A/N: I bet you weren't expecting more of this, but the moment I posted the last one, the ideas started flowing, and before I knew it, I had the outlines of a multi-chapter story. I hope you enjoy! :)

"Abraham, I'm telling you, he didn't believe me!" Henry said, not for the first time.

"Well, I always said sleepwalking was a weak excuse. I mean, you should've come up with something better the first time, like… bungee jumping gone wrong." Abe suggested.

Henry hit him with a particularly disparaging glare. "I'm being serious."

"So am I!" Abe replied jokingly. The pair locked eyes, and Abe fought back a smile. "I'm sorry, I understand why you're nervous, but if you want to have this conversation, you have to change out of that suit!"

Henry sighed and looked down at himself. Unfortunately, Abe was right. The gray trousers cut him off above the ankles, and his thighs were threatening to tear through the seams. They were unbuttoned, unzipped, and held up by a belt buckled at the last hole. All of this was covered by a pale pink shirt, tied around his waist. The jacket, which had looked smart on Malcolm, looked completely ridiculous on him. The fact that it hadn't fallen apart already was a testament to how well made it was. He'd spotted the brand; he couldn't believe Malcolm had just handed it over so quickly. "You may have a point," he conceded.

Quickly, he changed into a casual shirt and donned a robe on top; he wasn't about to dirty his pajamas with whatever organisms were in the East River – he'd looked at them under a microscope on bodies that were pulled out of it before. He wouldn't be surprised if there were a few undiscovered species down there. Honestly, it was something that might be worth looking at in his lab sometime.

Carefully, he hung up Malcolm's suit and paused when he noted the inside of the jacket lapel. The stitch present there, a sure sign of careful fitting, was a signature he was familiar with. He smiled for a second. They went to the same tailor.

He carried the suit downstairs on a hanger, and Abe raised his eyebrows. "Henry, you didn't even shower. You really are worried."

Henry inclined his head. "He was a very astute man. A man who actually has experience sleepwalking, and one who works with the police. No, one who profiles for the police. Another M.E. who I very much respect made a point of telling me how good he is at his job."

"A very rich man, too, it looks like." Abe gestured towards the suit label. "That must've cost, what, five grand?"

"If not more," Henry responded. "He's from a wealthy family. He said he had a lot of them at home."

Abe's eyebrows shot up. "Wow. He might be richer than you, and you've been saving for 200 years!"

Henry nailed him with one of those looks again.

Abe asked, "Would I have heard of him? A lot of those families make waves in New York."

Henry hesitated. "I don't think so. Do you know the name Bright?"

"Means nothing to me."

Henry felt a pang of guilt at lying to Abe, or at least, not telling the complete truth. But Whitly wasn't a name one uttered lightly in New York City, and it appeared to be one that Malcolm did not want to associate with. He figured he owed him the favor of leaving that story alone. Henry fidgeted with the neck of his robe, where he would usually wear a scarf.

Clearly seeing this, Abe sighed and said, "Henry, I really think you're overreacting here. Even if he didn't believe your cover story, he's not going to guess 'immortality.' What are you really worried about?"

"I don't want to have to leave again, not yet. I like the life we've built here, and I want to extend it as long as we can."

Abe looked at him sympathetically. "And we will."

"He could tell the police. He knows them well enough, and it could spread to Jo, or Hanson, or worse, the lieutenant. She made it very clear that she wouldn't accept any more of these incidents."

Abe sighed and sat down. "Do you really think he would? I mean, he literally gave you the clothes off his back. You, a random, naked man he met by the river in the middle of the night."

Henry smiled a little. "No, he certainly seemed nice enough." That was an understatement. Clearly, Malcolm was kind and generous. He did agree to walk home, which Henry suspected was not a short distance, in his underwear. He was also clearly traumatized by his father's actions, which was likely why he was out that late in the first place. Henry couldn't blame him. He knew better than most, the world was difficult enough to grow up in with an average upbringing. To have a parent who was one of the most prolific serial killers of all time, well… Henry couldn't imagine the effect that would have on a child. "He did also give me $100 for a taxi."

Abe nodded and looked around the room, like he often did when he was thinking. "You know where he works, right?" Henry nodded hesitantly. "Well, that settles it!"

Henry narrowed his eyes. He didn't like the look in his son's eye. "What?"

"You should invite him over for dinner! It'll give me a chance to meet him, which I desperately want to do, by the way. And, we can convince him of the sleepwalking story while he's here."

