Author's Note: Warning, there is a brief kissing scene between two women, which I know is squick for some people. I'll mark that section with brackets like [this] if you want to skip over it. It's not as important to the plot as it is to Emily's characterization, so you don't have to read it if you don't want to. Also, there is a violent death/injury or two, so I'll mark those sections with brackets like {this} if you want to skip that part. You'll be able to figure out what happened without reading those bits. Enjoy, lovelies.

Chapter 6: Flashbacks and Finales

Emily glanced at Detective Martinez as the woman stirred and groaned in what she hoped was pain. It served the little minx right for breaking her jaw upon seeing her in the doorway to her home. She probed the flesh that was now only slightly tender. At the time it had hurt sharply. It had taken so long to heal because she hadn't had time to set the break until a moment ago. She had needed to drive away rather quickly to avoid being seen by Henry. Even with her masterful evasion, she wasn't certain that he hadn't seen her as she sped away from the curb at the detective's dwelling. Sitting back against the ledge of the roof, she sighed and wondered how she'd come to this. Abducting people like some common vagrant. Thinking, she found scores of people to blame, though if she were being honest, it was partially her fault that she had ended up here. She preferred to blame Adam, chiefly. She had never really hurt anyone except in dire self-defense until she met the ancient immortal. Admittedly, she had been a little starry eyed at his centuries of experience. She had followed him like a stray cat, even when he'd been up to no good, desperate to please, desperate for the kind of fatherly advice and love she had never received from her own sire. Adam's advice was of a slightly different nature, however.

"Remember, cut two inches below the jawline to fully slit the throat and sever the windpipe," he coached in his gravelly American-accented voice. Emily wondered what he sounded like in his first language, no disguises. She doubted if he even remembered himself.

"I'm not certain about this," she fretted, looking down at the terrified face of the local butcher. He was so afraid. Perhaps he could be bribed or threatened rather than killed.

"He saw you sustain an injury that should have been fatal and recover miraculously before his eyes. He knows your secret. To keep yourself safe, he has to die," Adam coaxed, handing her the knife. Still, she hesitated.

"Murder is a line I've yet to cross, and I would prefer to keep it that way. As much as I might disagree with the more Puritanical admonitions of the Bible, I have never had quarrel with the rule against killing people," she insisted.

"This man could expose you. He could have you locked up and cut open. He could have you stared at like some curiosity for the amusement of these lesser beings. Think of it as an extension of self-defense. A preemptive strike, if you will," he persuaded smoothly, appealing to her fear.

She shuddered at the implications. She had no desire to be studied gruesomely or gawped at by fools on the street. She hated to put this man's life before her own, but her suffering would last much longer than his if she were discovered.

"I'm sorry," she whispered as she followed Adam's instructions and drew the knife quickly across the man's exposed throat.

His protests muffled by the gag turned into a pained gurgle, then silence as he fell to the concrete floor of the storage unit, dead. Emily was crying silently as Adam placed a hand on her shoulder and murmured encouragement.

"Good girl."

She heard a series of thumps and looked up to see the detective struggling against the bonds that held her to the chair. She was glaring at Emily with undisguised, bitter hatred. Emily hadn't put a gag on her, because New York in this area was too full of noise for anyone to notice one woman shouting several stories above their heads, so she was honestly surprised that Martinez was not spitting expletives in her direction. The stony silence was disconcerting.

"Do you have something you wish to say to me?" she asked politely.

"Well, I think it's rather obvious that you're a crazy b-, so I don't think I should have to spell it out for you. Other than that, I was just thinking that right now I feel like I'm looking in a seriously screwed up funhouse mirror," she said, nodding at Emily, who glanced down at her dark slacks and jacket and wine purple blouse. She saw nothing wrong with it. Martinez was wearing blue.

"You mean my attire?" she clarified, ignoring the slur. "It has come to my attention that one needs to dress like a man in these awful trousers and 'sensible' shoes in order to attract Henry's attention these days. I thought I'd give it a go. Truly, though, these things are terribly confining. And I grew up when corsets that bent your ribs into different positions were in fashion. I'm glad that women no longer have to wear them. All the same, how do you stand having your legs encased in individual sleeves of fabric? They're not very comfortable."

"They make it easier to preserve my modesty and get caught on fewer things when I'm chasing a suspect. How do you stand being an obsessive stalkerish psychopath?" she retorted.

