Author's Note: Hi, everyone! Well, NaNoWriMo did not go as well as I had expected, but I was surprised at the number of words that I had written during the month. I got most of an outline for my original story completed. And Henry and Jo convinced me to start an outline for a holiday-themed story featuring them and a plot summary for a one-shot—or a short multi-chapter story—about a teenaged Henry getting himself into trouble. (The holiday one will debut next year. It's novel-length. I can feel it.) At the same time, I am glad that everyone is enjoying the one-shots that I had posted.

Well, like I had said, I planned to start updating this story as soon as NaNoWriMo was over. I hope that you will enjoy the chapter.


Chapter 9

How could it be one in the morning already?

Jo deposited her phone onto her end table, bunched her pillow under her, and closed her eyes. It had been a long day, and all she wanted to do was to get some sleep.

She tossed and turned to get comfortable. Unable to do so, she sat up in bed and scrubbed her face. She wished that she hadn't brought up going to Summit Rock tomorrow. Ever since she had mentioned the cursed place, she had been searching her memory, looking for something—anything—that pointed to their stalker and to their suspect in Dexter's murder. So far, nothing seemed to exist. It was almost as if fate had somehow erased most of the events of that case from her memory.

She huffed, folded her hands in front of her, and stared at her phone. She had had sleepless nights before, and she had fallen asleep even later than this. With this time in the morning, she could be at least semi-rested when they started their day.

She shoved herself out of bed. Maybe she should go into the living room and watch some TV. Watching an old movie should put her out.

The moment she opened the door, a bright light flooded the room. She squinted in an attempt to survey the living room. Who had turned on the lights? She hadn't heard any strange noises earlier, but she also didn't hear Henry's voice or footsteps. Hopefully, someone didn't break into the apartment, kill him, and was now robbing it.

She waited until her eyes adjusted to the lights before she made a move. As she rounded the end table, a door in the kitchen slammed shut. She stiffened her posture and braced herself for what she would find.

She stole toward the kitchen's entrance and peered around the corner. His back turned to her, a man reached over the stove and opened the cabinet where Henry had stashed the spices from their grocery shopping.

She glanced up at the cabinets. She had placed Abe's large sauté pan in the one over the sink. If she could sneak over there and take it, she could use it to hit the intruder over the head and knock him unconscious. That should give her enough time to check on her boyfriend and call for backup if necessary.

She eased into the kitchen and bumped into the man. Before she could curse herself, an electric tingle ran from her chest to every part of her body. Wondering who could have made her feel that way, she dared to look the intruder in the face.

She nearly jumped when she came face-to-face with Henry.

Her cheeks warmed at the sight of him in a white t-shirt and his blue boxer-briefs. "I didn't see you there."

"My apologies." His British accent and dulcet voice flowed over her like a warm shower. He closed the refrigerator door and gazed into her eyes. "I didn't mean to startle you."

She ran her fingers through her hair. "What are you doing up?"

"Making some warm milk. I couldn't sleep." He headed over to the stove and set the milk next to the pan on the stove. "Do you want some?"

She followed him to the island and leaned over it. Warm milk sounded better than watching TV.

Before she could give him a response, her earlier thoughts flooded back. She bit her lower lip and averted her attention to keep herself from crying. She was here with Henry, and that was all that should matter.

He pulled two mugs out of the cabinet and gently put them on the island. "What's wrong?"

She stared at him. In the daytime, he could call the time of death on her mascara and determine its cause based on the amount that she still had on. There was no way that she could keep this from him.

He put his hands on the granite surface and tilted his head toward her. "Jo? Are you all right?"

"I, um, I've been trying to…" Air left her, forcing her to gulp in search of some. "I, um, can't remember—."

Her throat closed, and tears flowed to the surface. In a desperate attempt to stop them, she tried to find the words to describe what she was feeling. Yet, none came. Instead, a tremor rose in her chest. As she stood there, it migrated to her legs as the vibration grew stronger. She grabbed the island and tightened her grip to keep herself from falling.

Before she knew it, Henry slid to her side and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Her hands slipped away from their anchor with his swift motion. Her legs still shaking, she groped until she found his chest. Satisfied, she slipped her arms around him, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and started sobbing.

He held her and rubbed her back until her tears ran dry. She finally looked up and gazed into eyes that sometimes appeared all-knowing. He didn't have to say anything, but his strength built itself around her as if it could protect her from every painful thing in her life.

A strand of hair fell across her face. One of Henry's hands let go of her, filling her with a lonely ache. As his hand neared her face, she held her breath. He ran his hand to the errant lock and brushed it back behind her ear. Instead of leaving, his fingers lingered on her lobe. She closed her eyes and let his touch melt away the remainder of her worries.

