Author's Note: I haven't forgotten about this story. I was on a roll in writing three chapters for "Remember You Must Die and Live", and it took me a while to get re-inspired to write this chapter. I hope that you will enjoy it.

Chapter 3

The elevator doors opened, and Jo strolled the familiar path to Henry's office. She had felt so calm and relaxed that she didn't want her coffee this morning. She didn't fully know what had caused her good mood, but her swim with Henry yesterday had something to do with it.

Suddenly, she noticed that something wasn't right in the morgue. Rodney's body laid on the autopsy table, but Henry and Lucas were nowhere to be seen. Furthermore, they weren't in Henry's office.

Jo's heart started to race as she glanced at the sight between the tables. Henry was lying on the ground while Lucas squatted next to him.

"Boss?" Lucas shook him. "Doc?" His voice began cracking. "Henry?"

Lucas seemed to sense Jo's presence. He turned to her and rose. "Did I kill him?!"

He started pacing. "Nuts! I can't believe it! What am I going to tell Abe?! Oh, man! Abe's going to kill me!"

Jo walked over to Henry. She hoped that the entire OCME wouldn't learn that Henry would never lay on an autopsy table.

She squatted down beside him and took his wrist in her hand. His strong pulse and steady breathing reassured her that he wasn't going for an unexpected swim today. She looked him over. Her limited knowledge of first aid told her that the worst that he would feel would be a headache from when his head had hit the floor.

She resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief as she looked at a panicking Lucas. "Lucas?"

He stopped in his tracks and faced her.

"You just knocked him out."

"Really?" Lucas' eyes widened.

She nodded.

Lucas leaned back and exhaled before muttering thanks.

"Lucas!"

"Yeah?" He was calmer now.

"Move the chairs in Henry's office. We'll put him in there until he wakes up."

Lucas nodded and headed for Henry's office.

As she waited for his return, she looked at her friend. In his unconscious state, the toll that the centuries had taken on him had seemed to instantly vanish. Her heart ached as she thought that this was one of the only times in which he could get any real rest from the troubles in his life.

A golden glint caught her eye. Her eyes followed it to Henry's pocket watch on the floor. She reached over, picked it up, and slipped it into her pocket.

"Okay." Jo turned at the sound of Lucas' voice. "Which end do you want, his head or his feet?"

"I'll take his feet." That seemed to be the most appropriate. She rose and took them.

"Will do." Lucas reached under Henry's arms and picked him up.

Jo's jaw dropped open. Lucas was wrangling Henry's unconscious body like a corpse. She was glad that Henry wouldn't know about this when he woke up.

They made their way to his office and laid him down. Realizing that the room was cramped, she stepped outside and sat down on the ground close to the door. She positioned herself so she could watch his face. Lucas followed her lead and sat down across from her.

She stole a glance at Henry before turning her attention to his assistant. She inhaled. "I'm scared to ask, but what happened?"

Lucas closed his eyes for a moment. "We haven't been able to find anything that indicated how Rodney died. We were brainstorming ideas until I came up with the idea that someone had used a Vulcan nerve pinch on him."

Huh? "You do realize that's science fiction?"

"Henry said essentially the same thing, only he used the words 'fanciful flight of fantasy'." Lucas abruptly looked more authoritative. "The non-Vulcan version is based in reality."

Jo could see where this was going. As it was Lucas' first time playing the murderer, he needed to talk it out.

"First, I grabbed him here"—he pointed to a spot on his forearm—"with one hand. Then, while I held it, I grabbed him here"—he pointed to a spot near his shoulder. "Then, I applied pressure here"—he pointed to the base of his neck. His voice cracked with the memory. "That was when…"

Jo looked over at Henry before nodding.

"Is he going to be okay?"

As if to reassure the two of them, Henry moaned. Jo looked over at him as he opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times and began to sit up.

Jo smiled as she reached over to guide him. "You know that you're supposed to take it easy."

He finished sitting and placed his hand behind his head. He closed his eyes to dull any pain. "Our killer may not be well-versed in the storytelling of Star Trek, but he certainly has knowledge of the various holds commonly found in judo." His knowledgeable voice told of previous attacks in the same manner.

He opened his eyes, and they met hers. "Jo?" Elation, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment filled his face.