"One gets used to being a little mad after enough time," she replied, not offended. "Speaking of time, I'm assuming that based on your call to Henry, you've figured it out. Were my little clues helpful?"

"Yeah, I've guessed the big secret. One thing I don't understand, though. Why make sure I found out without Henry telling me? What was the point?"

"The point, detective, was to show you both that the other had lied to you about something important. In your case, digging into Henry's past, in his case, the secret to end all secrets that he kept from his partner, a woman he supposedly trusts implicitly," she explained. "I calculated that the deceptions you both made would be offensive to the other person and thus end the relationship. When the woman he cared for so deeply walked away from him, who better to turn to for comfort than the woman who never stopped caring for him? It was the perfect plan until you rather outpaced my estimate of your ability to admit mistakes and be vulnerable. Honestly, how do you get through your sort of job without bursting into tears all the time, as sensitive as you are?"

"I manage," Martinez quipped curtly. "You do realize that you sound delusional and obsessively infatuated, right? No sane person would think that any of that makes sense."

"Just because you are incapable of comprehending the brilliance in my scheme does not mean that it wouldn't have worked with more time to observe your habits and more patience on my part. Perhaps I simply should have waited until you died naturally or engineered your death in a way that couldn't be traced back to me," she admitted. There was, if not a camaraderie between the two women, an understanding or mutual curiosity at least. Who was this other woman who had been so important in Henry's life?, they were both thinking.

"Well, why didn't you?" the detective asked, shoulders moving subtly in a way that Emily recognized as an attempt to escape her binds.

"If you are merely stalling me to try and escape, don't waste your breath or the skin on your wrists. I'm a crazy b-, remember? You have rope, zip ties, and tape holding you at the wrists and ankles. I'm paranoid enough to think you have the capability to escape at least one of my countermeasures, so I put three in place. If you're actually interested in my answer, I don't mind telling you. To be honest, if you weren't competition for Henry's affections, I would rather like you. Perhaps I won't torture you after all," she said amiably.

"Alright. Um, I appreciate that. And I really would like to know, since you seem to be in the mood to chat," she said carefully, no longer moving her hands to try and break her binds.

"You would think, after a century and a half, that I would have developed some patience, but alas, it seems to have done the opposite and eroded from what little I had to begin with. Therefore, I couldn't just wait for you to die. As for murder... when you know the person will come back alive and unharmed, that's one thing. To kill in cold blood for personal gain is another entirely. I meant what I said, in the teahouse. I still value human life. I think I always will. That's not to say I haven't murdered a few people in my day. But those were considerably more justified and less premeditated than killing someone over something so petty as jealousy," Emily continued.

"You are a confusing person, Ms. Adler. About eighty percent of the time, you seem unbalanced and heartless and way too obsessed with Henry. But times like now, for instance, you actually seem somewhat reasonable and less insane," Martinez said it like she expected it to upset her, but it didn't. She took it as a compliment.

"Thank you. It comes and goes, to be honest. I think the impression of insanity I give off is due in part to the lack of stability in my personality. And not to be picky, but you've done your share of obsessing over Henry these past few weeks as well. I used to be a more level-headed individual, I think. Often it's hard to tell the difference between memory and the present. Ah, well. No use worrying over such things. Can't have myself committed, lose track of time, and have the nurses realizing I don't age. That wouldn't do at all," Emily reminded herself as much as the detective.

"So Henry is the same, right? He doesn't age or die? How did you find that out, exactly?" Jo asked her.

Emily replied, "Indeed. And that is quite the story, I was thinking about it just the other day, in fact, when I was looking through the scope of a sniper rifle. I wouldn't mind recounting it for you..."

It was autumn, around the end of October. I remember it well. The day was typical of London for the season. Wet and dreary.

"Why do people always start in with descriptions of the weather when telling a story? It's a funny thing," Emily commented. "Anyway, the important part is not outside just yet. It's in the lab."