"He is a profiler, you know. He may see right through us."

"Eh, profiler, schmofiler," Abe said casually with a wave of his hand. When Henry opened his mouth to speak, he continued, "Well, he already thinks you're lying, right? If he doesn't believe you again, nothing's changed, except he got to have the life-changing experience of eating my cooking."

Henry smiled. Abe did have a point with that one. He wasn't sure what it was, but even with 200 years of cooking experience under his belt, he couldn't hold a candle to Abraham. He had the palette to tell when the seasoning was off, but Abe was the master in the kitchen itself. "I can't argue with that. How does this sound? I'll invite him over in a few days, after I get that suit dry cleaned." That way, if Malcolm did spread the word about his late-night activities, he could handle it outside of a police station. Considering Malcolm more, he did think it was most likely a non-issue. But regardless, he would be loath to show up at the 16th without Malcolm's suit, as it really was a work of art. The least Henry could do would be to clean it.

"Deal. Now go take a shower, Henry. You smell."

"That would be an understatement."

"And get some sleep! If you start yawning at work, Lucas will start singing to keep you awake again!"

Henry's eyes widened, and he hastened to the shower. He desperately wanted to avoid a repeat of that experience.

In the end, it was over a week before Henry could make it to the 16th. Most of that had been due to Jo catching a case. Admittedly, though, some of it was because of his own avoidance. He often came worryingly close to people discovering his secret, but it was very rare that someone like Malcolm got anywhere near.

Really, he wasn't sure why Malcolm worried him so much. He'd met many psychologists, and even a few profilers in his time. But Malcolm was… different. He was whip smart and clearly had a lot of experience dealing with people with secrets, experience that he'd been gaining his entire life. He also had a certain innocence about him. He was clearly desperate to be liked, but had a good sense of his eccentricities and refused to hide them. Henry guessed that that came from a large amount of judgment he'd received, and a large amount of work to overcome the effects of it. Malcolm was a contradiction wrapped in expensive suits. He simultaneously gave off the air of someone who was held together by the weakest bindings, and someone strong enough to endure even the greatest attempts to pull him apart.

Henry shook his head fondly. The man was a bit of a mystery, which wasn't something he found himself thinking often. Regardless of his apprehensions about Malcolm, Henry was actually excited to see him again.

He entered the building and asked a kind young man where he could find Malcolm Bright. The man raised his brows and regarded Henry apprehensively, as if he was surprised Mr. Bright would have a well-meaning visitor, but he wordlessly directed him downstairs to the morgue. How lucky Dr. Tanaka was to have one in-precinct!

When he entered, he saw Dr. Tanaka explaining something quietly to a group of four, who were standing around a corpse. There was a curly-haired woman and a large man, both of whom had their arms crossed and eyes focused on the M.E. in a way that clearly showed they were uncomfortable around her work. Both had badges displayed at their waists, but Henry could've determined they were detectives from their posture alone.

Facing away from him were two men. One was clearly Malcolm, with his thin frame and impeccably tailored suit, and the other was older, if the turtleneck and graying sideburns (what he could see of them, anyway) were anything to go by. The older man was standing in a fashion similar to the detectives, but with more of an open posture, hands clasped behind his back.

Malcolm, meanwhile, was following Dr. Tanaka's explanations with his whole body, leaning near to the corpse to see what she was talking about. He even had gloves on to touch it if necessary. Henry smiled a little. Perhaps there was someone else who found his work as interesting as he did. Well, perhaps not quite to his level given his history.

Loud enough to be heard, he cleared his throat, and the detectives raised their eyebrows at him. The large man looked him up and down, something Henry was used to. He did have an eclectic style; it often made people stare. "Excuse me, Dr. Tanaka, do you mind if I interrupt for a moment?"

Malcolm whirled around at the sound of his voice. His jaw dropped, like he was seeing a unicorn.

Dr. Tanaka smiled and said, "Dr. Morgan, of course! Come in! Sorry about the-" she gestured to the corpse- "well, you know, you probably see more of this than I do." She laughed awkwardly. "Um, these are Detectives Powell and Tarmel, and Lieutenant Arroyo, and this is-"

"Henry!" Malcolm interrupted. "I- um, how are you?"

"Malcolm," Henry greeted, inclining his head towards the man. "I'm doing well."

"Oh, I didn't realize you knew each other already," Dr. Tanaka commented, clearly confused, and maybe a little dejected.