Soon, his hand joined the other which had dropped to her waist. Feeling a little lighter, she offered him a small smile. She didn't know how, but he always seemed to know how to make her feel better.

The memory of finding Abigail's remains and car flashed before her eyes. She turned her attention to his shoulder. His late wife had the same feelings that Jo had, and Abigail's departure out of Henry's life had hurt him deeply. What if she inadvertently brought that memory back? What if he recognized the parallels between the two relationships and wanted to end theirs now?

"Are you all right?"

Jo's gaze traveled to his face. "I was just thinking. That's all."

Henry released her and headed to the cabinets to the left of the stove. He pulled out the vanilla extract and the turmeric powder, brought them back to the stove, and set the vanilla extract down. He held out the turmeric powder and softly chuckled. "I have been meaning to ask you, but how much turmeric powder do you put in your warm milk?"

She cocked her head. "About a teaspoon. Why do you ask?"

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Ever since that cup of warm milk which you had made for me, I've been craving it every time that I've been unable to sleep."

Her eyes widened. She hadn't expected that her recipe would become his favorite.

As he dutifully measured out the correct amount of ingredients, she bit her lower lip. As far as she knew, it wasn't like him to be up in the middle of the night unless he was conducting an autopsy, working a case, had a nightmare, or was worrying about Abe.

"Why are you up?"

He turned to her and bowed his head. "I've been thinking about our current circumstances."

She froze. "Are you reconsidering our relationship?"

Their argument earlier in the day had made her wonder if they were meant to be together. It was one of the few moments in which it was easy to forget that he was desperately trying to hold on to some parts of a long-forgotten past to remind himself of his true age. She hadn't meant to offend him with something as ridiculous as their food choices. Fortunately, their conversation at lunch and dinner at restaurants had seemed to convince her that she might have been momentarily tortured herself unnecessarily.

He flashed her a grin. "Absolutely not. Our relationship is perhaps one of the best decisions that I have ever made."

"Then what?"

His face fell. He wiped his face and bowed his head before taking a spoon out of the drawer and putting it back in.

"Perhaps I should confront Adam again. It would risk both our covers and the upper-hand that we have recently gained…." His Adam's apple bobbing, he pivoted back to the stove and turned it on. "But he is also the only suspect with a motive to harm either of us." His voice started to crack. "Especially you."

Her thumb ran along the bottom of her ring. Her mind had run back to the creepy immortal the moment that she had heard the voice in the garage and again when they had heard the bump at their door. She had silently—and literally—prayed that the man in the garage wasn't somehow connected to him.

Jo joined Henry's side, rested one hand on his free arm, and laid the other on his back. "Remember what I said when you fled to Brussels to protect me from one of his threats. I am a trained law enforcement officer, and I knew what I was getting myself into when I signed up for the academy. I am prepared for whatever happens. I will help you take him down even if it's the last thing I do."

His silence and failure to meet her eyes were eerie. She blew out some air. She hated to see him look so discouraged and uncertain about himself. Think that he could lose her the same way that he had lost Abigail. Feel like he was doomed to follow in the psychopathic immortal's footsteps as he was the first fellow immortal whom he had met.

Hoping that she wasn't inadvertently pressuring him into a decision that he would later regret, she leaned against him. If she could find some way to comfort him, he might be able to get some sleep.

"Hold off on your confrontation of Adam for the time being. It won't be worth it if he finds a way to use our situation against us and try to seduce you to the dark side of your condition again. If he is behind this, he will let us know sooner or later."

Bowing his head, Henry set the spoon down and turned off the stove. Behind his eyes, she could see his mind turning the idea over, taking it apart, and analyzing it almost as if it were a corpse. She smiled. He didn't know how much his consideration of her words meant to her. She had once thought that she couldn't get through to him. Unbeknownst to her at the time, her words and her reaction to Adam's manipulation had prompted Henry to reconsider testing Adam's theory about the weapons used in their first deaths on him.

Jo turned Henry around to face her, and his eyes widened. She grinned. "In the meantime, I want to learn more about the man Karen calls my 'Mr. Darcy'." Inwardly groaning at the name, she hoped that it didn't spark a bad memory for him.

He gave her a sly smile. "I'm the subject of your and Karen's gossip?"

She tapped him on the chest twice with the back of her hand. "Don't flatter yourself. We talk about other things too."

The smile widened into a grin. Before he could come up with a retort, the fragrant smell of the warm milk filled her nose.