"I came down here to tell you that Abe had dropped off a lacquer box that had been left at Jerry's and that Mike and I are following their leads."

At that moment, Jo could see the fatherly pride in Henry's eyes. Knowing the two men, this had been a momentary point of contention between them, with the father persuading the son to do the right thing.

"Henry?" Jo heard Lucas behind her. Henry looked at his assistant.

"I did not mean for this to happen. I'm sorry."

Henry lowered his hand and chuckled. "Outside of our re-enactments, remind me to never attack you."

Jo wished that she could see the look on Lucas' face as he processed Henry's compliment. She could imagine that it was a mix of shock, awe, glee, and pride—all rolled into one.

Henry took a minute to recover everything in his mind. "We hadn't noticed anything as the lividity had covered the bruises on Rodney's body.

"That makes sense."

Jo suddenly heard footsteps in the room. She looked up and saw Mike walking toward them.

He surveyed the room and spotted Jo. One eyebrow shot up while the other lowered. He raised one hand. "I don't even want to know."

His eyes darted from her to Henry and back again. "We've tracked the lead that Abe and Jerry Charters have given us. Turns out, Marcus Baxter's shop is near the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel. We've got the warrant to check the place out."

She could see Henry repositioning himself so he could stand. "Do you mind if I went with Jo?"

She cocked her head. He had never stated a preference before. Unless he had been told that it was "badges only", he had always automatically followed her or Mike to the car. His smile, however, indicated that he wanted to be with her, even if it was for a short time.

Mike shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

"In case any of you have forgotten that I'm still standing here…" Everyone turned to Lucas. "Yeah. I'll go and place Rodney's body back in the cooler." With that, he walked off.

Jo rose from her seat, and she and Mike helped Henry up. He walked over to his chair and exchanged coats. She reached into her pocket, pulled out his watch, and handed it to him.

For a second, he looked puzzled. Then, he realized what had happened. He smiled as he took it from her and fastened it to his vest. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." She returned his smile.

A couple of moments later, they left the office. Jo didn't know why, but she unexpectedly started to grow a little nervous. She stole another glance at Henry, who was talking about literary inspiration from medical evidence, and suddenly felt calmer. Whatever it was wasn't important. All that mattered was that they would have a few moments to be together.

They got into the car and fastened their seat belts. Jo stole a glance at Henry. So far, he wasn't showing any signs of a headache. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, I am. I don't seem to have any signs of a concussion or a head injury. I'll likely have a headache soon, if my past experiences with being knocked unconscious is any guide."

"I have some ibuprofen in the glove compartment if you need it." She glanced down at her cup holder to see if she had some coffee to offer him when she remembered that she hadn't had her first cup yet.

She pulled out of her spot and started toward the Lincoln Tunnel. Her lack of coffee reminded her of yesterday's events. Their swim was enjoyable, but she wished that she could make sense of what had happened a few minutes earlier.

She didn't know how to begin. She inhaled. "Yesterday was weird."

"I completely agree. I still don't know what to think about the events before our swim."

She looked over at him. With the exception of the first week and a half after his revelation, he would tense up when she had wanted to discuss something difficult with him. Today, he leaned back in his seat with a very calm look on his face.

Astonished by his sudden peace of mind, she turned her attention back to the busy streets. Whatever happened had made a huge emotional impact on him.

She drove in silence for a moment. The fog unexpectedly began to come back. Her heart started pounding because of her awareness of Henry's presence in the car. She needed to keep her focus on the road, or she would endanger the both of them.

Maybe talking about it would help her understand yesterday's events. "When I was a little girl, I wondered what it would be like to be under a magic spell." She briefly looked over at him, and she could imagine him reading fairy tales to a daughter decades or even a century before he had held Abe for the first time. "I imagined living a normal life until, one day, something happens, and I find myself completely unable to control my actions and thoughts. Of course, I always imagined that a handsome prince would find me and that his kiss would break the spell." Her cheeks felt warm because of her sudden openness about her desired ending for her childhood fantasies.

She tapped the steering wheel as she waited for a red light. Yesterday, she had had difficulty in controlling her thoughts. After their swim and breakfast, the fog kept returning when she had a quiet moment. Her work and conversations with Henry and Mike were the only things which held it at bay throughout the day. When she returned home, the fog was so thick that she had fallen asleep on the sofa while re-watching Pride and Prejudice. Only this morning, it lifted when she had remembered that she would see Henry at work and that they could talk during their drives.