I entered from the street, carrying a small parcel of new test tubes from the post office. Henry had sent me to fetch them. Of course, he was Doctor Morgan to me then. I was just his assistant. A cab had offered me a ride across town. I suppose because I looked so pitiful trying to shield my head from the persistent drizzle and juggle my fragile package at the same time. The point is, I got to the lab much faster than I normally would have and I surprised Henry in the middle of an experiment to see if his blood in a sealed container from a non-fatal injury would stay behind after a death. So here I am, soaked to the skin carrying all this glass and I see him with a scalpel at his wrist. I shouted his name, of course, and I startled him so badly that the blade jerked across the artery and blood gushed out. I wasn't one of those ladies prone to swooning, but I nearly fainted. All the same, I dropped the box of test tubes and I could tell from the crashing sound that they had shattered into a million pieces. I didn't care at the time, naturally, but I was embarrassed about it later. I rushed over, blubbering about needing to call a doctor. He of course reminded me that he is a doctor and told me everything would be fine, but he would need me to pick him up from the river.

"But you aren't at the river," I protested.

"Not yet," he said.

And then, the nerve of that man, he vanished on the tail end of that statement. I always knew he had a flair for the dramatic. I trusted my beloved mentor, as frightened as I was, and I combed the banks of the Thames for nigh on half an hour before I found him hiding behind the pillar of a bridge, stark naked. It was enough to make a good Victorian girl's cheeks flame to see her teacher, a man she was not related to, in such a state. Me, I grinned at him and told him he ought to bring back a stitch of clothing the next time he decided to get resurrected. I was a pretty unflappable girl, if I may say so. I helped him get back to the lab and get a change of clothing without compromising his decency to any further people and he told me the whole secret. Over the next months, he'd occasionally share a story or two outside of the main narrative with me. I always felt honored that he'd share such things with a nothing like me. How could I help but fall in love with such an impossible, brilliant man who'd made me his confidant? I couldn't.

"So there you have it, the whole tale of the first time I saw Henry Morgan die," Emily finished.

Martinez was laughing.

"What's gotten into you?" she wondered.

"The skinny dipping," Martinez chuckled.

"The what now?" she asked.

"Skinny dipping. Henry got in trouble with the department a few times for indecent exposure for swimming naked in the East River. I guess now I understand why he couldn't solve the 'sleepwalking' problem by investing in some pajamas," she explained. She frowned suddenly, looking thoughtful and sad.

"Cor, woman. From laughing to pouting in under a minute. What is it now?" Emily asked.

"I just realized. All those times he got arrested for skinny dipping. He died. Henry has died so many times just since I've known him. That's awful," Martinez murmured, somber.

"More than you know. Those are just the times he got caught," Emily said helpfully.

"That's not even slightly comforting," she huffed.

"It wasn't meant to be. I have no reason whatsoever to make you feel better. In case you've forgotten, I don't particularly like you," Emily pointed out.

"Nope, it would be kinda hard to forget how much you dislike me seeing as I'm still tied to this chair you strapped me to after kidnapping me. But I am confused. Not that I'm not glad you decided against torturing me, but you hate me and you don't seem like torture would bother you. Why the change of heart?" she asked carefully.

"More like a change of mind. I'm fairly changeable, as you may have noticed. I decided a long time ago to make Henry suffer for breaking my heart but I was so undone by his apology that I decided to try and steal him from you instead. I had honestly forgotten how wildly attractive that man is," she sighed happily. "I was prepared to kill him as many times as necessary until it took. I was actually armed that day in the morgue when you met me. So deciding not to torture you is not that big of a leap, considering. That reminds me that I haven't really figured out what to do with you instead. Maybe you could suggest something?"

"You want me to recommend how best to get rid of me?" Martinez asked incredulously.

"Not necessarily. Kidnapping you was mostly a stalling technique to prevent your confession and probable reconciliation with Henry. I'm not quite sure what to do with you now," Emily admitted.

"You could let me go," Martinez said without much hope.

"Why should I? I am asking for a real reason, not just attempting to be difficult," she clarified.

"You care about Henry in your own weird way, right? I'm his friend. He would be sad if you killed or hurt me. You said it yourself, that Henry has been through enough. And I doubt you want to keep me around forever," she added. "You're not exactly fond of me."