He took the pot over to the island and poured the drink into the mugs. After setting the pot in the sink, he offered her a cup. As she took a sip, her eyes rolled back and closed shut.

"What?"

She opened her eyes and met his. She scoffed, wiped her lips, and deposited the leftover liquid onto her mug's lip. "Somehow you managed to replicate my recipe perfectly."

He squinted and stared at her. "I did?"

She nodded and took another sip, making sure that she caught the drops that she missed.

It was his turn to scoff. "Must be my sophisticated palette. I must have detected the proportions of the majority of the ingredients the first time I sipped it."

"Must be." It wouldn't be the first time his tongue dissected a recipe. Abe had mentioned that both Henry and Abigail had taught him how to cook. When Abe cooked his first meal, Henry took one bite and told him precisely what was wrong with it. Abe had been hurt at first, but he had eventually realized how much food his father had tried over the centuries. Since then, Abe almost always recruited his father as his sous-chef when trying a new dish.

Jo grinned as their sips became synchronized. It was sometimes difficult to believe that she and Henry were so much alike. He was born and raised in London at the time of Hamilton. She was a modern-day New Yorker, born and bred. He had come from wealth and privilege. East Harlem offered no such opportunities for either. He had traveled the world while she had been out of the country three times, the first one being entering the Urkesh consulate in New York for a case. He should have remained dead for two hundred years but had miraculously survived everything that had been thrown at him. She had no idea if her next encounter with an enraged suspect would lead to her death. If they were able to tell anyone their real life stories, no one outside of their circle of friends would believe that they should have any interest in each other.

Yet, she saw how much they had in common almost since the moment that they had met, and their similarities had become even more striking once his secret had come out. Like she had told him after his self-imposed three and a half week break years ago, they were both guarded, screwed-up people. Their stories paralleled each other, with lives that started out rough, fathers who had skirted the law for personal gain, spouses who had died while spending time away from them, and paths that had led them into law enforcement and forensic medicine. They shared a sense of justice, and they hated the greed and entitlement that even bystanders in one of their cases had. For the longest time, they both had preferred to be alone or to plunge themselves into their work to bury their pain. They both valued their families and friends and their time with them.

She stifled a chuckle. They even shared a preference in residences. He could afford to live in any place in New York, even their apartment. Yet, his idea of "nice" was an apartment over an antiques shop on the Lower East Side.

"We had never expected to do this again."

She lowered her cup in time to see him lower his. "Do what?"

"Starting our lives over with someone else." He fingered the top of his mug.

"No, I don't think so." She leaned over the island and studied him for a moment. "Did Abigail want you to remarry?"

"I—." His eyes glazed over, and a smile played on his face.

He set his cup down and nursed it. "I believe that she would have." His eye locked onto Jo's. "Had she had the chance to mail her letter to me, I would have joined her in Tarrytown and would have lived there for the remainder of her days. As the end approached, she likely would have encouraged me to begin thinking of the future, and she would have tried to arrange a courtship for me. With her dying breaths, she would have made me promise to begin my life anew with another."

Jo slowly nodded. From what she had heard about Abigail and what she had seen in Abe, that could have happened exactly the way that Henry had described.

His soft smile and faraway look indicated that he was still in the past. "When is your mind?"

He blinked, shook his head, and softly chuckled. "Dancing at The Stork Club, March 18, 1955."

Jo slightly smiled at the bittersweet memory that he had once told her. Bitter because Abigail's words that the reason for his immortality was not her and their life together had proven to be prophetic. Sweet because of the insanely romantic nature of their date night.

"It has taken me sixty years to realize the wisdom of her words. At the time, I had thought nothing of them, but now…." He sighed. "Now, I am a foolish old man."

Jo took another sip of milk and slipped a hand over his. "You're human."

Henry bowed his head, smiled, and then softly chuckled again. "Thanks for the reminder."

She smiled. She had thought that she would never live long enough to see him embrace his humanity. But she had, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

"What about Sean? Did he want you to start over?"

Jo averted her attention to her milk and pulled her lips together. "We, um, we never talked about it." She reviewed every moment of their marriage and then chuckled. "He was almost always seeking my happiness, so I think he would have."

She lifted her eyes over her cup. She couldn't see herself having this moment with anyone else. Not even with Sean.

"How do we proceed?"

Henry's voice beckoned to Jo. She took one last sip of her warm milk and set her mug on the island. She bit her lower lip. The day's events had showed her that they didn't know each other as well as she had thought.

Her mind raced back to the last time that she had felt like he was a total stranger to her. That was years ago, back when….