Malcolm responded, "We don't, really. We just met each other last week. We were, um…" Henry tensed minutely. "... We were both on late night walks, and we struck up a conversation." He relaxed. Malcolm continued, "Dani, Gil, JT, this is Dr. Henry Morgan. He's an M.E. He works with the 16th precinct pretty regularly."

They all greeted him in their own way, Dani and JT with nods and Gil with a smile. Henry noted the fond glance Lieutenant Arroyo – Gil – threw at Malcolm. Clearly, they were close.

"I just came by to give you your suit back. I got it dry cleaned and pressed for you, as a thank you."

Malcolm looked genuinely surprised, as if he honestly didn't expect to see the suit – or him – again. "Oh, thank you! You didn't have to do that. I'm glad to see you, um… looking better," he settled on.

"Why's he have your suit, Bright?" JT asked quietly. His tone was a touch shy of interrogative, like one would use with a little brother.

"He needed it. He didn't have one, and he needed one," Malcolm said confidently, but with the hesitant look of someone who was hiding something.

"In the middle of the night? On a walk?" JT asked.

Malcolm just shrugged. Before JT could ask any follow-up questions, he walked over to Henry and took the outstretched suit with a smile.

"Oh! Henry!" Malcolm started digging in his pockets, and produced a wrapped lollipop. "I had an extra. Root beer flavor. It's perfect, it matches your scarf."

Henry's eyebrows shot up.

Malcolm explained further, "My therapist gives them out, I always take one for everyone." Behind him, all three detectives as well as Dr. Tanaka nailed Henry with a warning look, as if daring him to say anything negative.

Clearly the man had people that cared about him a lot. He reached out and took the lollipop. It wasn't really his thing, but it would probably make Lucas' day later. "Thank you, Malcolm." The glares currently fixed on Henry softened a little. It was a shame they felt they had to have them at all.

"Oh! My roommate Abraham would likely kill me if I forgot – would you like to come over for dinner tonight? He's been very eager to meet you after you helped me out last week."

To his surprise, Malcolm's face fell. "That might not be the best idea; most food makes me sick."

And the tension was back, this time present in Malcolm's face as well. Easily, Henry said, "It's no matter. I can ask him to make something very neutral, and we love leftovers, so if it doesn't work, it's no offense. It actually may be good for him if you don't like it; his ego has been getting a little large as of late."

Malcolm's face visibly relaxed, and Henry felt a surprising surge of protectiveness. Clearly he'd experienced a lot of pushback for this before. Luckily, with all his years of experience, Henry prided himself on being very slow to judge. After all, there were far more uncommon things to have an issue with than food.

Malcolm smiled a little, then said, "Okay then! Uh, sign me up." He bounced on the balls of his feet.

Henry gave him the address of the antique shop and told him when to be there. He would have to contact Abe and let him know to change dinner plans a bit, but that would be easy enough. And he wasn't lying about his ego, it may be good to make him work with some restrictions. Henry smiled fondly.

He said his nice-to-meet-yous and his goodbyes before making a semi-graceful exit. As the door closed behind him, he heard the voice of Detective Powell say teasingly, "You sure know how to pick 'em, don't you, Bright?"

Henry let out a quiet laugh and headed home.

Malcolm took a deep breath and wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks. He didn't know why he was so nervous, standing in front of the unassuming antiques shop. He knew he had no reason to be, but his hand trembled all the same.

He'd been thinking about this dinner with Henry all day, not just because he'd been dodging questions from Dani, JT, and Gil about the circumstances of their meeting. Most of it was due to the man himself. Henry had been kind and non-judgmental to him, even knowing who his father was. He'd spent some time wondering if that was just because he was in a very vulnerable position at the time, but the invitation to dinner showed otherwise. It wasn't often that someone talked to Malcolm about his family and then wanted to talk again.

But, dinner was difficult given his food issues, and Malcolm honestly would have declined if not for his desire to talk to Henry again. He had a lot of questions to ask him, and he hoped to uncover the truth about his "sleepwalking habit." He'd come up with a few other ideas of what it could be, but most of them started and ended with "weird sex thing." Because, why else would someone be naked in the park in the middle of the night? Exhibitionist fetish made more sense than anything else he could come up with. Yes, there hadn't been a partner with him, but not everything had to be done in tandem. Or maybe, there was someone else he hadn't seen.

