knees are weak even though she's sitting down. 'Why are you so secretive, Henry?' The question has plagued her even months before his claim that the man in the photo, his veritable twin, was his grandfather. Her detective's mind simply refused to accept it, though. She had decided to let him open up to her when he was ready. His unwillingness to let her in weighed heavily between them. Was he finally ready now?
She admits that she loves him, but she also knows that any relationship based on lies is not what she wants. Now nervous, she rubs one thumb over the other as she tightly clasps her hands in her lap. 'Please, Henry. Don't you dare burst my bubble. Just trust me. Please.' The sound of glasses and the whiskey bottle being placed on the wooden coffee table suddenly cuts into her thoughts.
Henry sits next to her on the couch. He'd had it all mapped out in his mind, all rehearsed, how to tell her. 'Tell her.' His son's voice echoes in his head. 'Tell her.' The photo. Start with the photo.
"Jo." His voice is hoarse as he stares at the whiskey bottle as if to gather courage from it. He clears his throat. "I lied when I told you that the man in that photo you showed me was my grandfather." He turns to face her. "It's me in the photo, Jo."
"You?" Her mouth opens and closes as she shakes her head. "How could that be you? That photo was not a fake. It was taken in the 1940's!" She can't believe what she's hearing. Has he lost his mind? Or did he think she was just that stupid? "More lies, Henry?" She shouts.
"No, no, Jo! No more lies!" He pulls his lips in and fights against the familiar feeling of dread that has come up many times in the past when his condition has been revealed. "I'm telling you the truth this time." He pleads; his breathing shudders in and out.
Through clenched teeth, she demands, "Then how in the world can that be you in the photo, Henry?" The anger in her voice cuts through him like a blade.
"Because," he closes his eyes and soldiers on, "I am - immortal."
"Hallelujah! It's about time!" Abe's voice reaches them from down the hall.
"Abraham, please!" Henry jumps up and stalks over with clenched fists to glare at his son who now stands in the middle of the room. Abe's elation makes him oblivious to his father's stern look of disapproval. Or he merely ignores it.
"Hey, kiddo, how you doin'?" He studies the young woman who looks as though her world has just been turned upside down. 'Well, that's to be expected.' He pats his father on the arm as he still ignores that look that long ago meant a trip to the outhouse, and makes his way over to her. "Here, have a drink." His soothing voice helps slow her racing mind. As he places the glass of whiskey in her hands, he squeezes them and smiles at her. "You'll be fine. Just listen and keep an open mind. Remember," he pats her hand, "he's a good man. A bit of a schlimazel when it comes to women sometimes, but still," (Jo gives a short laugh) he stands up and smiles down at her, "a good man." He finally turns to look at his father whose stern look is reluctantly being replaced by a smile. "Well, I've moved things along here. You're welcome." He bows slightly to his father and quickly walks out of the room. "I'll be in my room if you need me again." He calls over his shoulder.
Henry stands with his fists on his hips like another forever youthful being, Peter Pan. He smiles broadly as he watches his mischevious son disappear back down the hall. He shakes his head and lowers it. Then he sighs and takes his seat next to Jo once again. They shyly smile at each other.
"So...immortal." Jo lets the word roll off her tongue as if to set herself at ease with it. It doesn't work. "Henry, I -" At a loss for words, she looks away from him, anywhere else but at him.
"Jo, there's more." He timidly reaches out to touch her hand but quickly withdraws it. 'She doesn't want me to touch her. She doesn't even want to look at me.' But he still feels he owes her a full explanation.
"Immortal means you don't die." She suddenly perks up and looks him in the eyes. "You live forever. Right?"
"In my particular case, not exactly. I do die and whenever I do, I feel the pain, the fear and panic like anyone else. But I always come back to life - without a mark on my body. And it's always in the nearest large body of water, and always naked."
Her eyes widen as realization grows on her face. "The East River, the, the skinny dipping." She whispers.
He nods, his lips pulled in. "I am not a sleepwalker. No one in their right mind should ever willingly attempt to swim in that treacherous strait." He shudders at the many memories associated with his emergences; the arrests and public humiliation when he'd failed to escape detection and be picked up by Abe.
"Oh, Henry." She places her hand on his and squeezes it. "Each time you've gotten arrested for public indecency you had...oh, my God. And that day Hanson and the others made fun of you..." She clutches both of his hands with hers, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."
"You've nothing to apologize for, darling. There was no way that either you or anyone else could have known about my condition. In my long life, I've become very adept at hiding in plain sight." He retrieves a kleenex from his vest pocket and wipes her tears away.
"What, you ran out of monogrammed hankies?" They both laugh.
"Since they had brought too much attention to me, I've substituted them for the modern day equivalent. Although not as fashionable or sturdy, they do take up considerably less space in these tiny waist coat, I mean, vest pockets."
"Abe knows, doesn't he?" She looks towards the hallway and smiles. Henry nods. "When did he find out?"
"His mother and I told him when he was a teenager. Apparently, some of his classmates - "
"He, he's your son?" She is utterly flabbergasted.
"Um, yes. Abigail and I adopted him shortly after the end of World War II." His voice fills with fatherly pride and love, his eyes cloud over as he welcomes this particular memory. "He was just a baby, found in a Nazi death camp. Miraculously healthy and unharmed. The most adorable baby. He stole my heart. Abigail was holding him when I first saw the two of them. She stole my heart, too."
Jo watches how calm and happy his face looks as he describes meeting his future wife and child for the first time.
They cuddle closer together as she leans her head against his chest. She closes her eyes and listens to his heartbeat and the tremor of his voice as it vibrates between them. He wraps his arms around her, closes his eyes and softly tells her his long story. Suddenly he remembers something. Eyes still closed, he smiles and says, "Jo, you called me honey."
Half asleep, she smiles and counters, "And you called me darling."
They both smile broader and then the smiles fade as sleep overtakes them both. They cuddle even closer but are never aware when Abe tiptoes in and tucks a blanket in around them.
'Night, Pops. Pleasant dreams you two.'