Emily thought this over. It was not what she wanted to do, but she couldn't see any tasteful alternatives. Yes, she wanted Henry for herself, but she didn't want it like this. He'd never love someone who tortured people, especially a person he cared about so much. It burned her that he did care for this woman so much when he had lost affection for her, but she realized that being a rebound after Martinez was out of the way was not what she wanted. She wanted to be chosen, to be desired. And even if she wasn't ready to give up on Henry being the one to want her quite yet, she was willing to wait for him to realize that her love was more than some childish infatuation. Patience was hard, but so was anything worth doing. It wasn't as though she couldn't have other lovers in the meantime; she already had. She sighed deeply when the full measure of how detestably she had been acting hit her. Perhaps... perhaps she had gone too far. Coming to the conclusion that she would have to figure herself out before coming to Henry again, she knew that there was only one question left that mattered.

"Do you love him?" Emily asked quietly.

"What?" Martinez exclaimed.

"If I'm going to let you go- go back to Henry, I need to know if you love him half so much as he loves you," Emily explained.

"I don't- he doesn't..." she protested haltingly.

"Don't bother denying it. I won't make you tell him, though I would advise you to do so, but I need to know for my own peace of mind. I'm not going to turn you loose on him if you don't love him enough to treat him gently and not break his heart. I see the way he looks at you," Emily breathed. "Think of all the times Henry has leapt in front of a bullet for you, risking his secret being exposed in favor of saving your life. He doesn't trust easily, but that thick-headed man trusts you more than he knows how to express. He loves you and I am jealous of that, but I love him, too and I want him to be happy. After all he's been through, I think he deserves it. So, do you love him?"

Martinez hesitated, but Emily was fairly certain that she was more reluctant to admit this truth she'd been avoiding to herself than to Emily.

"Yes," she finally verbalized. "I love him. So much. It's ridiculous and impractical and knowing his secret, I know it can't last, but my heart doesn't seem to care about excuses and all the reasons it can't possibly work."

"He has that effect on people. And a word of advice from someone who's been there: stop caring about how much time you have left and treasure every second you get with him because they are precious. I was worried about him outliving me and leaving me behind and look where it got me," she said, bitterness creeping in.

"I'm sorry," Martinez said with sincerity.

"You know, you're making it harder to hate you. I'll manage, though," she spoke lightheartedly.

She moved to untie the binds on the other woman's wrists and ankles. She made it through the rope and zip ties with a small knife, but then a voice sounded from the shadows by the door to the roof.

"What are you doing?" Adam stepped from the doorway with a scowl on his face.

"Dr. Farber?" Martinez asked. Emily had forgotten that Adam had posed as Henry's therapist.

"Not exactly," he rumbled. "I'm Adam. You may have heard of me."

"Henry's immortal stalker. I'm all caught up now," Martinez snapped. "You're a sick and twisted killer, you know that?"

"No, just enlightened. I have seen the truth, that I have been given this curse because I am better than the rest of the pathetic mewling dregs of humanity. I am worthier, and great men must suffer to achieve greatness. Life ends sometime. People die; it's what they do. What does it matter if I hasten it along a bit?" Adam rumbled. "But I'm not here to talk to you. Emily, why are you releasing the good detective? Do you want a fairer fight when you eliminate your rival? To desire a challenge is admirable, but it would be simpler to hold her down while you strip the skin off of her."

Martinez shivered at his offhanded remark on the best method by which to murder her. Emily wasn't past being revolted by it either.

"I'm letting her go," Emily said, subtly continuing to cut the tape from her ankles. "I realize now that this is not the way. I can be patient."

"What is the point of patience when she is beneath you? She is an obstacle in your path to Henry, one you need to remove. Stop cutting the binds and come back to your senses," Adam admonished.

"Like you removed Abigail? I'm not taking away one more person Henry cares about. I'm not you. I have come back to my senses. maybe for the first time since I met you. I let you make me into a killer, but I can choose to stop this right now. I am choosing my own path," Emily insisted as the last of the tape peeled away from the detective's ankles. She started in on her wrists.

"Abigail killed herself. I won't let you throw away these plans. You were supposed to kill her and give Dr. Morgan a better target for vengeance than me so he wouldn't get in my way. I've had enough of this... partnership," he barked. "I can still slit her throat just like I taught you and let you take the blame."