He doubted it was anything malicious, although it wasn't like he knew Dr. Morgan all that well. He had to keep all options open, Mostly, this was just a fun case to solve that didn't have anything to do with murder (hopefully). It was basically like playing Clue. Gil would be proud.

If he'd been feeling introspective, he would've thought more about the part of him that didn't view Henry as a case and viewed him as an acquaintance, one that, perhaps, was strange enough in his own right to stick around long enough to be a friend.

And one that worked with murder cases and liked it, too. It was almost too good to be true.

Malcolm sighed. There was no use stalling in his head anymore. It was never a nice place to be for long. Shaking off the tremor in his hand, he knocked on the door of the antique shop, briefly considering how odd it would look to passers by, a strangely nervous man knocking on the door of a closed store.

But, he wasn't left to stew in awkwardness for long, because the door was opened by an older man, who greeted him warmly by saying, "Mr. Bright, I presume?"

He inclined his head and responded, "Malcolm, please."

"Come in, Malcolm, come in! I'm Abraham, I'm Henry's roommate."

"Very nice to meet you."

"You as well!" Abraham responded. There was a slightly awkward pause before the man continued, "Henry's just in the kitchen. He baked some lovely bread for tonight, and it's just now coming out of the oven."

When Bright stepped through the door, it felt like he was going back in time. It was unlike any antique store he'd seen. It was small, homey, and warm. Nothing in it was new, not even the tables items were sitting on. The colors were rich and deep, and the room was full but not cluttered, the complete opposite of his or his mother's glamorous but sparse living areas. This place had beauty and personality in spades.

The two of them made their way up the stairs, and Malcolm could see Henry slicing a beautiful loaf of bread. Despite himself, Malcolm's stomach started rumbling. It really did smell delicious, along with whatever other food they'd been cooking before he got here.

"Malcolm!" Henry called. "Welcome! I apologize for not greeting you at the door, but someone-" he looked pointedly at Abraham "-took far too long cooking and did not leave enough time for me to bake." He had a relaxed smile, but tension in his shoulders.

"Yeah yeah, tell yourself what you like. The real truth is that he treats all his dough like a newborn baby and spends most of his kneading time staring at it. I think he's trying to make up for the fact that I do most of the cooking in this house. Likes to feel important." Abe winked at Malcolm, who felt his own tension ease just a little bit.

The roommates shared a conspiratory look before Henry acquiesced, "It's true; Abe really is the chef around here, although his baking skills will never match up to mine, no matter how many times he tries."

"And Henry will never make a tomato sauce like I can, no matter how many years he had before I came along." Henry raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin, and Abe continued, "I didn't really start cooking until Henry and I became roommates. He taught me everything he knows, then I took it from there." Abe inclined his head as an indication that it was time to go sit down.

Malcolm smiled easily and obediently followed Abe to the table, where he could see a truly lovely display of food that made him equal parts eager and apprehensive.

Henry brought over his bread on a decorative cutting board which matched the antique mood of the entire kitchen and dining area perfectly. Malcolm felt a bit out of place in his modern suit, like he was a time traveler in a period piece. But, he'd certainly seen dinnerware like this in the form of very expensive family heirlooms passed down to his mother. She always bemoaned their existence, but Malcolm had always liked them. They felt a little more loved than the stark white he was used to.

The three of them sat down, and Henry launched into a very eloquent explanation of the dinner in front of them. He explained that he and Abe had put together a slightly modified shakshuka, traditionally an African dish that consisted of poached eggs suspended in a spiced tomato sauce, accompanied by bread that could be dipped in it. "We thought, considering your food sensitivities, it may be a good idea since the dish naturally comes in parts. I switched out the traditional bread for something more neutral, but still, of course, delicious."

"We also turned the spice level down a bit, and we're doing the eggs to order in case you're worried that would be too much," Abe said while gesturing to a simmering pot of water on the stove.

Almost tripping over his roommate's words, Henry jumped in, "And, please, do not be offended if it doesn't work for you. I meant what I said earlier. We absolutely love leftovers, and I know a certain detective who would love to take some off our hands if need be."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. He'd come in terrified, but now, sitting at this table, he felt a sense of warmth spread through his chest. The two of them had made so many accommodations for him, and they were the ones that seemed nervous, as if they thought they hadn't done enough. Unsure of what else to say, he said, "Thank you. This looks amazing. You didn't have to do so much, really, I… I appreciate it."

"Nonsense!" Abe responded. "You got Henry out of a major bind, and I really appreciate that. One more of those and he gets fired."

