Jo walks into the antiques shop and Henry locks the door. Over her shoulder, he sees a hooded figure emerge from the alley across the street and walk quickly away, but he doesn't let on. He considers the possibilities, but then decides he's not going to let anything spoil this evening while she's here.
"So." He turns and smiles at his attractive houseguest and does his best to focus only on her face (And what a lovely face it is, he marvels to himself.)
"So." Jo echoes as she smiles and raises her eyebrows.
"Yes. Yes, sorry." he blushes. "Let me show you to your room." He stiffens. "I mean the room you'll be staying in." He motions towards the stairs and she walks towards them, small bag in hand, and begins to ascend.
"I'll, uh, just be a moment. Need to check on something down here first. It's the, uh, third bedroom at the end of the hall." He shoves a thumbs-up at her and flashes his best dazzling smile. She hesitates, then nods and disappears up the stairs. The soft click-clack of her heels on the wooden floor above him fades away.
He'd had to suppress his usual gentlemanly tendencies and allow her to carry her own bag. Not even offer to carry it. He chalks it up to the passage of time during which women have gradually become more empowered and independent, while he and his fellow gendermates have gradually become less knowledgeable in how to properly attend to the wants and needs of the opposite sex. Many of modern day acceptances regarding proper interactions between men and women (especially during courtship) grate strongly against his sensibilities. He is, after all, a product of his generation. In his day, gentlemanly deportment was believed to be a necessary part of a young man's upbringing. But, in spite of his son's several admonitions, he has evolved. And for Jo - he's even willing - eager - to change.
He walks quickly back to the shop's door and peers outside, up and down the streets. Then he chides himself for having succumbed once more to his paranoia, and quickly makes his way to the kitchen upstairs.
"Where's Abe?" Jo calls to him from down the hall.
"He's, uh, out." He loudly responds as he removes Abe's delicious Thai pumpkin soup from the burner and turns off the heat. He fans the soup's pleasant aroma towards his face as he deeply inhales it. "Ahhhh." he sighs. "Abe outdid himself this time." He loudly proclaims. "You're going to love-" he turns as Jo clears her throat. She stands on the other side of the kitchen island and smiles mischeviously at him.
"Right. Right." he lowers his voice and grins, slightly embarrassed. He motions towards the table. "Please be seated, my lady."
She mock frowns at him as she seats herself and he serves them both a piping hot bowl of the exotic broth.
"Umm, you're right." She licks her lips and wipes her mouth with her napkin. "This tastes great!" She takes another spoonful. "Oh, yeah, he's gotta give me this recipe." She points downward to her bowl.
"Well, good luck with that. Abe doesn't like sharing his secrets." His smile waivers a bit at that last word.
"Runs in the family, then." Jo wryly points out.
Henry grimaces and puts his spoon down. "Jo, I-"
"Henry," she shakes her head, "poor choice of words on my part. Just forget I said anything."
"No, no, you're right." He pauses. "It was wrong for me to have kept the secret of my condition from you for as long as I did. Abe wanted me to tell you months ago, but," he lowers his voice, "I was too afraid of how you would react."
She places her hand on top of his. "Henry, you had every right to be hesitant about telling me or anyone else. After some of the things you've been through, no one could blame you." She squeezes his hand and he squeezes hers back.
"Well, I just wanted you to know that I'm very grateful that you didn't run screaming from me like your head was on fire." Her jaw drops and she laughs out loud. "Thank you," he continues, "for still being in my life. Because of that, I count myself as being - very lucky." He dips his head slightly and locks eyes with her.
"You're not the only one here who feels lucky, Dr. Morgan." Her voice soft, her lips inviting.
They slowly lean closer to each other, their unfinished meals now forgotten. He releases his hand from hers and places it on her shoulder. Her skin tingles under his touch. He slides his hand down, grasps her upper arm and gently but firmly pulls her even closer. He surprises himself by what he considers to be a brutish move.
She doesn't resist, though, and revels in how just the touch of his hand takes her breath away. She likes the feel of his hand on her, the heat of it against her skin even through the fabric of her blouse. At the same time, he enjoys the heat of her skin under his hand. It's a delightfully familiar sensation they'd felt from time to time during an inadvertent touch of hands or accidental bump against each other. But it's more than a physical attraction for them. It's naturally and deliciously connected to their emotional need for each other. Their love for each other.
