Author's Note: I hadn't mentioned this, but this is a multi-chapter story.

Chapter 2

There must be a perfectly logical explanation for today's events. His and Jo's assailant had appeared to be a normal man who had no prior knowledge of either of them. If anything, he had likely deduced Henry's title of a gentleman and Jo's occupation as a law enforcement officer from their postures, their speech patterns, and the contents of their conversation while he was leaving the pool. The man's comments could be a part of a new ex-pat's difficulties in adjusting to life in America while his rude behavior was an artifact from whatever had happened earlier in the day or week. Henry's own reaction to the man grasping his right wrist was likely from the surprise of the unexpected action. None of that was out of the realm of ordinary behavior.

So, why did he feel as though he had been placed under a spell?

The fog that Henry had felt before Jo had asked him whether they needed to call Abe began to roll into his mind again. He longed for a way to stop it before it enshrouded his mind entirely.

"Pops?"

Everything in the dining area suddenly came back into focus. Henry glanced up and looked up at Abe. His son had a concerned look on his face.

"You've been quiet tonight. Did something happen this morning?"

Nothing about the morning had made sense. Henry decided to tell him the one thing that was the least perplexing. "Jo helped me with my experiment after you had left the swimming area. It had confirmed my suspicions that Rodney was murdered and thrown into the river and that someone had taken whatever he had in his hand at the time." He pushed his pierogis around before finally stabbing one with his fork. "After that, I decided to spend some time with Jo as she went for her swim." Henry lifted his pierogi to his mouth and hoped that Abe would not ask what happened.

"Well…" Abe smiled as he took another bite of his pierogi.

Henry could tell that he wasn't getting out of this conversation too easily. He sighed as he placed his fork onto his plate. "We swam and talked."

"About…"

Henry knew that Abe wanted to know whether he and Jo had made any progress in their adjustment to her knowledge of the truth about him. "A little of everything. Then, we went out to breakfast. Because of my half of our conversation, I almost caused us to be ten minutes late for work." Actually, they had arrived at work on time, but they had eaten a quicker breakfast than either of them had liked to compensate for the extra time that they had spent talking in the pool.

Abe's smiled widened. "That's great!"

Henry resisted the urge to groan. "Abe, that isn't like me!"

Abe looked him in the eye and leaned forward. "You found a way to relax and enjoy yourself. That's progress."

The truth of that statement stung Henry. It had been a while since he had been able to completely relax around someone other than his family and to be himself—seventy years, to be exact. That was with Abigail the week before they had formally adopted Abe. That particular Saturday morning, they both had learned that they had the day off. They had planned to spend the day caring for Abe, but several of Abigail's fellow nurses volunteered to babysit him so that they could have some time for themselves. They then decided to explore the town near their field hospital. During their walk to town, Abigail had mentioned that she was from Oxfordshire. At that moment, Henry's tongue loosened, and he suddenly found himself telling her about himself and his life. Before they knew it, they had spent most of the day together, and Henry had wondered if he might had found someone who would accept him.

Abe's eyes darted down and then back up. A curious look filled them. "Why are you rubbing your right wrist?"

Henry knitted his eyebrows together and looked down. Sure enough, his right forearm was in the air, and he was rubbing his wrist with his other hand. The action startled him. It was something that he had done in Bedlam, Charing Cross, and Southwark Prison to obtain some temporary relief from the manacles that were used to restrain him. It was also the first thing that he had done as he had sat on the shore of the River Thames shortly after his escape from Southwark.

He dropped his hands and forced himself to get a bite of his meal. "Honestly, I don't know."

"What happened?" Abe's firm voice indicated that he knew that his father wasn't telling the whole story.

Henry sighed. He might as well start at the beginning. Perhaps, in the telling of the story, he could determine what had happened to both him and Jo.

"While you had taken Jerry's call, Jo and I had discussed the case. A couple of moments later, a fellow ex-pat bumped into Jo and pushed her toward me."

"Was she okay?"