"Abraham," Henry admonished, in an almost paternal way. He confirmed his statement to Malcolm, though, saying, "As you know, a nude, sleepwalking medical examiner is not an employee the NYPD wants, and that was made very clear to me."

The three of them dug in, Abe happily making himself and Henry eggs to order, and not saying anything when Malcolm declined his. The tomato sauce and bread were truly delicious. They coated Malcolm's taste buds with a rich spice that somehow managed to be flavorful and light at the same time. The accompanying bread was crusty and white, certainly not traditional, but easy on the stomach and definitely delicious. As Abe had predicted, it would've been a bit too much for him with eggs involved (his stomach tightened at the thought).

"So, Malcolm, Henry said you work as a profiler. What got you into that line of work?"

Bright barely noticed Henry's wince, and he sighed. He might as well come right out with it; it was usually easier to get the subject of his father out of the way early. "Well, I had an early start, what with having a serial killer for a father."

He'd expected a nervous, knowing laugh, but instead, Abe coughed. "What?" he said, clearly surprised. Malcolm looked to Henry, who was looking back at him apologetically.

"You didn't tell him?"

"I thought you should be able to choose who knows. I apologize; I should've given you advance notice."

"No, it's okay, I just, um." Malcolm paused before regaining his composure and saying gratefully, "Thank you. Really. Usually that fun fact precedes me." To Abe, he elaborated, "My father is The Surgeon."

Abe's eyebrows raised, but other than that, he made no other expression. There was a slightly tense beat. Sympathetically, he said, "I remember that story being difficult to hear on the news. I imagine it was very hard to grow up that way."

Awkwardly, Malcolm inclined his head. "It could be. Other times, it was… normal."

Abe simply nodded and said neutrally, "I can believe that. It seems like a complicated situation." He didn't make any other comment, and Henry directed a fond look at his roommate.

Malcolm nodded jerkily. He had expected more questions about what Dr. Whitly was like as a father, what Malcolm knew about the murders, how long he'd known. He clenched his right fist under Henry's watchful eye and replied, "It was, at times. But, ah, I started in the FBI as a profiler, and then I… left. And Gil – Lieutenant Arroyo; Dr. Morgan, you met him today – offered me a job with the NYPD, so… here I am." He paused before continuing disparagingly, "I have a special talent for getting in the minds of killers, so I'm told."

"Well, so does Henry. Freaks people out when they first meet him, but he couldn't hurt a fly," Abe said.

"Yes, well, as I'm sure you know, when you make death your trade of choice, it makes some people uncomfortable. Especially when you have a passion for it."

Malcolm perked up at that. "People never seem to get it! It's not just the murder, it's the psychology of the murder."

"Exactly. Although, in my trade, it is vastly informed by the biology of it all, which, luckily, is just as interesting." Malcolm didn't respond, waiting for Henry to continue. "For example, there is so much you can tell from what appears to be a simple wound. The angle, the skin texture around it, the skin texture within it, all have stories to tell."

Malcolm nodded eagerly. He loved when Edrisa talked about this kind of thing, but she was often cut off by JT, Gil, or Dani before she could really get into it. He urged Henry to continue.

"There's so much one can learn about a person from their body. We had a case recently, a murder where a viscount had gotten killed, or so it appeared. Truthfully, he was a bike messenger who engaged in a long con that turned into a true romance. From the scars on his legs from the bicycle chain to the evidence of hair dye, it was clear he was not the noble he pretended to be, which quickly led us to consider what type of person would commit this murder. From the perspective of all we had learned about him, along with the wound that killed him, it was then quite easy to determine who killed him." Henry looked a little nervous, as if he half expected Malcolm to run out the door.

Instead, Malcolm responded, "Henry, that is extremely cool. We had one recently that I think you'll like – the body was found sitting on the couch, looking completely alive, but it turned out it had been embalmed and made up to look living."

"Really? Fascinating."

"Right? It was perfect work, too. If not for the lack of a pulse, we all fully would've believed the man was stuck in time, completely alive. The scene alone told us so much about the perpetrator, about the level of insecurity, and… and romance involved." Malcolm gesticulated while he spoke, but now snapped his mouth shut, nervous that he had gone too far. Thankfully, Henry's expression hadn't changed. He had a gleam in his eye, one that Bright often saw in the mirror when he was at a crime scene.