"If being under a magic spell is anything like yesterday's events, then I'm glad that it was just a childhood fantasy."

"I will assure you that we both hadn't fallen under a spell."

She turned and curiously looked at him. "How can you be sure?" She felt stupid the second that she finished the question.

"The thought had crossed my mind on several occasions yesterday, so I conducted a meta-analysis on our ill-mannered assailant. He yielded no more details about himself than I do after an awakening. I'm very inclined to believe that he was a frustrated ex-pat from a well-to-do upbringing who had overheard our conversation near the pool and who didn't wish to be reminded of his loneliness."

She opened her mouth at his admission of considering magic spells as the cause of their behavior yesterday. "Wait a minute. With the exception of immortality, you don't believe in the supernatural." A car horn forced her attention onto traffic.

"Aside from an inability to concentrate unless I focused on work or conversation, I had a couple of unusual experiences that had prompted me to consider it."

"Such as?"

"How did I reach the side of the pool? I don't remember."

She wrinkled her eyebrows. "You swam back and placed the key back onto the ledge. Then, you wiped your face while looking like you were having a flashback."

His eyes met hers. "I was having a series of them. If I had performed that motion just before you had asked me if we needed Abe, I was remembering my first death and awakening. To answer your next question, the memories weren't like the ones that I see every time I die; the flashbacks this time covered only my first 35 years of life."

He had talked to Abe about this last night. "What else?"

"Had you noticed if I rubbed my right wrist at any time yesterday?"

"Yeah, several times. Why did you ask?"

He stared at her in disbelief before relaxing. "It's an old habit from my days in the asylums and prison. I would rub my wrists to obtain some relief from my manacles. Of the moment, I'm not sure why I have started it again."

She inhaled as she looked back at the car ahead of her. "I can't even begin to imagine your experiences there. From what I had read on Wikipedia the day after you had mentioned it, you were tortured because no one believed you then."

She turned to judge his reaction. Surprise, contemplation, and then acceptance crossed his face.

"I hadn't thought of my experiences in that manner before." He paused for a moment. "What happened three months ago?"

He was her friend, and she owed him the truth. She gripped the steering wheel tighter to steady her surging emotions. "A trip down memory lane and an old TV show." She glanced at him and noticed his confused look. "I saw one of Sean's colleagues at the precinct, and I wanted to say hello and to catch up with her. Yet, with all of the precautions that I had to take when Sean was alive, I knew that she wouldn't tell me much about her life recently. Later that night, I caught a few minutes of an old TV show where a scientist was experimenting on a man with unique abilities. That reminded me of what you had told me about your past, and…."

Tears stung her eyes as she stopped again. "This isn't about protecting someone from death threats and death." Her voice had somewhat risen with the unbidden words, but she didn't care. "This is about protecting someone from becoming a human guinea pig or from being tortured because he has something that the rest of us would love to have. I had sworn to protect the public, but this is the first time that I don't think that I can protect someone whose secret can get out at any minute."

She caught her breath. "The thing is that I want to protect you and your immortality." She stopped to wipe a tear. "I'm just scared that the wrong person will find out about you and that you'll be taken away forever."

Another tear trickled down her cheek. "Adam found out about you from one look— just one quick look,—and we both know what he did to you. If one immortal who is looking to die can do that to another immortal, how much more would a secret government agency or a company like Aterna Pharmaceuticals do to you if they found out that immortality and agelessness exist? What's going to happen when Adam breaks free of the coma that you put him in? Will he keep experimenting on you until he finds a way to first kill you and then himself?"

The memories of the last two cases before Henry's revelation flooded back. Henry's behavior had been off—even for him—since they had discovered the remains of one of Abigail's patients at St. Timothy's until Adam's warning shot which had alerted Jo to both Henry's endangerment and Adam's presence in the abandoned subway tunnel. At the time, she had felt that the search for the pugio was somehow connected to the death of Abe's mother—.

