A/N: Here's a very quick summary of both shows if you haven't seen them! If you have (or if you just don't want to read this lol), feel free to skip to the story!

Forever is about Dr. Henry Morgan, a medical examiner with the police who also helps solve cases. He's a bit of an odd guy and an incredible investigator. And, he has a big secret: he's immortal. Every time he dies (or is killed), he appears in a body of water, completely naked. He doesn't know the reason for his curse, and he works around death in hopes of discovering how it works.

Prodigal Son is about a profiler, Malcolm Bright, who works with the police department to help solve cases. He's a bit of an odd guy with a penchant for death - solving murders keeps him sane. He has severe complex PTSD brought on by his father Martin Whitly, better known as the Surgeon, a notorious serial killer. Malcolm has repressed, traumatic memories about growing up with him, causing him to have violent night terrors, severe insomnia, and a psychogenic tremor in his right hand. His greatest fear is turning out just like his dad.

Okay, I think those are the basics! I hope you enjoy!


Malcolm desperately needed sleep. For once, even he admitted it. He hadn't been able to get more than thirty minutes at a time in over six days. It wasn't all that unusual for him, really, but it was incredibly inconvenient, especially once it got to this point. Normally, he thrived on little sleep. Sometimes, it felt like his brain worked faster. But eventually, even he started showing the effects of sleep deprivation. He could practically feel his mind struggling to think, to get his body from A to B. It seemed to struggle with everything these days, except creating new personal versions of hell for him to get caught in when he closed his eyes.

He had gotten painfully bored of pacing back and forth in his apartment, turning the TV on and off, cleaning his already spotless kitchen, doing yoga under the moonlight. So, he'd gone for a walk. He'd been meandering up the trail that hugged the north bank of the East River for the better part of an hour, and still, his thoughts refused to give him a break. He paused and looked out over the lightly rippling water, staring intensely at its unbroken surface, trying desperately to stop the waves from morphing into the smiling face of his father.

He clenched his eyes tightly shut and pushed his palms into them harshly, his right hand trembling viciously. Malcolm let out a frustrated groan as he ran his fingers aggressively through his usually perfectly styled hair.

He looked up to the sky and opened his eyes, letting the breeze wash over him. He imagined he must be a sight, standing in the middle of the trail, staring at the sky aimlessly at god knows what time.

Malcolm shook his head, trying to dislodge the memories threatening to overtake him once again. He made to get going again when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Brow furrowed, he glanced to his left, and caught a glimpse of a man.

A soaking wet, very naked man who was running quickly to duck between a well placed trash can and an unforgivably under-groomed bush.

Malcolm blinked. He shook his head again. He knew he was tired, but he didn't think he was tired enough to start hallucinating. Well, hallucinating things that weren't related to Martin Whitly.

He squinted, noting the wet footprints on the pavement and the sound of light rustling in the bush. He caught a glimpse of a tanned and dripping elbow. Okay, so it was real. Definitely. Probably.

Maybe it was against his better judgment (okay, definitely against his better judgment), but he turned on his heel and walked over to the offending trash can.

"Uh, hi?" he greeted awkwardly.

There was a lightly surprised sound from the bush, followed by a tentative, "Er, hello."

"Um, what are you doing?"

"I'm sitting in a bush," the voice said in a melodic British accent.

"Right," Malcolm responded. "But, why are you naked? Are you okay?" That probably should've been the first question he asked. Who knows why this man was out here? He clenched his jaw.

"Ah, so you noticed that," the voice said sarcastically, and a bit humorously.

"Kind of hard to miss."

"Good point." There was a pause, almost long enough that Malcolm through the man had stopped responding. "I was… sleepwalking."

"Sleepwalking," Malcolm repeated.

"Yes, occasionally I… fall asleep, and when I wake up, I find I've decided to go for a swim."

"Naked."

"Well, I sleep naked," the voice said plainly, as if it was the most natural situation in the world.

And, to be honest, Malcolm didn't really have any ground to say it wasn't. "I sleepwalk sometimes," he commented as he took a step closer to the trash can. "Although, for me it usually ends… differently." He winced as he remembered Eve screaming and cowering on the floor as he unconsciously slashed a knife through the air.

"I would certainly hope so," the voice responded wryly.

