Notes: I do not own "Forever" or any of its characters.
Chapter Text"What darkened your mood a little while ago during the cab ride here?" Jo manages between a small yawn. "I mean your reaction to what the cab driver said is understandable, but right before that, what were you thinking that wiped the smile off of your face like that?"
Henry hesitates, then decides that no matter how distressing his thoughts might sometimes be, some - but not all - can now be shared with her. A relationship built on lies and half-truths has the survival rate of a house of cards.
"A thought that had come to me...reminded me of...Adam." He sighs and shoves his hands down into his pockets as he slowly escorts her to the guest bedroom.
"Henry..."
"I know, I know, why must I constantly conjure up such gloomy thoughts." He grins, his tone a self-deprecating one.
She abruptly stops at the open doorway and turns around to face him, her expression serious as she momentarily studies his features. "What in the world can ever be done about him, Henry?" She reaches up and toys with the knot in his tie. "Wouldn't it be great if he could just -(she makes a whooshing sound) - disappear for good (he ducks his head and chuckles) and be out of our lives forever?" She frowns and childishly pouts.
He gently removes her hand from toying with his tie because, frankly, it's not helping him to maintain his composure. Their close proximity to each other in their unchaperoned state, causes some most ungentlemanly thoughts to dance through his head.
"I shouldn't have said anything, but...you're right." He looks down and then up at her ('with those puppy dog eyes,' she silently swoons).
"At some point I - we - will have to reassess the situation regarding his present condition." He brings her hand up, presses her fingers to his lips, and slightly bows his head. She grins widely and quickly bounces down, then up. They fall into each other's arms as their laughter fills the air.
After a couple more minutes they reluctantly part and bid each other goodnight. Jo closes the bedroom door and Henry retreats to his own. In the silence of their separate rooms, they both undress for bed and pause occasionally to recall the events of this most topsy turvy day. Sleep finally claims them both.
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The 90's comedy show marathon on the rundown motel room's TV does little to lighten the mood of its lone occupant. He rises from the bed with the lumpy mattress and squeaky bedframe once again and paces up and down in the small area. He catches his haggard reflection in the wall mirror and ducks into the bathroom and splashes water on his face. As if that would help to wash away the dark circles under his eyes or the anger from his face. Or the mixed feelings of foolishness and betrayal. He stares into the vanity mirror and wonders once more, how he could ever have trusted Reuben Barnes. As he recalls the news conference earlier in the week, he groans, shakes his head and flops back down onto the bed.
"Beautiful, Ben, just beautiful." He sarcastically grins to the ceiling. "Let yourself be used by the likes of that - that - " He swings his legs off the bed and onto the floor as he sits bolt upright again. He leans forward and buries his face in his hands, then jumps up and paces the small area again as he bitterly recalls what he now believes to be deceptive statements from Barnes and his staff. "We want to help you, Mr. Larson, we understand, Mr. Larson. Don't worry about a thing, Mr. Larson, all of our resources are at your disposal here at the (expletive deleted) Center for Scientific Discovery!"
A preview for an upcoming episode of a popular crime drama splashes across the TV screen. The dead body. The parade of suspects. The diligent crime-solvers and hardworking pathology team. Something about the advertisement draws his attention. Pathology. Hmmm...Medical Examiner.
"Barnes mentioned a Dr. Morgan several times." he recalls out loud. "Was practically obsessed with the guy. Said Morgan may have lived a whole lot longer than anybody else alive." Larson crosses his arms over his chest as he ponders his next move. He then lies back down and vows to himself, 'Whether this Dr. Morgan has a condition similar to mine or not, Barnes is bent upon contacting him and maybe using him - like he used me. So, I've got to get to you, Dr. Morgan, before Barnes does. I've got to warn you.'
Much to his chagrin, Larson realizes that because he no longer enjoys the security and protection provided by Barnes and his staff at the Center, a certain aging billionaire determined to cheat death at all costs, may once again send his goons to sniff him out.
'Out of the frying pan into the fire.' he grimly chuckles to himself. But it slowly dawns on him that since Dr. Morgan is associated with the NYPD, maybe they can help each other. The knot in his stomach untightens enough for him to finally enjoy the comedy marathon. He raises the TV's volume with the remote and gladly engages in the comedic parade even if it doesn't exactly spark any laughter from him.