Tears again streamed down her face, almost blurring her vision of the green light. She began her drive again. "I'm sorry. I know that you had said that you didn't want to talk at the time. When we had discovered that Adam's pugio was missing from the museum, I still should had followed you out of the museum and asked you how you were doing after Abigail's death. I didn't, and I almost lost my friend twice in the same week."

Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized the true reason for her attitude toward Henry lately. As much as he had taken full responsibility for the events leading up to his and Adam's confrontation, she felt that she still could had prevented it by letting Henry talk about Abigail's life and death. Instead, her focus on the case almost costed her their friendship and his life.

She placed her hand on the seat between them to steady herself. He probably thought that she was being overly emotional about it. She had never been shown this much emotion about anything—but Sean's death and the pain that she had felt when she had kicked Henry out of her car three months ago. She hated the thought of her words causing Henry more pain than what he had deserved.

Suddenly, she felt him place his hand over hers, and he wrapped his fingers around her palm. She briefly glanced down and felt all of her tension drain from her body. Then, she wrapped her fingers around his.

"I worry about the exposure of my condition every day."

She nodded as she stopped again for yet another red light. For over 200 years, he had dyed his hair, falsified documents, and changed his nationality to remain hidden in plain sight. Yet, he still felt as though he couldn't adequately protect himself.

He clearly felt safe around her. Even so, her knowledge of his immortality didn't guarantee his safety. "How can you know that I won't slip?" She heard her soft voice crack.

"I wouldn't had unconsciously slipped about my experiments with aconite during my interrogation if I hadn't trusted you."

She turned and stared at him. That comment had caused her to call him creepy and weird. It, however, marked the moment that he had dropped his guard around her for the first time and dropped her a hint about his condition.

"When did you first start to realize that you trusted me?"

A small smile crept onto his face. "It was during our hypothetical question a few moments later. You had found my watch among the wreckage, had overheard me calling the train engineer lucky during your first visit to the OCME, had seen the surveillance footage of me boarding the train but never leaving it, had asked me if I had gone for a late night swim when Abe and I had returned to the shop, was more concerned about my handcuffs than my passports, and had heard me mention the aconite. Yet, you were treating me as your prime suspect instead of calling Bellevue to have me committed."

In other words, I treated you like a normal person.

His smile remained. "Because you had accepted the unusual circumstances without pointing out the nature of them, I discovered that I could trust you. I still do."

Surprised by his calm nature and his comments, she turned her attention back to the traffic. For the first nine months, she had known that she was risking her career by professionally ignoring his actions and unusual comments, but she had felt that they were somehow related to Henry's presence on the train, his fall off the roof of Grand Central Station, and his subsequent visit to her hospital bed. She, however, didn't know how much her actions had meant to him even back then.

"Thank you for moving me into my office this morning. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for your quick thinking. If something had happened—."

Once again, he had rendered her speechless, this time with his deductions of what had happened while he was unconscious. She pondered his last few words, and she became elated and relieved at the same time. She had just proven her ability to guard his secret.

She let go of his hand, slipped it out from under his, and rested hers on his. "It's clichéd, but that's what friends are for."

They rode for a few seconds in silence. The start of Henry's voice caught her attention. "Out of curiosity, what were you watching?"

"Smallville. It's not that old, but…"

"Smallville? As in Superman?"

She turned her head and raised her eyebrows at his unexpected knowledge of a pop culture reference.

He softly chuckled. "Superman was Abe's favorite series of comic books when he was a child. Yes, comic books. Despite Lucas' insistence, 'graphic novel' appears to be a more recent coinage."

It was her turn to smile. Given both his own and his father's pasts, Abe's interest in Superman was quite fitting. She made a mental note to inform Henry that the show was about Clark Kent's teen and young adult years.

She began the last few blocks of the drive. She looked over at him as he told her about one time that he had looked for a special issue for Abe. She now knew why she had heard the voice of Aaron Brown's widow just before their swim yesterday. When Jo had presented Henry with his family photograph, they had been given a second chance at their friendship. Since the beginning, he had trusted her so much that he had let her get quick glimpses at who he really was. This time, though, he was able to be himself around one of the few people who believed him. She was glad that she was one of them.

As she stopped the car, he leaned over, removed the ibuprofen from the glove compartment, and shook out two pills. He squinted as he put the bottle back in its place. He then threw the pills in his mouth and swallowed them.

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew!"