With that, he drew a knife and leapt at the two women with murder in his eyes. Emily held him off, but he was relentless. She sustained multiple slashes in important veins. Her century and a half of practice was no match for his two thousand years' experience. She managed to deal some blows of her own, but nothing short of a fatal wound would get rid of him long enough to get away. She finally got in a deep cut near his carotid artery, but only by letting him past her defenses long enough for him to jab a knife into her left lung and twist it violently. Martinez had been working this whole time on tearing through the remaining tape, and now she broke through in time to jump up and punch Adam hard in the throat, adding enough of an extra gush to the flow of blood to drain him of too much to function. He dropped to the ground. Adler remained standing for a moment more then collapsed to her knees, struggling to breathe as her lungs took their sweet time to heal themselves. She coughed up blood for almost a minute that felt like an eternity until her breathing returned to normal. Whew. That had been highly unpleasant and she had thought for a moment that this would be the injury that got her.

"Are you alright?" Martinez inquired.

"Well, my lungs seem to have fixed the tear, so I'm considerably better, and my knife wounds are closing now, so that's something," she assessed, holding out her arms for the detective to see the skin sealing itself off and reabsorbing the blood.

"That's freaky, but- and I can't believe I'm about to say this- I'm glad you're okay," she stammered awkwardly.

"Don't get sentimental on me now, Detective," she laughed softly. Just because I didn't want Adam to kill the both of us doesn't mean I've entirely gotten over my aversion to you."

"Understood. Look, I still think you're pretty crazy, but I also think that this dark, mysterious past that you allude to isn't all that dark. You want to seem tough, but you're kinda a softie. We both care about Henry and don't really enjoy each other's company, and neither of us really wants to kill the other anymore as near as I can tell, so let's just leave whatever relationship we have at that," Martinez retorted.

"Agreed. Cooperation in circumstances of Henry or mutual survival only," she affirmed, extending her hand to shake. Martinez accepted. She was glad that the detective didn't seem to be under the mistaken impression that they were friends simply because she hadn't allowed her to be brutally murdered. "Has Adam disappeared yet?" she asked, having her back to the place where he'd fallen. She couldn't bear to look at her traitorous former mentor.

"Disappeared? Is that how that works? No, he's still..." Martinez trailed off, eyes wide. "Look out!"

Emily whirled to see that Adam had staggered to his feet and, being disarmed of his knife, had raised the chair to swing at them in a last temperamental effort to hurt the two irritating women in some way. Martinez was moving to intercept, but they were too close to the edge of the roof, so Emily shoved her aside and moved to intercept the chair's blow. She grabbed hold of it and heaved it around to push Adam against the low ledge around the perimeter of the roof. She tossed the chair over the edge, not wanting to get tangled in the wooden legs during the struggle. She shoved with all her might against Adam's chest, but he clawed at her arms and managed to capture her wrist in an iron grip, taking her off the roof with him, following the path of the chair shattered on the pavement below. Emily moved into the best position to fall from that she could manage with a maniac attached to her arm like a vise. She curled her lip in disgust as she followed every stereotype, having her life flash before her eyes.

A blurry collage of childhood memories floated in her vision. Swimming at the estate pond, riding on horseback with the breeze tangled in her hair, practicing violin and waltz, hours spent immersed in books of adventure.

[She shared a stolen kiss, warm and sweet with Magdalena, the daughter of the housekeeper. Her fingers tangled in Magda's dark curls and she felt butterflies of desire and affection stir deep in her belly. She never wanted it to end.]

Her father sneered with disappointment over her crumpled form. Her cheek still stung from the back-handed slap that had landed there when she had told him his opinion of her female lover didn't matter to her overmuch. The throbbing in her head pounded out a rhythm for the sentence her father laid down.

"You are unnatural filth. If you refuse to recant your wicked ways and admit that this- this negro tempted you to sinful destruction, I have no use for you. Get out of this house and do not return until you are cleansed of this wanton behavior. You are nothing to me. You hear me? Nothing."

She looked to her mother for help, but the woman who had raised her and taught her how to sew and dance and had cared for her during every childhood illness turned her head away, ashamed of her daughter.

Henry held her as she wept angry tears, cursing her disloyal family. She felt guilty for feeling so good in his arms when she had been disowned with no money, no home, nowhere to go. But he murmured to her that it would be alright and that she had nothing to be embarrassed of. He never judged her, only offered to pay her for her lab work and help her find a flat to stay in. That was the first time she felt real pangs of love for her teacher, but it was not the last.

She snuck glances at Henry from the corners of her eyes, admiring his handsome face. She listened to his every word with fascination, throwing herself into this work that would either help him return to the world of mortal men or help her join him in immortality. She fell in love with him a little more every day.