"I don't know. Honestly, I'd almost rather have your thing." At that, he stepped close enough to peer over the lip of the trash can. Staring back at him was a clean-shaven, uncomfortably crouched man, dripping wet and wearing absolutely nothing. Malcolm looked away quickly to give the guy some privacy, a blush creeping up his neck. "Um, hi!" he said again. The man didn't appear to be dangerous in any way, just utterly embarrassed and a little confused. Ignoring the voice in his head that was telling him not to give his name out to random naked strangers (it sounded oddly like Gil), he continued, "I'm Malcolm. Bright. Malcolm Bright."

"I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you, Malcolm, but under the circumstances…"

Malcolm inclined his head. "Yeah, makes sense." He let out a small chuckle and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I'm Henry. Henry Morgan."

"Well, I'll say it's nice to meet you, Henry, even like… this. Speaking of which, why exactly are you in a bush, specifically, and not… getting help?"

"This wouldn't exactly be the first time this has happened, and occasionally I run across the authorities. They don't exactly look kindly upon my situation, and I cannot get arrested again, considering my line of work."

"Considering most lines of work, I'd think," Malcolm responded, and Henry hummed in agreement. "What is your line of work, exactly?" He thought briefly how completely ridiculous this situation must look to any possible spectators. A well dressed but exhausted man making small talk with a naked sleepwalker in a bush. But frankly, it wasn't like he hadn't experienced weirder.

Henry appeared to be weighing something for a moment before he carefully responded, "I work with the police."

"Really? Me too! Sometimes. A lot of times, actually. When they need me. Which, honestly, is a lot, so… yeah, me too. What do you do?" When Henry didn't respond (and honestly, Malcolm couldn't blame him), Malcolm continued, "I'm a profiler; I work with the 16th."

"The 16th…" Henry pondered that for a second, then asked brightly, "Do you know a Dr. Edrisa Tanaka?"

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up. "Yes! She's our M.E.! How do you know her?"

"I am a medical examiner as well. I met her recently when she consulted me about a particularly difficult case. I believe she told me about you, actually. She said you're very good at your job."

The excitement at meeting someone who knew a member of his team drained out of him immediately. "Oh." Malcolm cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I imagined she told you about… the Surgeon, then." He clenched his right fist as the words "We're the same" echoed in his head.

"Only that he is your father, but she didn't tell me anything else. Why do you ask?" Henry's tone was polite, maybe even a little surprised, as if he hadn't expected to discuss it at all.

Malcolm blinked. That… wasn't the response he was expecting. "Um… normally people have a lot more questions… after they hear that."

Kindly and sincerely, Henry responded, "I simply figured it wasn't any of my concern, unless, of course, you wanted to tell me about it. Family affairs are a tricky business. I wouldn't much want to be compared to my father either." After a thoughtful pause, he continued, "You really seem nothing like him."

Malcolm smiled shakily as his chest filled with warmth. Oh, if only he knew, a voice that sounded eerily like Martin taunted in his mind. His smile dropped and he resisted the urge to snap back.

"Um, Malcolm?"

"Yes!" he replied, a little too eagerly as he was snapped out of his thoughts.

"You wouldn't happen to have any clothes, would you? Or perhaps a mobile phone I could use?"

"Oh, right! Yes! Of course! Both! I have both." He immediately started unbuttoning his jacket. "I apologize, Dr. Morgan, I should've thought about that earlier. In my defense, I haven't slept in… well, I don't even know how long, actually, especially if you're counting a full night's sleep-"

"Malcolm, it's quite alright," Henry interrupted. "And please, call me Henry. I think, considering the circumstances, we're well past last names, wouldn't you say?"

"Right. Yes. Henry. Sorry," Malcolm replied hurriedly. He finished stripping off his jacket and handed it quickly to the pale waiting hand peeking above the garbage can. Immediately, the frigid wind nipped at him through his thin dress shirt. Henry must've been freezing this whole time. "Sorry," he repeated lamely, not sure of what else to say.

"It's okay, Malcolm. I don't imagine you considered how to react in this exact situation." Malcolm nodded in acquiescence to that. Without a second thought, he started unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. He took his wallet, phone, and keys out of his pockets. From the bush, Henry asked, "Are you certain you want me wearing this? It's, ah, very expensive and I've been in some dirty water."