They pause briefly to stare into each other's eyes.
"I love you, Jo. But I won't do anything you don't want me to. I don't want to mess this up, either."
"I love you, too, Henry." she whispers. "And shut up and kiss me."
He laughs quietly, then they close their eyes as their lips softly meet. Fueled by their own desires, the kiss soon becomes more demanding and then more frantic. The world stops once more for them. They both rise and continue the kiss. A shamelessly needful kiss to make up for lost time. The sensation is intoxicating as they cling to and clutch each other in an almost desperate embrace. Their breathing becomes loud and erratic; they can't seem to get close enough to each other, can't seem to touch each other enough. That feeling of wanting to share something special with the one you love is simply exhilirating. They feel as if they're going to fall off the edge of the world into the sweetest abyss.
When he kisses and nuzzles her neck, he notices something. Something missing. He pulls back out of his fog and looks down at her neckline. His fingers lightly graze across her skin, the spot where Sean's ring would normally have hung from the chain. Her eyelids flutter at his touch. His eyes move up to meet her steady gaze from her large, beautiful eyes.
"Jo - are you sure?" His voice rumbles deep and throaty.
"Yes." The corners of her mouth turn up slightly into a quiet smile. "I'm sure."
Their lips crash into each other but they both seem only to want to enjoy the kiss for as long as they can hold out for air.
"Your place or mine?" His voice breathless, the need urgent.
She instinctively knows he's referring to which bedroom. "Yours." She breathlessly responds.
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Reuben Barnes closes and locks the door of his unpretentious two-story home in a bedroom community on the outskirts of Ithaca, New York. He juggles his briefcase and a lidded box of files as he thumbs through his mostly junk mail which he unceremoniously dumps into a waste basket in the foyer. He deposits his briefcase and the box of files on top of the desk in his home office and takes a couple of swigs from a whiskey bottle he keeps in the bottom drawer. He winces from the liquid's burn as it goes down his throat and retrieves a curious piece of mail from his briefcase he'd received earlier that day at the Center.
The plain brown, letter-sized envelope with no return address, contains the blood work reports and DNA analysis of a patient in Bellevue Hospital, diagnosed with locked-in syndrome. "Male, white, age approx 35, listed as John Doe. As he studies the reports, he's struck by some very odd details. The patient has antibodies for many more diseases than even Ben Larson. Even for the ancient disease, Antonine Plague1, that had caused a pandemic during the Roman Empire period of 165–180 AD.
He looks inside the envelope again and pulls out a short note scrawled on a 3x5 yellow sticky that reads: Check Room 408, Bellevue Hospital, NY City. Maybe one of your Immortals?
His eyes widen and his breath shudders through his mouth in short pants. The DNA analysis has an extra page which looks like a cell phone photo of a section of a hospital patient form: "Report any changes in patient's condition to H? (he struggles to decipher the horrid scrawl) or Abraham Morgan." He suddenly jumps to his feet as he realizes what the first name is: Henry. Henry or Abraham Morgan! Abe! And his - father? - connected to this mysterious patient? He's beside himself with the glee that only a scientist could understand. The exultant glee of making a new discovery or successfully proving a theory to be correct. A theory he'd had about Dr. Henry Morgan for decades!
"Dr. Morgan." he slowly shakes his head in a chastising manner as he pushes everything back into the envelope and grabs his coat and keys once more. "Helping another of your kind hide in plain sight?" The four-hour drive he faces to New York City is of no consequence to him. "Abe, you and your dad have a lot of explaining to do." He pauses momentarily. "For one, if this patient can regenerate like you, Dr. Morgan, why is he being made to endure a physical condition he most likely will never recover from?" He frowns as his eyes dart from side to side. "Is he being kept in that condition - on purpose?"