When he said that her age made him uncomfortable with her confession of love, that she was like a sister to him, that she went too far with the research, she felt her heart break into several microscopic pieces that would not heal as fast as her near-invulnerable skin. She couldn't bear the concerned, apologetic look on his face, turned and ran from him. A cab veered to avoid her, but the horse reared and its hooves struck her in the collarbone and the hip, sending her stumbling to the edge of the bank, careening into the icy waters of the Thames. The last thing she heard was Henry calling her name before she succumbed to the frigid, tumultuous currents.

She stood over the prone form of a woman's body, breathing heavily. It had been a tough fight, but she had won. That woman would think twice before trying to turn anybody into her next science project. Emily was triumphant until she saw that the woman's back was still, not rising and falling from breathing. She quickly leaned down and touched her fingers to the bloody neck, feeling for a pulse. She found none.

Adam chanting encouragement for various atrocities she couldn't stand to think of, even now. Oh, God, forgive me. She had never much cared what God thought since the temperance society preached his hatred for "unnatural" women, but she sought his forgiveness now.

Lurking in the shadows, seething over Henry's love for all of these women who weren't her. She felt silly for such anger over so petty a thing now, staring death in the face. It was not as easy as she might have thought it would be after all these decades.

Henry placing a kiss on her forehead, near the hairline, soft and reassuring.

"You are a strong, lovely, intelligent young woman, and you will see the end of this. I promise you, you will make it. Never, never be sorry for who you are or who you love. Those are the most important things about you, so there is no need to be ashamed of that. Love is what keeps us alive, and you must hold onto it when you find it. Always," he advised her.

She looked into his earnest brown eyes and felt the truth in his words. She held them in her heart until the end of her sorrows.

Oh, she didn't want to die, not yet. The ground loomed all too soon. She couldn't help closing her eyes just before the impact jarred her to her core. {She felt bones crunch and organs burst. Her head cracked against the sidewalk.} Her eyes opened to see Adam vanish, off to the river to be reborn. If she could have moved, she would have turned to see if she had fared as badly, but her paralysis in itself was indication enough. She was tired, so tired. She closed her eyes again.

Jo ran down the stairs as soon as she saw Adam disappear. She exploded from the doorway and dropped down to Adler's side. She felt for a pulse. It was there, but weak and getting weaker.

"Call an ambulance," Jo barked at some gawking bystanders who had wandered up.

About three fumbled their phones from their pockets and dialed. She waved everyone away, yelling that she was from the NYPD and they needed to move back and give this woman some room. {Adler's body started convulsing violently as it tried in vain to repair itself again and again. Jo heard a disturbing crackling noise and a kind of wet choking.} Finally, it stopped. Jo stared hopefully at the pool of blood, waiting for it to shrink as Adler's body reclaimed it, but it stayed still. Jo cursed. She hadn't liked Adler, sure. Maybe even hated her. But it was still upsetting that she had died so horribly. She had been Henry's friend, once. Jo didn't know how she would begin to tell him. The ambulance arrived, and she informed them that she was a police officer and that the woman who died had abducted her, then let her go and fell off the roof struggling with a third party whose whereabouts were unknown. She watched as they loaded the prone form of Adler, encased in a body bag, into the back of the vehicle, feeling something like regret. Glancing at the pool of blood, she thought it looked a bit smaller, but she dismissed it as her imagination. Jo finished her statements to the officers and promised to file a report later, then borrowed a phone from one of the bystanders and made a call to Henry.

Henry was frantic. After he had found the note, he worried himself halfway into a nervous breakdown. He had rejected the clothes left for him out of legitimate concern over where they'd come from as well as principle. He had been pacing in a small spot concealed by foliage where he usually waited for Abe, muttering to himself, wondering what on earth he'd do when Jo demanded an explanation he couldn't give. He had decided to tell her, but now was unable to for fear of her safety. He had felt relieved when she didn't press him for information, instead agreeing to wait. He'd been surprised. She'd promised to get him to let her in, but she gave up easily. That worried him too. What on earth could make Jo, who was born to be a detective, not interrogate him after what she'd witnessed? He had done more satisfying pacing at home after she left, still wearing police sweats. He had gone over the details again in his mind and it hadn't added up until Jo had called him and told him she'd figured it out. He trusted her and cared for her so deeply; what reply could he have given other than a resounding yes when she asked him over? Yet when he had arrived, a car had sped away from the curb and he had gotten a glimpse of Jo's face in the passenger seat and a flash of blonde hair from the driver's side. Obviously, Adler had intercepted the call and moved to hurt Jo before he could get to her. He had run after the car, but lost it shortly. He shoved his hands through his hair in frustration and panic. He had no idea where they were and no way to contact them, since the first thing Adler would do would be to take Jo's phone away. All he could do was wait and waiting was absolute torture.