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Abe had sent his father and their lovely houseguest off to work the next morning with a hearty breakfast. As they'd driven away from the shop in Jo's car, Henry had regaled her with some of the more colorful stories from his long lifespan. She'd especially enjoyed the ones from Abe's childhood. She'd snorted with laughter and nearly hit a pedestrian when Henry'd stated that his son was still a bit angry with him for not having allowed him to eat dirt.
Once they arrive at the precinct, they go off to their individual offices with warm smiles, warm hearts, and large cups of coffee in hand. However, neither are prepared for what will prove to be another topsy turvy day.
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Reuben Barnes walks up to the Fourth floor Nurses' Station but finds no one behind the counter. He views this as a lucky break because he won't have to song-and-dance with anyone about his intentions. Also, he feels that his white lab coat, stethoscope, and clipboard allow him to blend in better with the rest of the medical staff even though this is his first visit to Bellevue. Out of nowhere, a passing nurse mutters a polite greeting, he grunts and nods in return. 'Best to get in and get out of here as quickly as possible.' he resolves.
Finally, he stands before Room 408. He steps gingerly into the room and tries to pull off his best Marcus Welby impression, given he had never been a practicing physician. Whatever bedside manner he should project was an unknown to him, hence the channeling of the 1970's TV icon's persona.
The first bed is neatly made and empty. Hopefully, the mystery patient he seeks is the sole occupant of this room. He nears the bed near the window but finds it empty, as well, the bedding rumpled.
'Most likely taken out for some tests.' he reassures himself. He then seats himself in the worn vinyl armchair next to the bed to wait. 'I must see who this person could be. Let him know that there's hope for him, that I want only to help him break the chains of this unfortunate physical bondage. And maybe more.'
The rumble of a wheeled gurney breaks into Barnes' thoughts as a male nurse brings a patient back into the room.
"Heyyy, looks like you got a visitor." Vic, the male nurse, cheerily reports to the patient.
'Male caucasian, about 35, listed as John Doe.' Barnes recites to himself as he steps away from the bed to allow the nurse enough space to return the immobile patient to his bed. Barnes never takes his eyes off of the unblinking, brown-haired man of slight build, which causes him to miss seeing the look of recognition that flashes over Vic's face.
"He's all yours, Doctor." Vic smiles and steps past Barnes. Once outside the room, he turns and softly creeps back in and hovers behind the curtain that separates Adam's bed from the first bed. He listens intently and awaits the moment he can confront Barnes.
Barnes reviews Adam's chart then checks the IV and other equipment that maintain his functional existence. He bends down close to Adam and speaks just above a whisper. "Hello. Don't be alarmed. My name is Dr. Reuben Barnes. I'm a geneticist. Your friend, Dr. Henry Morgan, is, well," he stumbles over his words. "I knew him and his family years ago. A good man. It's, uh, great that you have such a friend looking out for you." Barnes looks around the edge of the curtain to the door to ensure their continued privacy.
Vic ducks down as if to tie his shoe, just in case he'd need to explain his presence there.
Barnes resumes his conversation with Adam. "As I said, I am a geneticist and have conducted several experiments with positive results regarding, regarding..." he realizes he's rambling. "Look, I can help you (he waves his hand over Adam's body) out of this. It's obvious that you can't consent to my offer of assistance, and I'm quite sure no one at this hospital would allow me to intervene in your care, but...I promise you. I'll find a way to get you out of here and back on your feet." He smiles and swears that he sees a reaction, however miniscule, in Adam's eyes.
He raises up and pats Adam's arm. "I'll be back once I figure out a plan to get you out of here, I promise." Barnes gathers up his clipboard and makes a few notes to himself on it.
"And I will be very interested to find out your true name. They have you listed as John Doe." He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. "We'll remedy that very soon, as well. So. Until then." He quickly walks out of the room and heads for the elevators, eager to make Lt. Reece's office at the NYPD's 11th Precinct, his next stop. He's sure he can enlist her aid in re-introducing himself to the good Dr. Morgan. Buoyed by his prospects as he busily entertains his thoughts, he is again unaware of Vic, who hovers near him as he waits for the elevator.
The elevator doors open and a handful of people get on. Barnes attempts to get on, too, but a hand blocks him.
"Too crowded." Vic states matter-of-factly.