"You know, necrophilia is a very interesting subject, psychologically. I would never partake of course, but one can almost understand that desire for connection that will never end, no matter how twisted its pursual may be. I always thought-"

Abe, who Malcolm was ashamed to say he forgot about, cleared his throat loudly. "Henry, what do I say about murder talk at the dinner table?" Almost to himself, he muttered, "Peas in a pod, you two."

"Oh, Abe, I apologize." To Malcolm, he said, "Unfortunately, he does not share our love for death."

"I find that most people don't." The pair shared an understanding smile, but the conversation had raised a small flag in Malcolm's mind. His hypothesis of Henry's sleepwalking being a result of an unusual fetish began to ring false, considering just how easily Dr. Morgan had spoken about the psychology of necrophilia. He didn't exactly strike Malcolm as a shameful man. Honestly, he never had. After a pause, Malcolm eased into questioning them by asking, "How did you two get to know each other? I hope you don't mind me commenting, but you have kind of a father-son dynamic going on." He tapped his fingers on the table and shifted in his seat.

Abe and Henry shared a knowing look, like Malcolm had touched on an inside joke. Abe said, "I'm not actually his father, but I did know his father."

"Actually, I meant the other way around," Malcolm said, gesturing between them.

It was immediately clear that he'd said something wrong, because Henry went pale and Abe's eyes widened comically as he dropped his bread into his sauce. He fumbled to pick it back up. The roommates shared a panicked look, and Malcolm immediately stumbled through an apology, though he had no clue what he was apologizing for.

Henry and Abe waved him off and promptly went through a rapid explanation of how they met, one that involved Henry's father and Abe knowing each other and working together. The pair of them stumbled over each other, the ends of Abe's sentences overlapping with the beginning of Henry's, and vice versa. Malcolm, admittedly, was only half paying attention. He'd clearly made a social misstep, specifically with the assertion that it was Henry who had the paternal air. It didn't appear that he'd offended either of them, but he'd obviously surprised them, or even scared them, although he couldn't understand why.

Henry and Abe finished their story and both looked at Malcolm apprehensively, apparently worried he wouldn't accept their story. Well, it was very clear it was all a lie (albeit a well-rehearsed one), but he politely pretended to believe them, and they both let out barely disguised sighs of relief. Internally, the least nervous part of him, the part that only a case could bring out, flicked on like a lightswitch. There was something going on here, something that he couldn't begin to decipher. It was his favorite kind of problem to solve, one that started out with him completely in the dark with very few behavioral clues to lead him on his way.

This, of course, was a perfect segue to the other piece of the puzzle. "So, Henry," Malcolm started, resting his head on his hand. "How's the sleepwalking?" He asked it as innocently as possible.

Anyone who wasn't actively looking for it would've missed it, but Malcolm saw the briefest moment of confusion flash across the doctor's face before recognition took over. "Thankfully, I have not had any more incidents since we met. I haven't tried the restraints yet, as I am a very light sleeper, but I plan to if it happens again."

Malcolm's gaze intensified. "Trust me, I am too. But handcuffs beat taking a nosedive out a window, believe me. At least, that's the kind of thing I usually do." His face reddened slightly at Abe's and Henry's looks of concern. "Or into the East River."

"Yes, of course you're right."

Malcolm pushed a little harder. "I just wouldn't want you to lose your job. Edrisa says you're a fantastic M.E., and you clearly love the work."

"Yes," Henry said. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something else, but couldn't quite decide what exactly that was. "You're right, of course," he finished lamely. Malcolm narrowed his eyes a little and leaned forward as Henry shifted in his seat and swallowed. He was nervous. Very nervous. Why?

Abe looked back and forth between them and jumped in, "Well, I'm stuffed. Y'know, Henry, you should show Malcolm your lab while I clean this up."

"Excellent idea!" Henry responded a bit too quickly. He visibly relaxed, and Malcolm felt an odd combination of disappointment and guilt. Clearly there was more to uncover here (he suspected much more), but Dr. Morgan didn't want to talk about it, and Malcolm knew he was being rude by pushing. He'd gotten caught up in the case again before knowing everything, and it very well may cost him a friendship that he actually would've liked to have. He genuinely enjoyed Henry and Abe's company, and he'd actually really liked this dinner. He found himself thinking back to something his mother said once. Malcolm, you don't need to know everything! When you pick off a scab, it just leaves a wound. He sighed. He'd never been good at following that advice.

"Lab?" Malcolm questioned, coming back into the moment and taking the pressure off.