He smirked as they got out of the car. "I have consumed much worse—a bad batch of oysters and gin, one particular brand of Irish lager, Abe's first attempt at cooking—."

"You've been to Ireland?" She smiled as she closed her door. "Please don't tell me you've kissed the Blarney Stone."

"I have." He quickly joined her side. "I'm quite afraid that my mother, if she were here, would inform you that my 'gift of gab' was likely given to me in early childhood."

She chuckled as she imagined a very young Henry Morgan talking to everyone in London. She wished that she could had seen that.

The activity in the area abruptly focused her attention onto the task at hand. Several patrol cars lined the street near the nondescript building while Mike's car sat near the intersection. Officers stood by the cars, ready to enter the building on her word.

"The egg might not be the only stolen object that Marcus is hiding."

Jo didn't follow. "What makes you say that?"

"The location of the building. The majority of the antiques shops, art galleries, and art insurance companies are located on the Lower East Side, Gramercy, and the East Village. Marcus' shop should had been located there as to attract business."

Henry had a point. Every time that they had investigated a case involving artwork, they had never left the eastern half of Manhattan. Even Abe had selected the area when he had opened the antiques shop.

Mike finished fastening his bulletproof vest and jogged up to them. "Took you long enough to get here."

"We got stuck in traffic."

Henry's presence reminded Jo of Abe's visit this morning. "Abe said something about changing art history. Exactly what are we looking for?"

"The troika held a lost Faberge Easter egg entitled 'Ship at Sea'. It was made in 1910 to commemorate the fifteenth wedding anniversary of Urkesh's king to one of Tsar Nicholas II's cousins. During Urkesh's revolution in 1956, the revolutionaries removed the egg from the royal palace and placed it in the armory. It was sold it at an auction here in New York, but it has been considered lost since then."

Mike rolled his eyes. "An Easter egg? Like the ones my boys and I dye every year? After a century, that has to be one rotten egg."

"This one is made from hand-shaped gold, and the sapphires and diamonds which stud it resemble cresting waves." Henry's authoritative voice and faraway expression told of his glimpse at it once in the past.

Jo's eyes widened at its extravagance. That would be a clear motive for murder.

"So, how do you know about this egg, Doc?" Mike's question directed her attention toward Henry.

"I read about it in the newspaper some years ago." The hitch in his voice before it slightly rose meant that he was telling only part of the truth.

Did Abigail read the article over Henry's shoulder after they sent Abe off to school? Jo remained still for a moment. She was surprised by both the unanticipated question and by the peace and mental clarity that it brought.

She looked at the antiques shop and back at Mike. "You take John and Rob around back." She turned to the immortal medical examiner. "Henry—."

"I know. Stay with the car until you give the all-clear signal."

She hated herself. His uncharacteristic behavior—as a result of one of her orders—was already a habit for him. "I was thinking that we enter the shop together."

His eyes widened in pleasant surprise. Before he had the chance to speak, she turned, removed her gun from behind her back, and moved toward the building. She smiled as she heard Henry's steps keep in time with hers. Just like old times.

"How large is the egg?"

"About seven and a half centimeters."

I know you didn't use the metric system back when you were a kid. It wasn't invented yet. "English, Henry!"

"About three inches."

Jo swallowed. Unless it was prominently displayed, they would never find it. If it were hidden, the judge might dismiss the case if they actively searched for it.

They soon reached the door. As she stopped to open it, she could hear the faint ticks of Henry's watch in his vest pocket and feel his breath on her head. She gripped her gun and opened the door.

Minutes later, Jo and the team checked every room of the shop for Marcus. Once she realized that he wasn't there, she looked around the retail area.

It was no wonder why she had suddenly become nervous in Henry's office. The space was filled with every type of antique artwork that she could imagine. For Henry, any piece could send him for a trip down memory lane as he remembered watching long-dead artists craft their pieces or his conversations with the artists. Because of his resulting excitement, either of them could accidently slip and reveal a telling detail about his past.

As she scanned the room, she could no longer feel Henry behind her. She looked around until she saw his figure in the far corner. He stood transfixed, and his eyes focused on something on the wall. Uncertain if he was experiencing a repeat of yesterday's events, she walked over to him.

