Abe's Antiques in Dimension One ...

Abe had just hung up the phone from Jo after discussing the other Henry and how she'd arranged for him to stay in a safe house for the time being. Abe had given her a pretty hard time when he'd tried and failed to get some of his questions answered. Mainly, where was Dad?

"What about Henry? Where is he?" Abe had asked anxiously.

"Apparently - Henry's still missing in action," she'd replied haltingly.

"Whaddaya mean missing in action? Did he sign up to fight in a war that nobody told me about? Missing in action?" He'd paused to catch his breath. "Sorry, Jo. I'm just losing it here." His anxiety level had not really dropped since the night before when he'd accidentally shot and killed the strange man.

"Abe," she'd sighed, "when I know more, you'll know more."

"That guy knows where he is, doesn't he?" he'd asked accusingly.

"He, um, has a pretty good idea but - " As much as she wanted do, she felt it best not to divulge what the other Henry had told her about being from another dimension and most likely having switched places with their Henry.

"So help me, I'll blow his brains out and keep blowin' 'em out until he tells me WHAT HE'S DONE WITH HENRYYYY!" Abe had exploded again.

He'd apologized again to Jo for having yelled into the receiver but this situation was just totally unacceptable. And, unbeknownst to Jo, he'd figured it out. He'd seen enough sci-fi TV shows and movies to know that Dad may have swapped places with this guy and was now wandering around in a strange, other universe, trying desperately to get back home. Living with an Immortal, he admitted to himself, who had an Immortal stalker made one pretty open to even stranger situations. But what were they to do? Well, for now, he decided, nurse a continuously long drink of scotch until he blacked out. He'd murdered a man, after all. A man ... who couldn't stay dead. A man ... who wasn't Dad.

vvvv

The 11th Precinct, the next morning ...

Mike Hanson sat at his desk pretending to concentrate on paperwork that he'd completed 20 minutes ago. For that long he had repeatedly cleared his throat, and made other noises such as loudly sorting the papers and tapping his pen on his desk in order to get a response out of his partner, Jo Martinez. She hadn't taken the bait, however, and remained seated at her desk with her back to him, irritatingly quiet about her encounter last night with their strange ME, Dr. Henry Morgan. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he jumped up from his chair with the signed reports and walked them over to the outgoing mail bin, slapping them down into it. He then walked over to her desk and plopped down into the metal chair next to it.

"So, what's up with the Doc this time?" he asked. "He gets nabbed again for moonin' the cops from the river and he's a no-show for work this morning."

Jo sighed and rolled her eyes. "First of all, he did not moon anyone."

"You know what I mean, Jo. The guy's got a problem. I mean, he's a genius at solving crimes but he's definitely got a problem with this sleepwalking without a stitch of clothing on."

"It wasn't Henry, Mike," she said, her gaze fixed on her half-filled coffee mug, the side of her head resting against her hand.

"What are ya talkin'?" he asked, confused.

"He looks like Henry, but he's not. Some ... distant relative who's ... visiting for a while," she lied. Well, partially lied since he definitely wasn't their Henry and he was for sure visiting. For how long, she didn't know. But she was determined to cut his visit as short as possible.

Mike chuckled. "What? A relative? And he has the same weirdo need to skinny dip in the dirty East River?" He threw his head back and laughed out loud. "I don't believe it. Is this a Brit-boy thing?" He suddenly rose from his chair and told her, "I gotta meet him. What's his name?"

"It's Henry. Henry Morgan. And he's a doctor, too." It would stand to reason that he would be if he was Henry's doppelganger from another dimension. And since she knew that she also had a doppelganger over ... there, somewhere, that there would also be another Mike and Lucas and Reece and Abe. Jo hid a laugh that threatened to erupt from her with a cough. Her need to laugh melted away when she rationalized that if Henry couldn't return to them, they'd have to settle for this obnoxious turd. Just great!

"C'mon, take me to him," Mike urged her.

"Um, that's not possible right now, Mike. Sorry." She avoided his eyes, knowing that he wasn't going to let this drop so easily.

"Where is he? At Abe's?" he asked. "I'll just go over there myself," he threatened.

"No," she replied too quickly, he thought. "He's actually in a place where he can be ... watched and ... kept safe. For now." Oh, why couldn't she do this more smoothly? He was seeing right through her half-truths.

"Ya put him in a no-tell hotel?" he asked, surprised and confused. "Why? Is he being kept safe until he testifies or something?"