"Yes!" Henry stood, and Malcolm followed suit. "This building came with a basement, and when Abe and I moved in, we agreed I could turn it into a lab for scientific study. I explore many things: horticulture, disease research, but most importantly, the mechanics of death. Completely ethically, of course. Would you like to take a look?"

…Okay, that did sound pretty cool. Malcolm nodded emphatically.

The pair of them made their way down concrete steps, and Henry flicked the light on to reveal a warmly lit yet clinical lab space. There was a desk on one side of the room with an antique lamp angled to light its work surface. Another work area, sterile and metal, was on the other side of the room, complete with a sink. There was a small, lighted greenhouse where Henry was growing plants (Malcolm recognized one of them as hemlock, and he had no doubt the others were poisons as well). There was a small fridge and freezer combo next to the metal workspace, likely for solutions and samples. Malcolm's heart beat, both with apprehension and excitement. He stepped further into the room to investigate the structure that held the plants, noting the misters that kept them hydrated. "Dr. Morgan, this is amazing." He was smiling when he turned back to Henry, who stood straight near the entrance of the room. He matched his smile.

Malcolm's eyes darted between Henry and the stairwell, and his smile faltered a little. He couldn't help noticing that there was no escaping this room, not with Dr. Morgan between him and the door. He trusted Henry, but when the walls of the lab began to look eerily like his mother's basement, his heart rate quickened anyway. His hand trembled, so he clenched it into a fist and turned towards the plants again. He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath. Images flashed behind his eyes, ones of his father showing him surgical tools, a closed trunk in his basement. He felt a hand over his mouth, smelled the citrusy, antiseptic scent of chloroform and the musky scent of Dr. Whitly's cologne. He took a shaky step back and looked at the low ceiling, focusing on a small water stain in the corner. You're being ridiculous, Bright. Pull it together.

In an unconvincing version of confidence, he glanced over at Henry, who was looking at him with a concerned yet relaxed expression. He watched Dr. Morgan glance down to his tightly clenched fist, and, almost as if he sensed what the issue was, he deftly walked towards Bright and stepped around him, kindly ignoring the full-body flinch that ran through Malcolm's body when he passed. He firmly planted himself at the back of the room, leaving Bright's access to the door uninhibited. Malcolm flashed his eyes to Henry's face, knowing they were wet, but Henry didn't comment, instead launching into an explanation of each plant. Malcolm's heart was beating far too loud to hear what Henry was saying, but he focused on the lilting tones of Henry's voice and allowed himself to slowly calm down.

"...purple flower is aconite, otherwise known as wolfsbane. It's a beautiful plant, but fatal when it reaches the bloodstream. It causes a very painful death, believe me. Jo, the detective I work with, and I investigated a case that involved aconite poisoning."

Malcolm nodded dutifully, now engrossed in what Henry was saying.

"I have belladonna growing over here. It's one of my favorites, with both medicinal and nefarious uses. It has the darkest history of any natural poison, and the worst reputation, but it's a specimen I've greatly enjoyed having here." Henry smiled at Malcolm, who returned the gesture.

"What's that one?" Malcolm asked, pointing at an innocuous-looking green plant.

"Castor bean. I only started growing it a few weeks ago, so it hasn't reached maturity yet, although when it does-"

"Henry!" Abe called from upstairs, causing both of them to jump. "Jo's on the phone for you!"

Dr. Morgan perked up more than he had when talking about poison, if that was even possible. "Excuse me, Malcolm. Duty calls." He made his way to the stairwell. Before going upstairs, he turned back and said, "Please, feel free to look around. I'll be sure to leave the door open." He glanced nervously at the desk, so quickly Bright almost missed it, and took the steps two at a time.

Malcolm was a little ashamed at the level of relief he felt when Henry indeed did not close the door.

He inspected the plants a little more, ensuring he didn't touch the glass that housed them. He opened the fridge and freezer, both of which contained various biological samples, blood and hair, that he suspected came from Henry himself, or Abraham (at least, he hoped they did). He opened one of the metal drawers under the sterile work area and discovered some surgical and lab tools, all fully sterilized and organized in a way that made Malcolm a little sick as memories of his childhood scratched at his brain. He sighed, mentally deriding himself. They were just tools, nothing more. They couldn't hurt him. On the opposite wall, there was a cabinet of Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, and graduated cylinders of various sizes, all meticulously organized as well. Considering the coziness of the rest of the house, this room didn't fit in at all, but it was still so very Henry. He was a meticulous man, as evidenced by his smart wardrobe (when he wasn't naked), professional posture, and articulate way of speaking. He was also a doctor who loved his job, one that had a passion for it and wanted to do it even off the clock. And Malcolm could relate to that. Sometimes, his least favorite part of the day was walking out of the police station doors, especially after solving a case. Most people thought that was weird, or worse, a sign that he had more in common with his father than they were comfortable with.