"Yes. I, however, went after him and attempted to convince him to apologize. Instead, he grabbed my right wrist and told me…" The words still seemed strange, almost as if the impertinent man knew who he was—or as if it were the words to a spell.

"What?"

"He told me that I had seemed to have forgotten who I was and that maybe I should return home and remind myself of my heritage. After that, he released me and walked off."

Abe froze. "Does he…?"

Henry shook his head. "Jo asked the same question. As far as I know, he doesn't. Then again, given his temperament and his powers of deduction, I wouldn't be surprised if he is very distantly related to Adam. You came in after that." Henry looked down at his plate and pushed his pierogis around some more to keep the incoming fog at bay.

"What happened afterward?" Henry looked back up at the younger Morgan. "That's what I would like to know."

Henry looked past Abe so that he could clearly remember the events. "I took the key from Jo and went underwater. After I positioned my body, I suddenly saw my life flash before my eyes."

Henry forced himself to look at Abe. Abe's eyebrows knitted together, and he looked concerned. "Like when you die?"

"Usually, when I die, I remember everything from my first memory to the circumstances of my latest death. This time, it was just the first 35 years of my life, including my first awakening." Abe appeared to slightly relax.

Henry's eyes drifted back to the table. "The curious thing is that, superimposed over my memories, I heard the voice of my cellmate in Southwark telling me to have faith and to start over. I know that he was talking about my escape from prison, but…." He wondered why he had heard those particular words today.

"When was the last time that you thought of him?"

His eyes darted back and forth, and Henry raised his head. "It was when we were investigating Aaron Brown's murder." Shortly after I had killed Clark Walker and had spent a month in self-imposed isolation because of my guilt about his death. Why was his mind making the connection between that period and what was happening now?

He knew that the story wasn't finished. "Anyway, at the time, I thought that, if slightly rewritten and significantly shortened, a part of my life's story belonged to Jo as well. After I surfaced, I suddenly couldn't focus on anything. I don't even know how I reached the side of the pool; perhaps instinct had taken over. The next thing that I know for certain, I heard Jo ask me if she needed to call you. I climbed out of the pool and told her my results. As I placed the key back into my bag, I asked myself about the last time that Jo had been concerned about me. I then remembered everything from the moment we had met until I had revealed my condition to her."

For the first time since the incident, Henry felt his left hand move toward his other wrist. He willed himself to stop the action, and, remarkably, his body obeyed him. He thought back to his and Jo's swim. "I looked over and saw Jo. She was frozen in place, and her face had a blank expression on it. As I was worried about her, I walked over to the pool and joined her then."

"That's when…"

"Yes." Henry took another bite of his meal.

He studied the younger Morgan's reaction. In a way, he halfway expected that his son would not believe him.

Abe spent a few minutes in thought. He then broke his silence. "Do you want to know what I think? Aside from the fact that we need to watch you more closely the next time that Adam proposes one of his cockamamie theories of how you can become a corpse?"

Henry felt slightly insulted by Abe's implication that he was somewhat suggestible. Moreover, it seemed as though his desire to die had lessened considerably over the past year. "What?"

"You and Jo are so much alike, and you both subconsciously want this to work out. Somehow, today, both of your minds found a way to get around whatever is blocking you."

Henry picked up another pierogi and bit it. He wished that his son was right.

"Pops, she's not going anywhere."

Henry looked into Abe's eyes. "How can you be so certain?"

"She would have done something before now."

Henry sighed. Abe's insight sounded plausible. Nora had him committed the same day that he had told her what had happened aboard The Empress of Africa. Abigail had left the same day that she had written the letter stating that the pain of being his wife was too much for her. Jo, however, hadn't acted on her thoughts and emotions yet. "I suppose you are right."

He began to lose focus again. In a minute, the fog would return. To fight it, he remembered Abe's phone call. "What type of box did Jerry want you to look at?"

"It's in the living room. I'll show you after dinner."

Henry resisted the urge to groan. Abe, in his enthusiasm about life, could be so impetuous at times.