Her dark-haired detective partner eyed her as he frowned. He'd started to head out to the antiques shop but stopped when she'd replied. She wasn't being up front with him. He knew she was hiding something from him the way she averted her eyes and twirled a few loose strands of hair around her finger. She'd displayed that same nervous habit for the first few months after Sean's death whenever anyone close to her had asked how she was handling things. Okay, he thought to himself, two can play that game. He was a pretty good detective, too. And his impatience was getting the better of him, urging him to get to the bottom of this latest mystery surrounding their quirky ME on his own!

"No, he's not here to testify," she replied, avoiding his piercing gaze.

Why all the mystery, he wondered to himself. "Okay, Jo," he began. "Where's the Doc, then? Lucas says Abe called this morning about some kind of family emergency."

"Yeah," she replied. "An emergency." The strangest kind of emergency she had ever heard of in her life. That is, besides people dying in front of her and popping up somewhere else alive and unhurt. She hated keeping the truth from Mike. But if this other Henry was an Immortal, then, most likely their Henry was, too. And he'd hidden it from her. She was sure that Abe was the keeper of his secret for God only knows how long, so she didn't want to be the one to blow his cover. Immortals. Geez. And were they the only ones capable of stepping out of one dimension and into another?

"Look, Mike, I've … gotta run down a soft lead in the Muir case." She stood up and grabbed her jacket off of the back of her chair and headed out of the bullpen. When he offered to accompany her, she quickly turned him down with a weak smile. "No, thanks. I got this. It probably won't pan out, anyway."

He watched her disappear into the elevator and tried to convince himself that it was not unusual for them to act independently of each other but it was always better to have backup. So, he decided to provide her that backup (him) at a distance, whether she wanted it or not. Besides, his gut told him that the 'soft lead' she was running down had a British accent.

vvvv

Mike sat parked at a discreet distance in his unmarked police car and watched Jo park in front of the antiques shop and enter it. After about 25 minutes, she emerged from the shop but not before conversing with Abe for several minutes as he animatedly pointed to an overnight bag she now carried and she nodded and left the shop. Mike fought the urge to jump out of his car and corner Abe for some answers but he clutched the steering wheel to keep himself in the car. He watched her place the bag into the trunk and was soon following her as she entered the freeway and about 40 minutes later, exited onto a street that she entered from the left.

"What's in the bag, Jo? And where are you headed?" he murmured to himself as he struggled to keep her car in view, five cars ahead of him. He was pleased to see her finally slow down and park on a tree-lined street in a lower-middle-class neighborhood. Most of the houses had neatly-kept lawns and the street was lined mostly with updated bungalows, a smattering of newer construction, and a few Victorians that, oddly, stuck out like sore thumbs. When she exited her vehicle, retrieved the bag from the trunk, and walked up to one of the Victorians, he jumped out of his own car and jogged up to the house just as the door opened for her.

The door began to close but he blocked it with one hand, holding his badge up in the other. "Oops," he said. "One more comin' in. Det. Mike Hanson, NYPD 11th Precinct." The detective posing as a middle-aged housekeeper, Sheila Dunning, frowned uncertainly at him and looked at Jo, who reluctantly nodded. Dunning stepped back to allow Mike in and left Jo and him alone in the small foyer. They stared wordlessly at each other, their slight anger with the other showing on their faces. Jo, because he'd gone behind her back and followed her. He was her partner and partners were supposed to trust each other. Mike felt he'd unnecessarily been put into a position to have to follow her in the first place. He was her official partner, after all. Why didn't she feel she could trust him with whatever was going on with the Doc or whoever this other guy was?

Jo was the first to blink. She looked away from him then back up at him. "Mike, I don't expect you to understand right now, but I'm asking you to allow me to do this on my own." She stared directly into his eyes and when he didn't respond, said, "I'm asking more as a friend. Okay?"

Mike finally relented. He couldn't stay angry with her for long. "Dang, Jo!" He put his hands on his hips and heaved a big sigh, shifting his broad shoulders side to side and shaking his head. "Whatever it is must be real serious, huh?" he asked, his voice quiet with concern. She lowered her eyes and mutely nodded. He sighed again, caving in. "Okay," he told her. "But if you need any help ... "

Jo smiled and looked back up at him. "You'll be the first person I turn to." She watched him leave the safe house shaking his head. When he finally drove off, she closed the door and started up the stairs to the other Henry's room.

"Detective?" Dunning called to her and once she'd gotten Jo's attention, told her, "He's not in his room; he's in the kitchen. Cooking."

