Disclaimer: I own no characters associated with Forever

Summary: My version of what happened surrounding, and after the line: "It's a long story"

Author's note: This series had potential, and I'm annoyed it's over. The story starts in the subway tunnel, and focuses on Jo. More than likely it's a one-shot.

Italics: Flashback

Title: Starting Again

Jo flattened herself against the wall of subway tunnel as the train went by. "Henry," she called. She heard low-pitched gurgling. The train passed, and she jogged the last few steps prepared to kneel beside her dying partner. She blinked; there wasn't a body. Only two signs remained there had been people down here recently; Henry's antique pocket watch, and photograph. "Voices, a gunshot. Something happened here." She muttered.

She picked up the snapshot. It was a picture of a man, and a boy standing on the street smiling. The man was dressed in an army uniform, his hair parted in 1940's style. He was the spitting image of Henry. She flipped it over to see the names written in pencil; "Henry & Abe Morgan May, 1945."

She made her way to street level and began walking towards the station. Memories of their first case flooded back. She woke up in hospital hooked up to machines. He stood by her bedside, a comforting smile on his face unharmed. She thought she was seeing things; chalked it all up to the drugs, and pain. He'd taken a bullet himself. "Stay with me," she urged him as she struggled to keep breathing herself. Jo was determined not to lose her partner.

Her pace quickened as she walked. She needed to see Henry, question him over the snapshot and that first case. She walked into the department to find Hanson seated at his desk.

"Would you do the paperwork on this one? I need to follow-up on something." Hanson sighed.

"Coffee for a month," he stated.

"Deal," Jo agreed. She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk pulling out the Henry file before storing her gun and locking it again. She was back through the door before Hanson questioned her further.

This time her heading was Henry's place. She fingered the photo in her pocket; the real evidence. She wouldn't take out the file folder unless she needed it. The store's sign read "closed," despite the late afternoon hour. She rapped on the glass anyway. She saw Henry moving towards her, Abe close behind.

Henry opened the door. She brought out the pocket watch, and photo.

"Have you got any answers for me?" He took the two items from her flashing a grateful smile.

"You need to tell her the truth." Abe urged him.

"It's a long story." Henry opened the door all the way for her to come in. He led her to a den on the second floor private apartment motioning her to sit on a sofa. He paced in front of her not saying anything. He opened a wall cabinet retrieving 2 glasses, and a bottle of whiskey. He poured one setting it front of her. Jo picked it up eyeing the dark liquid. At last he turned to face her, hands behind his back.

He started with the easy stuff: "The snapshot is real. It's me with Abe. The day I got home from the war. Abe is my son."

She used the glass to hide a raised eyebrow and drank: "and the pocket watch?"

"Even older. It belonged to my father who died in the 1700's." Jo spat out her whiskey. She stood staring at the man across from her:

Jo blurted: "That makes you over 200 years old. Henry that isn't possible."

"I assure you detective, it is." Jo recoiled at the use of her job title; a level of formality. He was starting to distance himself from her. She resumed her seat. He sensed a different approach would be needed, and grasped her hand. Jo kept her eyes in front of her.

"My father was a slave trader. He ran the ship Isaac's ancestors came over on… I was on board at the time, and tried to treat one man for malnutrition. I was shot, my body thrown overboard. I regained consciousness in the ocean. Watched the ship sink in the storms."

He undid the top buttons of his shirt, and moved her hand to the scar. Finally she looked at him a mixture of pity and anger in her eyes. She ran her fingers across the scar. "I've died countless times. Every time I've ended up in water." She pulled her hand back shocked at the gesture's intimacy.

"The skinny-dipping?" She asked. She swirled the last of the whisky around in her glass. He nodded. She stood facing him:

"I was thinking about the first case we worked together. You were shot. And somehow you stood at my bedside looking like that never happened. You died then."

Henry nodded. Jo leaned against the mantle refusing to look at him. Henry sat his hands in fists to keep from trying to console her.

"It makes sense," she said. She finished the whisky and placed the glass on the mantle. Jo resumed her seat at the opposite end of the sofa sideways watching Henry. The emotions on his face warred between relief and worry.

A statement of fact: "You've been lying to me since the moment we met. You were my friend… potentially something more, and now I feel like I don't know you. The Henry standing before me is a total stranger."

Hurt slipped past his carefully constructed mask. Jo felt as if she kicked a puppy. "It was selfish of me to keep the truth from you." He took her hand, desperate: "When I've revealed my immortality it hasn't gone well. My first wife had me placed in Bedlam as I tried a demonstration. "

"It existed?"

Henry quirked a smile. Curiosity would always win with her: "Yes. And it was the last place you'd ever want to find yourself."

She smiled back: the first honest answer from him: it gave her hope. "Why don't we start again? You get a second chance, while I get time once a week to ask as many questions as I want about your life. "

"Deal," they shook on it. They started back downstairs, walking comfortably beside each other. Henry dropped a hand to the small of her back.

"Are you sure you'll be okay with this?" He asked. She nodded;

"I just need a little time to adjust." He'd take that as a victory.

"Tomorrow?" He asked a hopeful note creeping into his voice.

"Tomorrow," she repeated. They returned to the front door.

"Good night Henry."

"Good night Jo."

"Thank you for trusting me." Jo said, flashing a smile. His replying smile lit up his eyes. This was the real Henry, and she'd treasure it.

The End