When the phone at the shop rang, he pounced on it and had to force himself to answer calmly instead of roaring a demand to know if Jo was safe into the mouthpiece. There was always the chance it was one of his son's customers calling.

"Hello?" he asked, voice trembling with rage and fear.

"Henry? Are you okay? You sound like you're being strangled," Jo commented. Jo! She was safe. His breath whooshed out in a gust of relief.

"Thank God you're okay," he breathed. "I was so worried. What happened?"

"Ms. Adler kidnapped me, we had a chat about her origin story and about you, and she let me go," Jo began.

"She let you go? That seems rather out of character," he mused.

"We came to a... mutual understanding, but there's more. Henry, she's- she's dead," Jo sighed.

"What? That's impossible," Henry exclaimed. He was incredulous not only that the semi-immortal was dead, but that Jo sounded almost sad about it.

"Adam showed up and wasn't happy that she was letting me go. He fought with her and they fell off the roof together. He's heaven knows where and she didn't... she didn't heal. She stopped breathing. There was no pulse. They already took her to the morgue. I'm sorry, Henry. I know what she meant to you," Jo explained.

"It isn't your fault, Jo. Not in the slightest. She put herself on the path that ended here. Are you alright?" he asked, very well knowing that the answer was no.

"I will be. Hey, could you come over again? We still need to talk. Maybe more than before," she requested.

"Certainly, Jo. I'll be right there," he promised, then hung up.

Adam. When would that terrible man cease to be a burden to him? He surprised himself by feeling more regret over the loss of who Emily used to be than over her death now, and he felt guilty. All the same, he was glad that Jo was not the one who fell off the roof. Jo. His Jo. She knew his secret, which would complicate their relationship greatly. He only hoped it wouldn't bring it to its conclusion.

...

Hours later, in a cold storage drawer in a back corner of the NYPD morgue, a corpse sat up violently, gasping for breath.

"Ow!" Emily screeched as she banged her head, then covered her mouth, listening to see if she'd been heard. Silence.

She hissed in pain as the Y-shaped incision finished healing across her chest. It left behind a noticeable scar rather than smooth skin. She supposed it made sense since she was rather drained. Literally. Because she'd been moved, she'd been unable to reclaim the blood she'd lost. Carefully, she maneuvered so that she could lever the door open from the inside and step cautiously onto the cold tile that felt warm to feet chilled by the body freezer. She shivered. Making her way carefully into the dark, abandoned offices, she found a smaller lab coat and buttoned it over her naked body. Emily felt a ripple of distaste wash over her at being undressed by strangers while almost entirely dead. At least she wasn't wearing that horrid outfit any longer. The detective's type of a attire had been a costume that hadn't fit her. She poked her head into Henry's office and saw that he'd left behind a blue scarf on his coat rack. He must have been distracted. Or maybe he simply kept a spare here. It would be just like him to have a spare scarf at work in case of any neckwear-related emergencies. What one of those might constitute, she had no idea. Nevertheless, she couldn't resist winding it around her neck as she made her way to the elevator. She breathed in the unique Henry scent of spice and antiseptic as she slipped quietly out the back door and hailed a cab. She had a lot of work ahead of her closing out her old identity and moving somewhere she could be invisible, but it would be worth it. After all, she had finally found a man who was dark enough to truly deserve being on the receiving end of the fulfillment of her revenge fantasies. And she had nothing but time to work out the details.

I'm coming for you, Adam.

-End of Chapter 6-

A/N: Wow! That was a rollercoaster of a chapter, wasn't it? I hope y'all enjoyed the peeks into Emily Adler's storied past. This is not the end, though! The epilogue is next and I hope to bring about a satisfying conclusion while leaving room for Ms. Adler to maybe make a reappearance in future fics. Thanks for the reads and reviews, and for sticking with me until the end of the fic. Until next time, my lovelies.