He leaves his house and once inside his car, looks down at the envelope on the passenger seat beside him. "And who's responsible for putting him in that condition in the first place?" His logical mind begins to draw unseemly conclusions but he suppresses them, puts his car in gear and backs out of his driveway. No more sending incompetents like his older brother, David, to contact the Morgan men, he promises himself. "If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself." He nods emphatically to himself and zooms off to the Big Apple for some firsthand fact gathering.
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Henry pauses at his bedroom door. Jo hugs him from behind and nuzzles him behind his ear which triggers a deep, pleasurable moan from him. With every fiber of his being, he wants her, but something nags at him that this is too desperate - too rushed. They haven't even gone out on a formal date yet.
One of her hands somehow manages to again find the scar on his chest. She rubs her thumb over it while her other hand creeps naughtily under his vest and shirt as her slender fingers seek his bare skin. The two sensations sear him to his core and weaken him at the knees. With one hand on the doorknob, he stills her hand that covers his scar. And he's pretty sure she's not going to like what he feels he must tell her.
She props her chin up onto his left shoulder and notices the small muscles working in his jaw, his eyes tightly shut, his brow furrowed. She breaks the embrace and begins to rub his back. "What's wrong, Henry?" she softly asks.
He cringes at the confusion and disappointment in her voice and desperately wishes he had handled the situation better. Leave it to that blasted upbringing of his to rear its ugly head at a time like this. But he refuses to treat her as if she were a common trollip, a tart. The woman he loves - this woman - deserves the largest measure of consideration from him. Still, he wonders, how can he tell her without losing her? He struggles to gather the right words and the courage to speak them.
The tension in his back and his rigid shoulders cause her to drop her hands from him and step back. "It's Abigail, isn't it?" she stifles a sob. "You're not ready to move on from her." Not like I've chosen to move on from Sean, she bitterly contends.
Henry whirls around to face her, astonished at her question. "No, Jo! That's not what it is."
The tears glisten in her eyes and she hugs herself as if to ward off a chill. The chill of rejection.
He takes a step towards her but stops when she automatically takes another step back. Defeated, he drops his hands and sighs. "I want things to progress the right way between us. I want to treat you the right way. The way I was raised to treat a woman of worth. Not like some fast woman I just met in a bar." he waves his hand around in frustration. "You deserve better than that, Jo."
She tilts her head to the left and eyes him up and down. The look of sorrow slowly fades from her countenance.
This is good, he thinks, because at least she's listening. He swallows and nervously clasps his hands in front of him as he continues. "There should be a proper period of courtship."
She folds her arms across her chest, her mouth tightlipped.
'Ah, the irritated and impatient toe-tapping stance.' he gloomily observes. 'She thinks me oldfashioned; an old fuddy duddy like Abigail used to say.' But he concedes he's a walking anomaly. A Victorian-age man with Victorian-age values trapped in an ever-changing modern day world plagued by ever decreasing mores. But he refuses to allow that incongruous fact to compromise his values; what he feels to be right.
"Our relationship should only bloom from a proper beginning. It's not worth being ruined by a five-minute roll in the hay, as you young people say. 'She's smiling. She's smiling.' he gleefully cheers to himself. "If you would allow me to properly court you, I can assure you that any eventual consummation will be well worth the wait." He now tilts his own head to the left as he eyes her up and down.
She rolls her eyes and places her hands on her hips. "Is that what all this hesitation is about?" She then playfully accuses, "Henry, your 'Mr Darcy' is sticking out all over."
He visibly relaxes and smiles brightly. "If, by that, you mean I am a true gentleman, then I plead guilty to such."
She steps closer and pecks him on the cheek. "And the term nowadays is knockin' boots." He frowns in confusion.
"You said a roll in the hay. It's knockin' boots." she clarifies.
"Oh, well, let me just find those theater tickets and get out of you guys' way then." Abe's taunting voice startles them as he scurries past them and into his own bedroom. Neither of them miss his broad, mischevious smile and the twinkle in his eyes as he hurries past them.
Jo smiles although she lowers her head in embarrassment. Henry, however, is most greatly annoyed. Most greatly. It's what his own father used to say to him whenever he'd misbehaved. His father had then called for the governess to administer appropriate punishment on him and he now feels it's time to do the same with his own misbehaving son.