Jo left the bag at the foot of the stairs and walked down the hallway. Only then, did she notice the delicious aroma wafting out of the kitchen. When she reached the doorway, she smiled at the sight of the other Henry preparing himself a plate of food. He turned away from the stove and carried his plate over to the 1950's retro kitchen table with a white, formica top and chrome legs.

"Ahhh, Martinez," he greeted her cheerfully and placed the plate on the table. "Care to join me?"

It was so tempting but she reminded herself that he was not the right Henry. Her Henry. Even though in this moment, he was making her feel so much like he was. "Um, no, thanks," she told him.

"Now, none of that," he admonished her. "I've been slaving over a hot stove for the past three hours in anticipation of just this moment. Please," he said, motioning to the plate of food and pulling the chair out for her. "I so hate dining alone." His smile was almost as dazzling as Henry's and everything did look so delicious.

"Alright," she reluctantly told him and sat down. "Just a bite or two. I can't stay." And she didn't want to get too attached to this other Henry, who appeared to be displaying a lighter side of himself. "What is this?" she asked.

"You've never had Beef Wellington?" he asked, setting his plate down on the table and sitting in the chair to her left.

"No," she replied, shaking her head and hiding her amusement. "Not with ground beef."

"It's the only meat that was available," he said with a sigh. "But I can assure you it will not disappoint. I'm an excellent cook."

They ate in silence for a few moments and in those few moments she was reminded of the many meals she'd shared with Henry and Abe in their kitchen or on the rooftop terrace. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she rested her fork on her plate like an oar. Bad manners to do so, she knew, but she didn't care.

"Something wrong?" he asked, frowning when she stopped eating. "Not to your liking?"

"Um, no, it tastes great." Hamburger. Who knew? "But I really came over to drop some clothes off to you." She stood up from the table and walked toward the doorway. "They're in the bag at the foot of the stairs."

He stopped eating and smiled. With his back to her, he said, "Ahhh. You miss him."

"Pardon me?"

"This Henry fellow that you know." He turned halfway in his chair to look at her. "You're rather attached to him, I suspect." He looked her up and down and back up to her eyes filling with tears. His smile faded and he turned back around to his plate. "Does he know that you love him?" he quietly asked.

"What?" Jo demanded. "Look, that's none of your business. I mean, I'm not here to discuss my personal life." As if her personal life included Henry in any other way beyond friendship. And, okay, this guy had observational skills as good as Henry's but she wasn't going to discuss anything like this with him. Heck, she hadn't even discussed anything like this with Henry. "Thank you for the meal but I'll be leaving now."

"My apologies. Didn't mean to pry. But if it's any consolation," he started, "I strongly suspect that he feels the same way about you."

The tears welled up in her eyes threatened to spill over as she stood just outside the doorway, facing the front door at the end of the hallway. "How would you know? You don't even know him." And he'd only ever told her that she was his partner. His friend.

"You're so much like the Jo that I know," he replied. "And if he's anything at all like me ... he keeps people at arm's length to avoid human entanglements. Simply can't afford those, you know," he added. "People ask questions, personal questions about you, about your past. Questions that simply can't be answered without revealing the secret of being forced to live a long, unaging life. Must keep those things hidden, you see. And every six or seven years, abandon a life and begin a new one somewhere else." He paused, swallowing. "But something happened a few years ago to me - and to him, too, I suspect." Jo had walked back into the kitchen and sat back down at the table. He looked over at her, his own eyes moist with unshed tears.

"A young detective walked into my morgue. Her beauty unmarred by her hair, clothes, and makeup all in disarray. She stole my heart." He looked at her now with raised eyebrows and a sad smile. "I don't know how you and this other Henry fellow met but I suspect that his life and mine mirror each other's in many more ways than sharing a physical resemblance. I can say with great certainty that he loves you as much as you love him."

"Is this you?" Jo asked. She wasn't trying to deflect from herself; she was genuinely curious. "Is this how you really are?"

He chuckled and pushed his food around on his plate with his fork. "I'm afraid so," he replied, sighing. "In ... my own world, I've earned a reputation for being a total arse." His smile faded and his eyes darted back and forth. "Keeps people away. No one wants to be friends with someone who doesn't know his backside from a hole in the ground."

A smile broadened across her face. "You're a fake!" she declared, laughing while he shrugged. "Here you had me thinking that you were this God-awful snake of a man and ... yeah, I didn't want anything to do with you." Her laughter subsided and she eyed him more closely. "So, does being a jerk work for you?"