Still, Henry could make an exception in this case. It seemed as though an active mind helped him stay focused.

He looked down at his plate. He wasn't hungry, but he knew that he needed some sustenance. He speared another pierogi and began to finish his meal.

Henry walked into the living room just as Abe put the last of the dinner dishes onto the rack to dry. He surveyed the room for the object in question. His eyes landed on the photograph of him, Abigail, and Abe in front of the apartment complex that they had lived in when they had first arrived in New York. He walked over to the mantle and gazed at it. It had been seventy years since the photograph was taken, thirty years since it had disappeared with Abigail, and three months since it had been returned.

Henry sighed. He remembered the day that Jo had appeared at his door with it. How was he to know that this would happen?

A hand clasped his shoulder and squeezed it. Henry momentarily closed his eyes as he jerked from the unexpected action. He turned and saw Abe standing behind him.

"Everything's still raw, isn't it?"

Abe's question cut straight to the issue. How did his son become so perceptive in his short time on Earth?

Henry nodded as Abe released him. "Indeed, it is."

He inhaled and studied the coffee table. A black box with a light, painted top sat on it. He stepped over to the table and picked up the object. "Is this it?"

"Yeah."

Henry studied the box. The black lacquer and the painted enamel looked untouched in spite of the century that had passed since its creation. The painted image of a family riding through a forest in a horse-drawn sleigh stirred memories buried deep in his past.

He looked curiously at Abe. "You usually know your antiques. Why did you bring this home?"

Abe placed one hand on his hip and gestured toward the object with the other. "For authentication purposes. I'm sure it's the real deal, but since you're the expert on all things Russian, Ukrainian, and Urkesh…"

Henry smiled as he flipped the box right-side up. Although the newest Urkesh prince's cries for food and a diaper change had exhausted him and Jo, Henry had to admit that he had enjoyed their time together.

He opened the box. Like the outside, the interior was in immaculate condition. "Well, this is an authentic troika—"

A glint caught his eye. He looked at it and noticed a speck of gold in a corner. One memory suddenly surfaced. He moved the top under the box and used his free hand to measure the interior.

The object that he was remembering would fit perfectly in the hollow, and—

"Abe, where did Jerry get this box?"

"I—. " He looked at Henry and sighed. "Some guy named Marcus Baxter had left it at his shop when he was asking Jerry about installing some new locks in his antiques store." Abe's eyes grew wider, and he threw his hands up. "I swear that's all that happened! You scared Jerry when you chewed us and Myron out for taking Clausten Capital's financial records from Clausten's boat."

Henry studied his son as he replaced the lid onto the box. He was inclined to believe him.

He immediately knew the name "Marcus Baxter". One of Rodney's clients had mentioned him during his interview with Jo and Henry earlier today. According to the client, Marcus was a new antique dealer who was interested in selling early American and European artwork. Unfortunately, the client had known nothing else about the man nor his connection to Rodney.

Henry handed the box to Abe. "First thing in the morning, I want you to take this to Jo and explain how you and Jerry had obtained it."

"But—." Abe's whine indicated that he had planned to sell the box in the shop.

Henry looked his son in the eye as Abe reluctantly took the object. "You possibly have blown Jo and my case wide open, and you may have rewritten art history in the process."

Abe looked the box over and grew more thoughtful. "If that's the case, I'll take that as a consolation prize."

Henry glanced at the sofa. An image of Jo sitting on it with Abe seated next to her flashed before him. He suddenly began to lose focus again.

"Pops, are you okay?"

Henry blinked. Abe's question acted as his way out of the fog for the time being. "I will be."

He needed a plan—fast. "I think that I'll go into my lab and see if I can develop a meta-analysis of the impertinent gentleman from this morning."

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything. I might run some blueberry scones downstairs later, though."

Henry could feel his mind losing focus again. He hurried past Abe and stepped into the kitchen. Hopefully, his meta-analysis would provide him with some insight into the man…and would bring some order to the disparate pieces of information that this bewildering day had brought.