"Oh, no! I mean, yes. You can wear it. I don't mind, really. I have a bunch of them. Besides, nothing a dry clean can't fix."

Malcolm could practically hear Henry hesitating, but he put the jacket on anyway, based on the telltale rustling of the leaves. It's not like the guy had many other options, after all. Malcolm easily handed his pants and belt over too.

"Um, Malcolm…"

"Yes?"

"If you're giving me these, what are you wearing, exactly?"

"There's nothing illegal about a man going for a late night stroll in his boxer briefs, is there?" Malcolm said breezily, even as he glanced around to ensure nobody was looking.

"I suppose not," Henry agreed. A few seconds later, he stood, facing Malcolm for the first time, and he said, "Well? How do I look?"

A genuine smile played at Malcolm's lips as he took in the man. The doctor was about half a foot taller than him and a little less slender to boot. The man had made an effort to tame down his hair, but he had miserably failed as his curls spread in all directions. Malcolm's eyes went from the belt fastened over his unbuttoned pants, before his eyes fell on a rough, knotted scar in the middle of Henry's chest. A scar that, if Malcolm wasn't mistaken (and he rarely was), was from a wound that should've been fatal. He blinked as the image in front of him shifted from Henry's knotted scar to a smoother, thinner one, to a small hand driving a knife into the chest of John Watkins-

"I know it's not a perfect fit," Henry's melodic voice broke cleanly into his reverie. "But it's certainly an improvement."

"Right… yes." The too small suit cut Dr. Morgan off at the belly button, and the pants looked near ready to tear at the seams. Unzipped and unbuttoned, they were coming dangerously close to revealing far more than anyone would be comfortable with. It was a sharp dichotomy to the way the man held himself — he was very proper, with upright posture and an easy elevation to his chin. Malcolm's hand flew to the buttons of his shirt. "Um, here, let me give you this, too. You can tie it around your waist or-"

"No, Malcolm, please, you've been very kind already-"

"Have you tried restraints?" Malcolm interrupted, trying to distract from how difficult unbuttoning the shirt was with his trembling hand. Based on Henry's slightly tense expression, he hadn't succeeded.

"Sorry?"

"Restraints. On your bed. To stop the sleepwalking?"

"Oh, right! Yes, the sleepwalking," Henry answered, as if it was the first time he'd heard about it. Malcolm took on a calculating expression. The doctor looked embarrassed for the first time, as if he'd blown a cover. "No, I haven't."

Henry was looking at him almost nervously now as he made his way to the penultimate button. Mentally promising to consider those reactions later, Malcolm clarified, "I use them. Every night. To help with, ah, my night terrors. They can get… pretty intense." Understatement of the year, he thought. Finally, the shirt came undone, and he gave it to Henry, who begrudgingly tied it around his waist, leaving Malcolm trying not to shiver in his boxer briefs, socks, and shoes. "There! Now you look completely put together." He was trying for humor, but didn't quite succeed. Henry indulged him with a chuckle anyway, and Malcolm was surprised to find he was grateful instead of feeling patronized.

"The night terrors… are they because of your father?" Henry asked neutrally.

Malcolm refused to meet his eyes. "Yes," he answered. "You must think I'm…" Crazy. Damaged. Weak. The words refused to leave his mouth.

"Not at all," Henry answered. "Malcolm. Look at me. Out of the two of us, I would say the man who just climbed naked out of a river perhaps wins the contest of 'oddest sleeping habits.'" Henry lowered his chin and looked at him imploringly, with a small smirk on his face. He didn't seem embarrassed at all to be in the position he was in, hair still dripping, barefoot, in a skintight suit.

But then again, Malcolm was hardly embarrassed either, and he was standing in his underwear, phone and wallet clenched tightly in his hands. "Yeah, maybe so," he replied. But he couldn't help but notice the slightly relieved expression on Henry's face, as if he was ensuring that Malcolm did, in fact, still believe that he was sleepwalking. Well, now Malcolm definitely didn't. What else he could've been doing, naked in the river, Bright didn't know. But he internally vowed to look into it.

Suddenly, a stronger breeze whistled past them both, causing Malcolm to shiver. Before Henry could offer him his clothes back, he said, "Right! Well, do you have a way to get home? Oh, do you still need to borrow my phone?"