She met his gaze. "I guess we do this like we had when you had told me that you're immortal. We take this—."

"—Day by day. We deal with each new discovery about the other as we make it."

Her eyes widened. When did they begin to finish each other's sentences?

Jo raised up onto her tiptoes and peeked into his mug. Noticing how much he had left, she motioned to him. "Let me take your mug."

Henry gave it to her, and she placed them in the sink. As she rejoined him, he stepped aside to let her pass in front of him. The moment she crossed the threshold, he rested his hand on her back and then wrapped his arm around her.

She looked over at him as they headed for the sofa. "What else do you want to do tomorrow? Aside from visiting the bookstore?" Whatever he planned was fine by her.

He bit his lower lip. "I haven't thought about it yet. If we were still on the case…"

They settled on the sofa. Yeah, right. I almost forgot about that.

She sighed. Hopefully, Mike, Lucas, and Lieu were in the process of discovering the identity of their stalker. At the same time, if she were to have had her way, she and Henry would have been going over the files and trying to recreate the crime with Lucas and Mike earlier today. She hated being on the sidelines, but, at the same time, she wanted to take advantage of their time together.

She glanced at the TV. She didn't want to spend the rest of the day like they had earlier. The entire time that she had been watching TV earlier, she had unexpectedly found herself wishing that Henry would join her and that they would do something together. When he finally did, she had enjoyed her time with him so much that she had hated to go to bed.

"…but, whatever we do, I want to do it with you."

Henry pulled her closer to him. Although the room was quite comfortable, a shiver washed over her. She snuggled under his arm, slipped the arm closest to him under him, and rested her other hand over his scar.

Her fingers began to trace the ancient wound under his t-shirt. A piece of her told her that what she was doing was too personal. That their relationship was too new for this. She considered removing her hand, but it rejected that notion and stayed firmly in place.

Wondering what was going through Henry's mind, Jo lifted her face toward him. He gazed down at her, a smile on his face. With each movement of her fingers, he stroked her shoulder in almost perfect timing.

The room grew much warmer, but Jo didn't care. It had been too long since they had last had a moment like this.

Jo leaned her head on him, and her thoughts blurred. For her, time was slowing down. She had nowhere to go or nothing to do. Whatever they would plan could wait until later. All that mattered now was being together.

Her eyes started to slide shut. She was so comfortable that she could go to sleep right then.

Her eyes flew open. The last time that Henry had warm milk….

His chest rose and fell steadily and evenly. His own eyelids were fluttering close. His hand now only held her.

She shifted into a sitting position and nudged him. "Henry?"

He stirred, blinked his eyes, and turned to her. "What?"

"Do you remember what happened the last time that you had my recipe?"

He tried to stifle a yawn, but it escaped. He laughed. "I do now."

He looked at the door to his bedroom and gave her a lopsided smile. "At least I don't have far to walk if I'm too relaxed."

They rose from the sofa, and she half-heartedly eased away from him. She had imagined herself being in Henry's arms seventy years from now several times before. However, she had always brushed it aside, reminding herself that things between them could always change. Now, she wanted to stay beside him, but they weren't married yet.

Yet? When had she started to see herself married to him?

She pushed the thought aside. She shouldn't be thinking like that right now, especially since she was so relaxed.

She shuffled toward the lights and flipped them off. She eased along the wall. A light flipped on, nearly blinding her. Determined to make it back to her room before she fell asleep, she blocked out the source and crept toward her room.

She grasped the doorknob, and she felt a pair of eyes on her. She turned back and smiled. Henry leaned against the threshold. The light from his room shone behind him, turning him into a guardian angel who was making sure that she made it back to her room safely.

She ran her finger through her hair. "Good night."

"Good night." He returned her smile. "I love you."

Her heart soared with those three little words. Words that she was longing to hear from his lips for the past month. "I love you too. 'Night."

She stifled a yawn as she entered her room and crawled into the bed. Henry had recreated her recipe perfectly. Maybe she should have considered making some milk instead of watching TV.

Although she didn't need it, she pulled the covers over her. How she had found a good man—twice—in her life, she would never know. And she was grateful for both of them.


Author's Note: The recipe for Jo's milk with turmeric is from Asulia's "Health benefits of turmeric for sleep and inflammation". I stumbled upon it while I had searched for warm milk recipes back when I was writing chapter 22 of "Remember You Must Die and Live".

I know that it's "Where is your mind?" Yet, in my head canon, once Henry tells Jo he's immortal, they create a personal shorthand that allows Henry to talk about his past freely in public and that acknowledges his long life in private. "When is your mind?" is one of them.