She quickly joined his side and turned to face the wall. A portrait in a familiar-looking style hung across from them. The older man stared back at them, with his thinning brown hair pulled back into what looked like a ponytail and his blue suit highlighting his white, ruffled neckwear. Some of his facial features reminded her of Henry.

Her eyes widened at the realization. I'm looking at one of Henry's relatives.

She glanced at her partner. His eyes were moistened, and his Adam's apple bobbed. If he stood there much longer, he would start crying.

Jo leaned over to his ear and lowered her voice. "You can tell me about him later."

He turned to her, and his eyes widened. He then swallowed and nodded.

As she let him regain his composure, she looked around for eavesdroppers. To her relief, everyone had been more focused on searching the premise for the egg than on them.

He turned around and looked out into the space. His distant look told her that his memories wouldn't let him return to the present just yet.

"Who painted the portrait?" She turned around, and they began walking.

"Most wealthy families preferred for Joshua Reynolds and George Romney to paint their portraits. Some families—." The squawk of a police radio finally brought Henry back into the modern era. "Most people recognize Gilbert Stuart's work from George Washington's picture on the dollar bill, but they don't know that he had spent eighteen years in London painting portraits of wealthy families prior to his arrival back in the United States."

That's why the painting was familiar.

They soon reached a desk on the side of the shop. Jo picked up one of the pictures and showed it to Henry. The photograph showed Marcus in a white judo suit with a black belt.

Mike's voice caught their attention. The officer near him looked confused. "Yes, an Easter egg. Ask Doc."

Henry started toward them when he stopped at a table. He looked at two large vases sitting on it. He quickly pulled a pair of gloves out of his coat pocket and slipped them on.

She looked at the table, but she couldn't see anything. She hoped that Henry didn't find the egg in a vase. If he had, then their case against Marcus would be over.

She walked over to him and started to open her mouth when she saw a small golden object on the table—in plain sight. Henry seemed to notice it at the same time, and he picked it up. Her jaw dropped. The egg was more beautiful than he had described.

He lifted the top of the egg. Jo gasped as a ship-shaped clock appeared in the hand-carved hollow. "This is indeed Faberge's work." His voice had the same faraway tone that he had used just moments earlier.

She looked at him as he closed it and laid it back down in the precise spot and position that he had found it so it could be documented and bagged. This egg had reminded Henry of his past when he had seen it for the first time, and it had remained in his memory ever since.

Before she could ask him why Marcus would hide the egg there, she heard additional footsteps behind her.

"What are you doing here?"

The unfamiliar voice caused her to turn to him. Marcus Baxter, dressed in his judo suit, stood in the space. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Henry staying by her side. As he wasn't moving between her and Marcus, he must have believed that their suspect was harmless right now.

She looked at Marcus. She had a lot of questions to ask him.

Author's Note: To satisfy your curiosity, when I wrote the part about Jo's TV viewing shortly after Henry's revelation, Smallville popped in my head, and I remembered a relative of mine catching a few minutes of that storyline. Jo's ability to catch an episode without the DVDs is from my imagination.

The Easter egg "Ship at Sea" is based on the real-life Faberge Easter eggs entitled "Third Imperial Egg" and the "Yusupov Egg". "Third Imperial Egg" was commissioned by Tsar Alexander III as a present for his wife Empress Maria Fedorovna to commemorate Easter. Alexander presented the egg to Maria on Easter in April 1887. During the Bolshevik Revolution, it was transferred from the palace to the Moscow Kremlin Armoury in 1917. It was under the care of Ivan Gavrilovich Chinariov in 1922, but it somehow was sold at an auction in New York in 1964 and again at a bric-a-brac market in 2004. Faberge researchers learned of the egg's survival in 2011 when they found a picture of it in an American auction catalog from the 1960s. In 2012, the American scrap dealer who bought it at the sale researched the egg on Google before selling it. Faberge experts confirmed that it was the lost egg.

The Yusupov Egg was created in 1907. It was commissioned by Count Felix Felixovich Sumarokov-Elston (later Prince Felix Yusupov), the General Governor of Moscow, as a present to his wife Zinaida Yusupova, a member of a wealthy Russian family of nobles, to commemorate their 25th wedding anniversary.

Yes, both eggs are really that small. The "Third Imperial Egg" is 3.2 inches (8.2 centimeters) high, while the