"I beg your pardon- "
Vic turns to Barnes once the elevator doors close. "You need help with the John Doe in Room 408, right?"
Barnes eyes the man indignantly.
"You're Dr. Reuben Barnes, right?"
"Well...yes...yes, I am. But I don't understand this-"
"Saw you and that other guy with the special blood on the news earlier this week." He looks around, then whispers to Barnes. "You got the guy's labwork that I sent to ya, right?" Barnes nods.
"You took a big risk doing something like that. Invasion of a patient's private records. You could be fired. Prosecuted, even."
"No different from what you're doing, sneaking in here, looking like a doctor, looking like you belong here."
Barnes glares at him.
"Good. We understand each other. That's why you (Vic points to Barnes' chest) are never gonna tell anyone where you got your information from."
Barnes lets out a sigh of frustration and lowers his eyes. "How much?"
Vic, satisfied that he's got Barnes over a barrel, flippantly asks, "Oh, I don't know. How much does a Porsche cost?"
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Henry is busy at his desk with paperwork when he hears a knock at his door. He looks up to see Lucas with a look of breathless anticipation on his face. He wonders what has gotten his young assistant all stirred up as he motions him inside.
Lucas cautiously walks up to Henry's desk and motions behind him. "Uh, someone's here to see you." He bends forward. "It's Ben. Lar-son." He slowly pronounces each syllable.
Henry squints at the man whose flimsy disguise of bleached blond hair, fake mustache and dark glasses does little to hide his true identity.
"Yes, Lucas, it's fine. He can come in."
Lucas hesitates. "Should I go get somebody, tell somebody?"
"No, that won't be necessary, Lucas." He smiles at Lucas and dips his head in the visitor's direction.
Lucas informs the man that he can enter Henry's office.
Larson enters, closes the door, and the blinds.
"Sorry for the cloak and dagger, Dr. Morgan." he says as he sits in one of the small chairs in front of the desk.
"You know my name." It's more of a statement than a query.
"Yes." He pulls off the glasses and pats the mustache. "Mind if I keep this on? Too hard to get back on once it peels off."
"Not at all, Mr. Larson."
"And...you know my name?" Larson grins. Henry half smiles and raises his eyebrows. Larson gathers his thoughts. "Look, Dr. Morgan, that news conference a few days ago..." his voice quietens as he lowers his eyes and struggles with his words. "That news conference was legit." He looks up quickly to gauge Henry's reaction. When there's no response, he continues.
"At least, as far as I'm concerned. My blood is legit. There are antibodies in my blood for diseases I have never even had. In fact, I never had the normal childhood diseases like chicken pox, measles, none of that. But the antibodies are still in my blood." Larson leans back and ruffles a hand through his faux blond thatch in frustration. "How is that possible, Doctor?" He suddenly jumps up from the chair and paces towards the door then back.
Henry eyes him, undecided as to his credibility. He inhales deeply and guardedly replies. "Well, there are two different ways for that to have happened."
Larson rolls his eyes and sighs. "Either through normal contraction of the disease or via innoculation. I already know. That shyster, Barnes, told me." He drops back into the chair and locks eyes with Henry. "Doctor, I have never been sick a day in my life! Barnes got my records from the hospital I was born in and from the orphanage I was raised in until the age of 17, when I enlisted in the Marines." He continues sarcastically, "Jump in anytime."
"Why do you feel the need to share any of this with me?" Henry can't help but feel a tinge of guilt for his skepticism regarding Larson's claims. What if he's telling the truth? Then this has to be so outside of his comfort zone to share this fantastical information about himself with a total stranger. Henry reiterates his initial conclusion, that the young man is either deranged or very brave. But he's curious to find out why Larson has chosen to share his "secret" with him. A troubling truth turns over and over in his mind: Reuben Barnes' obvious obsession with him must have influenced Larson to seek him out. Still, he doesn't want to give anything away about himself to Larson if he can help it. Just in case.
"Barnes used my blood to make a serum that slows the aging process. He used it on himself and he looks - (he huffs indignantly)- different. Hair's thicker, longer. Wrinkles practically vanished. He looks like he dropped at least 15 years of weight and age from his body in a matter of hours."
"I see." Henry cautiously asks, "And you're sure that the serum was actually derived from your blood?"
"Yes!" Larson shouts, startling the M.E.
Lucas quietly opens the door a bit and looks in. "Everything OK in here?" His eyes round with curiosity.