Henry folds his arms across his chest and positions himself outside Abe's door. Abe re-opens his door, sees his father's dark scowl and quickly closes it again. Jo bites her tongue to stave off a giggle. Henry, however, doesn't budge and his scowl darkens. Abe opens the door once again.
"Oh, c'mon, Pops, can't you take a joke?"
Henry raises his head, juts his jaw out and steps forward. Abe attempts to close the door again but Henry pushes it back open with one hand.
Abe steps back into the room and whines, "Aw, c'mon, you did this to me when I was a kid." Henry steps into the room and gently closes the door. "I'm a grown man, for goodness sakes!"
Jo leans against the door as she grins in disbelief. Henry, the young-looking father, actually disciplining his elderly son. She covers her mouth as she listens to the mostly one-sided conversation. Abe's pleas. Pleas that fall on the deaf ears of a parent intent only upon administering punishment. After a few minutes of quiet from inside the room, she suddenly feels like an eavesdropper and decides it's best to leave the two men to sort things out themselves. 'After all, it's not like he'd strangle poor Abe.'
Ten minutes later...
Jo sits back down at the table and resumes eating from her bowl of rewarmed soup.
"Jo," Henry says in the most matter-of-fact parental voice, "Abraham has something to tell you."
"Uh, yeah." Abe sheepishly begins. He shoots a quick glance at his father, then back at Jo. "Please accept my apology. I was out of line and, uh," he glances at Henry again, then back at Jo, "it was disrespectful what I said and, uh, it won't happen again." He takes a deep breath and looks at Henry as if seeking approval. Henry nods his head towards Jo so Abe turns his attention back to her.
She feels both overwhelmed by, and in awe of, the family dynamics of these two impossible men who have both come to mean so much to her. First Henry's unexpected but refreshing chivalry, now Abe's parentally-enforced but sincere apology have given her a privileged view into what it's going to be like having them as part of her life.
"Apology accepted." She smiles at Abe and squeezes his hand. He returns both gestures.
Abe gives Henry a cautious stare and holds up the two theater tickets (for Fawn and himself). "May I go out and play now?"
Jo gulps loudly and turns to her bowl of soup. She steals a look up at Henry who struggles the same as she does to contain laughter.
"Yes." Henry manages. "And I'm sure you've learned your lesson." Abe nods deeply and slowly as the two of them walk to the head of the stairs.
Abe turns and calls over Henry's shoulder to Jo. "See ya, Jo."
"Bye, Abe." She grins, shakes her head, and takes another spoonful of soup. "Oh, the soup is delicious, Abe. Thank you."
"Glad you like it. Enjoy." He turns his attention to his father whose countenance appears a lot sunnier now. The two men silently study each other.
Henry places his hand on Abe's shoulder. "She's special to me, Abraham." He says quietly. "Very special."
Abe closes his eyes and nods. "I know, Pops. Sometimes this (he points to his mouth) gets ahead of this (he points to his head)."
"And I'm sure you understand how important it is to properly cultivate a relationship with a woman who is very special to you." His eyes drop to the two tickets in Abe's hands. "Fawn?"
"Uh, yeah." Abe looks down at the tickets, then back up at his father. "She's very special, too."
"I like her. She couldn't get a better man." Henry says proudly. "Well, enjoy your evening, son."
"You, too, Pops." Abe calls over his shoulder as he descends the stairs, "I'll lock up."
He slowly walks back into the kitchen, his hands shoved down into his pockets.
Jo watches him as he stares off into space, lost in thought again. Then he takes a deep breath and turns to her.
"What would you say to a night at the cinema?"
She smilingly accepts. "And it's 'take in a movie', not a night at the cinema. Nobody says cinema anymore, Henry."
"Hmm...take in a movie." They clear the kitchen and grab their coats. "Fewer words, I grant you, but I prefer my more sophisticated phraseology."
Their discussion turns from modern colloquialism versus outdated phraseology, to movie choices during the cab ride to the cinema. Henry's word preference.
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
Bellevue Hospital, 4th floor nurses' station...