And you do, a voice in his head spoke. It sounded like Dr. Whitly.

Malcolm sighed and looked around the room again, his eyes landing on the desk. The way Henry looked at it before he left… he'd looked nervous. Malcolm walked over to the desk apprehensively, his gaze landing on the left drawer that was opened just a crack, almost tantalizingly.

Well, he did say I could look around, he thought. But, he didn't move. He could hear the voice of Henry Morgan above him, talking animatedly about something to the detective he worked with.

It's just a drawer. He technically gave you permission to look in it. What's your deal? This time the voice sounded like Ainsley.

Malcolm rolled his eyes, but he opened it anyway and looked inside. In it was a small notebook, completely innocuous. Scientific results, maybe? It looked old – well used and well worn. The pages had faded from bright white to yellow.

Malcolm picked it up (why was his hand shaking?) and flipped it open to the first page. He wished it didn't feel like betrayal.

Upon reading it, he wished he'd never opened it at all.

The first couple pages were an untitled ranking, starting with "skinned alive" and ending with "helium poisoning." There were arrows, things added in small text between numbers, and things crossed out and moved. The rest of the pages were full of entries, dated, going back to the 1970s, all neatly written in small, effortless cursive. They each had a line labeled, "Manner of Death" followed by lines such as "vehicle crash: sedan," "decapitation," and one, a recent one, that Malcolm couldn't take his eye off of: "aconite poisoning." The words started dancing before his eyes – his hand had started trembling again.

He gripped the book tighter, reading the aconite entry in his head. The words were detached, clinical. "Potent solution injected directly into bloodstream. Severe chest pain accompanied by muscle cramps and arrhythmia. Uncontrolled muscle contractions, followed by death. Rating: 7.5/10. Quick, but brutal. Time before return: 5-25 seconds."

Malcolm didn't understand the last line, but when he read it, it was in Martin's voice.

Malcolm flipped through the pages, and Martin read out to him phrases like "Manner of death: slit throat, Instrument: butcher knife," "Virtually painless, but extremely slow," and "Effects of blood loss present, exacerbated by anticoagulant."

Malcolm supported himself on the desk so his legs didn't give out. His vision was blurry from panic, tears, or both, and he was struggling to breathe. He resisted the urge to throw the small book across the room. Instead, he gripped the leather cover hard enough that his fingernails made impressions on the surface.

When he glanced around the room again, it was smeared, floor to ceiling, with haunting streaks of red. Malcolm stumbled backwards to lean against the wall and clenched his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the red was gone, but Martin was there, standing by the small greenhouse, looking at the plants. "Aconite," he said. "Smart. I should've thought of that. Well," he said, smiling predatorily at his son. "At least someone did."

Malcolm brought his fist up to his mouth to keep himself from screaming and clenched his eyes so tightly shut he saw patterns on his eyelids.

When he next looked around, he was alone. It was almost worse.

He forced himself to look back at the notebook. Malcolm only knew one person who wrote like this, and those words still haunted him.

"Don't say that; you love my work," Dr. Whitly spoke into his ear.

"Shut up," he hissed. His voice resonated through the empty room.

He flipped through the pages again shakily. Above him, Henry laughed.

Malcolm hadn't put all the pieces together yet, but the big picture was clear.

Henry Morgan, like The Surgeon, wasn't just a doctor.

Henry Morgan was a serial killer.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed this!

This one really got away from me; it's a lot longer than I thought it would be! I hope it didn't drag for you. I also hope the characters felt genuine to you all; it's been a while since I've rewatched either show, so their voices were sometimes hard to find. Along those lines, I tried to remember relevant show details as well as I could, but if I made a mistake, I apologize.

As far as future chapters go: I do have the plot pretty much figured out, but I'm not giving myself an update schedule because I'm notoriously bad at sticking to them. However, I always put dated progress updates on my profile for WIPs if you're curious how the next chapter is coming along.

Thank you again for giving this a chance, and feel free to leave a review if you wish!