"I'll take a taxi, but I should be fine without the phone," Henry said. He looked at the device in Malcolm's hand mistrustfully. "I'm sure my roommate is wondering where I've gone." He took on a pensive, almost concerned expression.

Malcolm quickly pulled a hundred out of his wallet and shoved it into Henry's palm. Dr. Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"Unless you have cab money hidden somewhere…" Malcolm said humorously.

"Ah," Henry commented placatingly, making Malcolm wonder if he could have had exactly that. Either way, the doctor took the money without complaint. "Thank you, Malcolm. Do you live close?"

"Yes," Malcolm lied. Henry narrowed his eyes, clearly seeing right through it. The profiler shrugged. "I enjoy a good walk."

"Alright…" Henry opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it. Malcolm cocked his head. Hurriedly, Henry said, "Well, I'll go ahead and take my leave now, if it's alright with you. I don't want to keep my roommate up much longer."

"Of course! And I don't want to keep my bird waiting, either," Malcolm said good-naturedly. "It was nice to meet you, Dr. Mor- Henry."

"You as well, Malcolm Bright. Thank you for your help. I can't imagine what I would've done without you." Almost as an afterthought, he said, "I will… consider your idea. About the restraints."

Malcolm nodded and ducked his head in shame, even though he knew the man definitely wouldn't. Why would he, considering he wasn't sleepwalking at all? Dr. Morgan seemed to be a good man, but he was a truly terrible liar. He turned to leave, the cold really starting to settle in now.

"Oh, and Malcolm?"

"Yes!" he responded, a little too quickly, hoping Henry wasn't going to call him on not believing the sleepwalking story.

Henry looked him in the eye, his gaze boring directly to the deepest parts of his soul. Malcolm shifted uncomfortably. "I meant what I said earlier. Just because The Surgeon is your father, doesn't mean you're his son."

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, even appreciation. "Thank you," he said. He was surprised to find that it was genuine.

The two men nodded at each other in understanding, then turned their separate ways, Malcolm making his way near home.

What on earth was Henry doing in that river, if he wasn't asleep? Surely not investigating something. He was naked, after all. Maybe there was another reason other than sleepwalking that he didn't want his police friends to know? But what?

He thought back to the conversation. He had no issue believing Henry frequented the river. The man was far too comfortable with being nude in public. And Malcolm didn't doubt that he'd chosen to climb out of the river exactly where he did to minimize the time he had to spend in the open.

But, it was clear that Henry hadn't been sleepwalking. He appeared to have forgotten he'd given that excuse at all, for one thing. Secondly, he couldn't imagine that someone who had such severe somnambulism wouldn't take more measures to keep themself safe. The world was extremely dangerous for someone who didn't truly know what was going on around them. He had heard of cases where people completed complex tasks while sleeping, and it could be that Henry was one of those. But sleepwalkers couldn't anticipate emergencies. If there was a runaway car headed his way, for example, Henry wouldn't have the ability to avoid it.

Clearly, he cared for his roommate, and he assumed the feeling was mutual. They could've tried many complex lock systems. They even could've locked Henry in the room from the outside. Although, he supposed, that would probably be a fire hazard…

He sighed. He'd have to ask Edrisa about the man the next time he saw her. There was something about Henry Morgan, something that wasn't quite fitting.

He mulled over the topic as he finished his walk home, ignoring the odd looks he got from the few passersby on the roads.

At long last, after over forty minutes, he faced his door. He practically skipped up the stairs and to his bed, nodding at Sunshine when she twittered at him. Surprisingly, he felt relaxed, tired even. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, he took advantage of the feeling and buckled himself into his restraints. But for once, they weren't necessary. He had a new case, a new problem to solve, one that, for some reason, he was determined to solve. Malcolm closed his eyes and pondered the mystery of Dr. Henry Morgan until he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.


A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this; it's probably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. It was difficult to merge the two shows - although the content is often similar, Forever has a much warmer, kindhearted tone, and Prodigal Son is a little grittier. But, I just love these two characters, and as soon as the idea of them meeting popped into my brain, I just knew I had to write it. (I also recommend both of these shows highly if you're looking for something to watch.)

I know this probably won't have much of an audience, but if you're one of the probably 3 people who's seen both shows (or even if you're not lol), I hope it lived up to your expectations! Please feel free to leave a review! :)