"Well, I'm out." A tall, slender, male nurse in his early 30's signs out and loudly plops the pen down on the clipboard. He runs a hand over his unruly crop of auburn curls. His hazel eyes slowly undress the 20-something blond nurse behind the counter who pretends to dislike his invasive gaze. He leans over the counter. "Course, I could hang around til the end of your shift, ya know, just to make sure you," he reaches over and playfully adjusts her name tag, "make it home safely."
She feigns disapproval. "I'm a big girl, Vic. Don't need you or anybody else to keep me safe." She pretends to engross herself in already completed paperwork.
He slides around the counter to sit in the chair next to her. "Oh, yeah, Amy, I forgot. You have your friends to keep you safe: Smith and Wesson." He laughs and fistbumps her on the shoulder. She rolls her eyes and turns away from him to answer a phone call.
"Yes." She looks up at the ceiling and responds again. "We check him every four hours and turn him, just like his chart says." She looks at Vic and silently gags as she crosses her eyes at the phone receiver. He covers his mouth and quickly moves several feet away to stifle his laughter.
"Yes, yes," she replies, past boredom, "any changes to his condition are noted and the attending nurse signs off on his chart." She looks over at Vic and motions with her free hand to indicate a talkative person. "Fine, fine. Yes, no problem." She nods in an attempt to hurry the end of the call. "Anytime. Good-bye." She hangs up. "Good-BY-yeeeee." She growls at the phone.
Vic quickly takes his seat again. "One of these days you're gonna get in trouble with that type of behavior."
"Oh, and who's gonna tell on me?" She flirtingly bats her eyes at him.
"That guy in Room 408." He replies.
"The Veggie Guy?" She scoffs. "Get real. Whoever did a job on him, did it to last forever. He won't be shaking off that locked-in syndrome any time soon." She points to Vic with her pen. "Not in my lifetime, not in yours."
"The Veggie Guy. That's what you guys call him? That's hard." He looks around before he speaks. "Word is - his blood is kind of, I don't know, kind of funny. Not like anybody else's." He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice. "Remember those guys who were on the news a few days ago and one of them claimed to have all these antibodies in his blood? Well, the Veggie Guy has a ton of 'em, babe."He straightens up. "I, uh, thought somebody should know about it."
"What did you do, Vic?"
"Who said I did anything?" He spreads his hands. "I'm just sayin' that IF somebody was to send a copy of his bloodwork and DNA analysis to some guy like that Dr. Barnes at that research facility, well..."
"You didn't!"
"I-I didn't say that I did."
"You moron!"
"Amy -"
"You're gonna get us all in trouble, Vic." She fights back tears as she demands, "Get out of here." (he protests) "Go on, get out of here!" She whispers hoarsely through clenched teeth.
He reluctantly rises to leave. "Okay. Okay. But you'll change your tune when you see how famous I become." He walks over to the elevators and pushes the down button. "You'll see."
Notes: 1The Antonine Plague of 165–180 AD, also known as the Plague of Galen (from the name of the Greek physician living in the Roman Empire who described it), was an ancient pandemic brought back to the Roman Empire by troops returning from campaigns in the Near East. Scholars have suspected it to have been either smallpox[1] or measles,[2] but the true cause remains undetermined. The epidemic may have claimed the life of a Roman emperor, Lucius Verus, who died in 169 and was the co-regent of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, whose family name, Antoninus, has become associated with the epidemic. The disease broke out again nine years later, according to the Roman historian Dio Cassius (155–235), causing up to 2,000 deaths a day in Rome, one quarter of those who were affected, giving the disease a mortality rate of about 25%.[3] The total deaths have been estimated[by whom?] at five million,[4] and the disease killed as much as one-third of the population in some areas and devastated the Roman army.[5] Ancient sources agree that the epidemic appeared first during the Roman siege of Seleucia in the winter of 165–166.[6] Ammianus Marcellinus reports that the plague spread to Gaul and to the legions along the Rhine. Eutropius asserts that a large population died throughout the Empire.[7] Rafe de Crespigny speculates that the plague may have also broken out in Eastern Han China before 166, given notices of plagues in Chinese records. The plague had an impact on Roman culture and literature, and may have severely affected Indo-Roman trade relations in the Indian Ocean. wiki/Antonine_Plague