The words on his legal pad blurred together. Henry blinked to get his mind back onto the task at hand.

It had been an hour since he began his meta-analysis, but to no avail. The man yielded very few clues as to who he was. Even the man's words to him seemed ordinary. Henry sighed. He would have to give up that line of reasoning for the time being.

He set his pen on the pad and looked up at the room. His thoughts drifted to his and Abe's dinner conversation. He had decided against telling Abe his thoughts this morning. The morning's events had rendered it pointless to bring it up to his son at that point in time.

The silence of the basement, however, allowed the memory of his thoughts while he had packed his duffle bag and slipped on his swim trunks earlier today to come back instantly. When he had told Jo about his condition, she had believed him immediately, and she accepted it in almost the same way that Abigail had. In Jo's case, she began to match his stories to his reactions and to his "unusual" comments during their cases, and it took him three days just to tell her everything that he had remembered during their first nine months of working together. As the days passed, Jo showed an amazing sense of compassion and understanding and an eager interest in learning everything about him. Henry began to feel that, for the first time since Abigail had left him, someone could fully accept him for who—and what—he was.

About a week and a half after his revelation, that changed. He didn't know what Lt. Reece or her superiors had discussed with Jo or what Hanson had said to her while they were together, but Jo was profoundly affected by the comments. She became more irritable and less interested in what he had to say about his past. In some ways, her change in attitude reminded him of the years in which an aging Abigail had struggled with society's denial of her and her ageless husband's matrimonial bond.

Still, the circumstances with Jo were much different than they were with Abigail. As Jo had made it painfully clear on several occasions prior to his revelation, she would have to end her investigation should he commit a misstep during a case. With the increase in the stakes for the both of them, he made a concerted effort to protect every aspect of his secret by suppressing his tendencies while he was in the field.

His efforts failed during their most recent investigation. Their suspect saw him standing beside the car and grabbed him. Henry felt a gun to his back and heard the man tell him to come or his partner would die. Unwilling to have Jo or Hanson on his autopsy table, Henry accompanied him. Fortunately, the two detectives found him before the suspect found them, and they talked the man out of killing Henry. After that, Jo had become more withdrawn and had rarely spoken with him.

Henry sighed as he rose from his desk chair and began to pace. He had never intended for her to take on the burden of protecting him. She had already suffered enough with her father's criminal background, her childhood bullying incident, her life in her childhood neighborhood, and Sean's death. He could not put her through even more unnecessary pain and suffering, this time coming from him. Yet, he was still waiting for her to make a decision about their partnership. Last night, he had reluctantly decided to tell her that it would be best if they ended their partnership until she felt comfortable enough to work with him again.

When he saw her at the pool this morning, he started to tell her. She, however, stopped him. Recognizing her uncertainty under her curt tone, he had decided not to pursue the issue further. Instead, he had found himself wondering what he should discuss with her.

The fog suddenly came in. Henry blinked several times to clear it. He then recognized that there seemed to be a pattern to the times in which his mind went blank and became unfocused. Why did it always seem to come when he thought about his relationship with Jo over the past three months and this morning's events?

He believed that he could rule out magic spells. Like fate and, with the exception of his own, curses, they did not exist.

Abe's comment about his and Jo's minds working out the issues between them came to mind. Maybe Abe had a point. Perhaps his mind wouldn't leave him alone until he had settled the issue.

Henry stopped his pacing. He studied the spot where he stood. He inhaled as he realized that it was the exact spot where he had stood when Jo had come to the shop to seize his hunting knife and to question him about its use in the murder of the previous owner of an antique gun that Adam had acquired just before he had revealed himself to Henry.

Both then and now, she had believed him. Had there been other times in which Jo had believed me?