He lowered his eyes to his plate then sighed. "Not entirely." He pursed his lips and looked at her again. "Jo," he said quietly. "I ... sort of let her in."

"Sort of?" Jo tilted her head to the side. "Meaning you haven't told her about your immortality." He shook his head and she chuckled. "Well, if it'll make you feel any better, our Henry has managed to keep that little fact hidden from us, as well. Except, I think that Abe knows. He didn't freak out as much as you'd think he would have when you died and vanished." She frowned and speculated, "Maybe it's because he'd already seen something like that before. Who is Abe to you? I mean, where you come from?"

His shoulders began to shake as laughter bubbled up out of him, spreading his grin into a dazzling smile again. He licked the lower inside of his lip and heaved a breath in and out. Picking at his food again with his fork, he told her, "Well, you've figured most everything else out, you might as well know that in my world ... Abe is my adopted son."

Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew big as saucers. "Then ... that means that most likely Abe here is ... also ... " Her mouth tugged up into an uncertain smile and he dipped his head towards her with his eyebrows raised and his lips pursed.

"Those two," Jo said, shaking her head and smiling. She leaned forward, still smiling. "Henry," she began (and they both realized that it was the first time she'd called him by his given name), "what is your story?"

vvvv

"I look absolutely gauche in this outfit," the other Henry growled, scowling. "Where did you purchase them from? The Goodwill?"

Jo swallowed her laughter and schooled her features. "They belong to Abe. His, um, wedding suit from his first marriage." She swallowed again and said, "You look fine." He shot her a 'really' look and she added, "Well, since you're not going anywhere anytime soon, it's okay for puttering around the house." She gulped her laughter again as he marched over to the open overnight bag on the bed and pulled one garment after the other out of it, tossing them roughly down onto the bed.

"I do not putter, my good lady. I have never puttered around anyone's house!"

"So, you're as much of a clothes horse and a fashion snob as our Henry is," she stated, amused.

He continued to pick up and examine each discarded garment while he spoke. "If by that you mean that he understands, as I do, that a gentleman should always endeavor to look his best, then you are correct." He held up a light blue cardigan as if examining it for holes, flipping it frontwards and backwards then frontwards again. He turned around to her, still examining the cardigan with a frown. "I suppose this will do instead of this blasted wedding jacket." He quickly removed it and donned the cardigan. After checking his look in the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, he re-entered the room in a less agitated state. Smoothing his hands down over the sleeves, he looked over to her, spreading his arms, for her approval.

She watched him with her arms crossed over her chest, her heat tilted to the side. "That's actually one of our Henry's sweaters. It fits you good."

"Fits me well," he said, correcting her. At her confused look, he explained, "The proper descriptor in that sentence is 'well'.

"Oh, I see," she replied. "You mean like that meal you prepared earlier for us tastes well." She laughed to herself at the look of consternation on his face.

"Dear lady," he began, "Although it is regretful that the King's English has failed to be properly embraced here in the colonies - "

"Colonies? Colonies?" she asked, feeling insulted. "I'll have YOU know that - " Her phone buzzed, interrupting her scolding of him. "Martinez," she answered. "Um-hmm ... okay. Be there soon as I can." She ended the call and pocketed her phone. "Gotta go," she told him.

"Dead body?" he asked. She nodded and started to leave. "Need some help?" She whirled around to face him again.

"No! You stay," she paused, calming herself and lowering her voice. "You stay here."

"But I am an ME with a pretty good track record, if I do say so myself."

"Look. It's best to keep your interactions with others to a minimum. We'll soon figure out how to get you and our Henry switched back to your own dimensions. In the meantime, stay put."

"So. I am imprisoned." He slowly sat down on the bed and looked at her from under a furrowed brow but with tired eyes. "Not like it hasn't happened to me before," he quietly lamented.

"Henry, I ... "

"Go, Detective," he told her, cutting her off. "Solve your latest case." He studied the mismatched throw rugs on the hardwood floor as he braced himself with his hands on his knees. "I will stay put."

Jo left the safe house feeling guilty about leaving him, ordering him to stay there. He actually hadn't committed any crime except for breaking and entering and frightening Henry's son, Abe, into accidentally killing him. Hmmm. Okay. But Abe! O.M.G! He was Henry's son! She'd almost forgotten. But as she sped to the latest crime scene, she knew that all thoughts of the two Henry's and Abe had to be tabled for now. 'Concentrate, Martinez,' she told herself. 'This is a normal murder on a normal work day.' And she couldn't believe she had just said that.