"Yes, Lucas, everything's fine."
"Well, I'll be right here. Right outside. If you need me, boss."
Henry smiles. "Fine, Lucas. Thank you." Lucas closes the door back but hovers on the outside and debates whether or not to call one of the detectives or the lieutenant.
Larson rubs his hands over his face as he works to rein in his emotions. "Sorry, Dr. Morgan. It's just that...I really thought Barnes could be trusted not to..."
"Not to use any discoveries for personal gain." Henry finishes for him.
Larson nods, furrows his brow, and tilts his head to the side as he looks pointedly at the man who would be his fellow immortal. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"I'm...sorry...?" Henry's not quite sure what he's asking.
"You don't believe what I've just told you about my blood, about Barnes, about me never having been sick a day in my life."
"Mr. Larson-" Henry begins.
"In school I played different sports. I've been in motorcycle and car accidents, been shot, stabbed, even poisoned. Heck, I was even in that subway crash last year that killed everyone on board." He scoffs.
Henry's breath hitches, his heart almost stops. He searches his memories for that day he'd died on that subway car. He'd been so enthralled with the blond cello player he'd almost had a date with and his own eventual death...was it possible? He sits forward as Larson's voice penetrates his thoughts again. "You were on the car that all those people died on?"
"No, I was in the subway car it crashed into. I was pretty banged up. Broken bones, lacerated liver, punctured lung. By the time help came, all my wounds had healed. No one was ever the wiser and, hopefully, nothing was caught on tape."
Henry's eyes dart back and forth as he considers everything Larson has shared with him. It would be nice to have a comrade in longevity other than Adam. But Larson has yet to back up his claim with any sort of proof.
As if he's read Henry's thoughts, Larson stands up and plucks the letter opener from Henry's pencil cup. "But I almost wish there were a video tape to prove to you that I'm telling the truth." He studies the sharp utensil as he twirls it in his fingers. "That would mean I wouldn't have to do this."
Henry jumps out of his chair, alarmed. "What are you doing, Larson?"
"Showing you the hard way what my condition involves."
"Now...Larson...you don't have to do this. Just put that down." he desperately urges him and almost finds himself yelling out that he believes him so he'll not harm himself. The same way Nora had done when he'd threatened to show her what his own condition involved.
"Just watch." Larson slices through his neck, severing an artery. He grimaces in pain and drops to his knees as Henry runs to his side. Larson moans as Henry grabs two large wads of kleenex and presses them against the wound. He's horrified at the ghastly wound that he'd seen many times as a war time doctor, but is also vaguely aware that there should be much more blood.
"Lucas!" Henry calls over his shoulder. "Lucas!"
"Coming!" Lucas bursts into the office.
"Hand me some antiseptic and bandages from the first aid kit, please. Hurry." Henry worries that if he releases the pressure, Larson will begin to lose more blood. But before Lucas hands him the requested items, Larson gently tugs himself loose from Henry's grasp. Larson flexes and rubs his neck and tilts his head away from Henry in order to reveal a rapidly vanishing scar. The initial blood loss is minimal and the two wads of kleenex are only sparingly stained.
Henry stares incredulously at Larson. "May I?" Larson nods and allows him to physically push and prod at the now non-existant wound. "That's astonishing." A genuine smile quirks at the corners of his mouth. "Utterly and completely astonishing."
Larson rises to a standing position. "I know. Happens every time I get injured. Come close to death several times but not sure if I can actually die." He looks at Henry.
Henry retakes his seat and studies Larson through new eyes. "Might I ask...how old you are? When were you born?"
Larson sighs. "1929. The year of the stock market crash." His eyes reflect a deep, sad tiredness all too familiar to the M.E. "I know that I look to be in my early 30's but in truth - I'm 87 years old." He's suddenly aware of Lucas' presence.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about me telling anybody anything about you or, or anything, I mean, Dr. Morgan'll vouch for me, I can be trusted. Right, boss?"
Larson shushes him. "Calm down, kid. I'm almost starting not to care who knows anymore, you know?" He casts tired eyes once again at Henry and sighs. "I'm tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of being alone in this - this - probably unending circle of life."
Lucas eyes Henry sympathetically and Henry smiles in gratitude.
"So, Dr. Henry Morgan," Larson begins, "what's your story?"