At that moment, he saw flashes of memory. Seeing the surveillance footage of him boarding the train but never leaving it. Her reaction to his damp hair when he and Abe returned home only to find her searching the shop. "I haven't experimented with aconite in a while". The story of his pocket watch. Seeing him fall off the roof with Hans Koehler. His knowledge of Veronica Browning's neighborhood and her family. Chasing Abe through the subway system. Asking him whether he knew Gloria Carlisle. His comment about time not being on her side. His knowledge about the tunnels connecting Alphabet City's apartment complexes. His Jack the Ripper notes, his knowledge about the New York libraries during the Great Depression, and his knowledge about elevators in the 1890s. "You live long enough…" Exchanging his life for hers when Morris had threatened them. Seeing his scar for the first time. "I was shot." "Try centuries." Henry breaching the topic of immortality to her, Hanson, and Lt. Reece. Not asking him why he stepped in front of a car twice while they were investigating Jason Fawkes' murder. Driving Detective Hugh Dunn's car into the emergency barrier. "Or one very long one." The entire investigation into Armen Aronov's murder. His extensive knowledge about life in New York in the late 1970s when they investigated the death of one of Molly Dawes' students. Listening to his list of ways to die and asking him why he studied death. Learning that he had attended Oxford. The raising of The Empress of Africa. Understanding his obsession with solving the murder of Eddie Warsaw's girlfriend. Being with him and Abe as they investigated Abigail's disappearance and death. Asking him who Abe's mother was to him. Her hurt when she had learned about Abigail's funeral. "I believe in the curse of the pugio." Trying to arrive at his side before Adam killed him with the flintlock pistol associated with his first death. The look in her eyes when she presented the photograph of him, Abigail, and Abe to him.

Stunned, Henry stood there for a minute. When he had revealed his condition to her, Jo had mentioned that he had constantly dropped hints about his immortality during their cases. This was the first time that he had noticed how much he had mentioned about himself since their first one.

To a stranger, his unconscious comments and reactions could be explained in one of two ways. On the one hand, he could be a sociopathic criminal whose past was catching up with him, causing him to construct more elaborate lies to hide the truth. On the other hand, his wife's departure and death could had triggered a psychotic episode so severe that medical treatment would be required.

As a law enforcement officer who was his unofficial partner, Jo had learned more about his condition with each passing day. She had the responsibility to have him committed when she had seen him endangering his life or to arrest him for the times he had appeared to obstruct justice. Yet, she had done neither. Instead, she had suspected that there was more to the story, and she had risked her career by choosing to act as though his actions and comments were a part of who he was.

He blinked back the tears that were forming. Abe was right; Jo wasn't going anywhere. If anything, she wanted to help him carry the burden of his immortality.

He walked over to the sofa and sat down. It had been a very long while since he had a friend who knew everything about him. Even before he had told her his secret, it obviously had been easy to share moments from his life with Jo. Something about her, perhaps their ability to connect with each other over their shared sorrows and difficulties, had caused him to trust her enough to let her see past his carefully constructed defenses and to allow her to catch a glimpse of the real Henry Morgan. As a result, she had become one of the few friends that he had ever had.

Honestly, he had been missing his friendship with her during the past three months.

He wanted to tell her more about his and Jo's assailant. He, however, couldn't work on his meta-analysis anymore. He wanted to remain in the lab in case the inspiration for a line of reasoning about the man had struck him. To pass the time, Henry felt that he still needed something to do in case the fog tried to return. He looked over at the end table and saw the book that he had been reading while waiting for Abe to return home from a date.

He smiled as he picked up the tome and settled himself onto the sofa. Today, he had dropped his defenses again, and, this time, he had allowed Jo into his life forever.

He knitted his eyebrows together. This was the calmest and the most relaxed that he had felt in thirty years. Pleasantly surprised, he opened his book and began to read.

Soon, the words on the page blurred together, and his eyes grew heavy. His hands began to slacken, allowing his book to fall onto his chest. As sleep claimed him for the night, the only thought on his mind was his eagerness to see Jo—his friend and partner—when he arrived at work tomorrow.

Author's Note: In the story of how Henry began to talk about himself with Abigail, I couldn't fully describe what had happened without it being a full flashback. Essentially, Henry had shared the details of his life with Abigail the same way that we see him tell Jo about himself.