"So, Francis ... I can't believe you actually found the doctor who treated you when you were a toddler... He was a few years older ... you sure he's able to make it here? Wouldn't want to be responsible for him falling and breaking a hip or stroking out or something just because I've got an itch to trot down memory lane."

His son, Frank, the current Commissioner, chuckled a bit ... "Pretty sure you won't have to worry about anything like that, Pops. And he's not coming here. Dinner's gonna be at Peter Lugar's."

"Ohhh, forgot; special occasion. He's still spry, huh?"

"Yeah ... You might say that."

vvvv

PC Frank Reagan sat behind his massive mahogany desk drumming his fingers, undecided about something; his thick, dark eyebrows knitted together over his dark eyes. His thick, dark moustache partially hid his upper lip, curled inward pressed tightly against his lower lip. He reached for the desk phone, a few times, pushing past his hesitancy, and finally picked up the receiver. He then punched in a phone number and immediately hung up before the first ring. He pondered how best to proceed with this face-to-face meeting with a certain Medical Examiner without scaring him away? As much as he enjoyed meetings over dinner at his favorite steakhouse, he'd come to realize that it just might be too public a venue for what he and his father, Henry Reagan, planned to discuss with Dr. Henry Morgan. Finally, he reached a decision.

"Baker," he leaned over and spoke into the intercom on his desk, "I'm heading back out."

("Yes, Sir. Car One will be waiting for you downstairs.")

He thanked her and grabbed his overcoat, putting it on as he walked determinedly out of his office.

vvvv

The kitchen above the antiques shop was filled with the delightful aromas of bacon, eggs, toast, and coffee, swirling amidst, and mingling well with each other. The usually appetizing first meal of the day remained mostly untouched on Henry Morgan's plate, as he appeared lost in thought. On the other side of the table, however, Abe Morgan was enjoying a generous, second helping.

"Would you please eat something, Dad? Mope about things later. No need to starve yourself."

Henry smiled that lopsided grin of his and looked down at the food in his plate, really noticing it this time. "Sorry, Abraham." He picked up his fork and said, "I'll try." He pushed the fork underneath a few scrambled eggs, then, released it. He sighed and sank again into his thoughts.

Abe finished his meal and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Look, Pops. What's done is done. Nobody believes that guy about having seen you disappear after he'd shot you, Hanson didn't see you - it's all over. Move on." He waved a hand dismissively and pushed his plate forward, and out of the way so that he could concentrate on reading his newspaper. The landline phone rang and Henry rose to answer it. He was able to get around better today with the use of a cane. It was important that his body healed naturally and scarred appropriately in order to avoid any suspicion. At least, not from anyone else besides his two detective colleagues and the Police Commissioner. By now, Lt. Reece, and, even his assistant, Lucas, may have growing suspicions. He answered on the third ring, and, after a few moments of murmuring and nodding, he hung up the phone and limped back into the kitchen.

"Don't tell me. A murder." Abe flatly stated. "Please tell me you're not going out."

"No, Abraham, not a murder." he replied as he leaned the cane against the wall behind him, one hand clutching the back of the chair. "We're going to have company in a few minutes." He sat down, pulled out his pocket watch, studied it, then closed it, and tucked it back away.

Abe couldn't help but notice the look on Henry's face, one of grim resignation. "That Det. Hanson again?"

"No. Police Commissioner Frank Reagan." he said matter-of-factly.

"The Com-MISH?" Abe asked, surprised. "He's the Top Cop for the NYPD. What's he coming to visit you for?"

Henry frowned at him, slightly offended.

"You gonna switch over? Trade in your scalpel for a badge and a side arm?" Abe couldn't hide a childish grin.

Henry frowned deeper and shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no, Abraham." He side-eyed Abe as he inwardly debated whether or not to enlighten him about the reason behind the Commissioner's upcoming visit. The familiar tinkle of the bell over the shop's door temporarily (and, thankfully), interrupted him.

"That him?" Abe rose from his chair and made it to the stairs so quickly that it surprised them both. He pointed at Henry as he descended the stairs. "You stay there. I'll let him in."

Despite his foreboding, he wondered why it had taken so long for his presence to be detected by either of the Reagan men, Frank and his father, Henry. His heartrate had increased a bit and he breathed in deeply a few times to calm himself. The last time he had willingly shared his secret of immortality with anyone had been ... well, if he were really honest, he had never willingly shared it with anyone. It had always been reluctantly shared, as with his two wives, Norah and Abigail; or out of sheer necessity, as with a teenaged Abe after he'd accidentally overheard his parents arguing over when to actually tell him about his father's peculiar condition.

He was, admittedly, nervous about the Commissioner's visit but, surprisingly, did not feel threatened. Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention away from his thoughts.

Abe appeared first, and stood near the top of the stairs, a look of hesitancy and apprehension on his face. "Uh ... Henry... we have company."

Henry frowned, a bit confused over his behavior. "Well, show the Commissioner up, Abraham."

Abe looked back down over his shoulder, then back at Henry. "It's not the Commissioner."

Henry frowned a bit more. "Abraham, why on earth are you behaving so - " His words stuck in his throat at the sight of the two detectives, Jo and Mike, on the stairs behind Abe.

Hmmm, persistent little devils, he thought to himself. He lowered his head and eyed them from under a deeply furrowed brow, then sighed, resigned to his fate. "Come on up, Detectives. How nice to see you both again." He raised his head and managed a smile, but even he knew that neither his smile nor his voice reflected any cheer or warmth. As the two walked over to the table and sat down, Abe moved cautiously towards the kitchen island.

"Tea ... or the hard stuff?" he asked Henry as he scrutinized the pair.

"Both." Henry replied, maintaining his gaze on the two. Mike leaned forward a bit in his chair and began to speak, but Henry raised a hand to stop him. Mike and Jo shared a confused look while Henry's eyes darted everywhere around the room. The silence even confused Abe. Just as he opened his mouth to question his father, the shop's bell above the door tinkled.

"Ahhh," Henry drew out as he rose and limped with the cane over to the top of the stairs. "Commissioner?" he called down.

"Yes, Dr. Morgan. I'd like to have a word with you, if you don't mind." Frank called back in reply. He moved closer, to the bottom of the stairs and looked up at Henry.

"Do come on up and join us, Commissioner." Henry motioned him up and stepped awkwardly back as the taller man cleared the top stair. He motioned again towards the kitchen table and the two of them walked over and sat in the two remaining chairs. He looked at Mike and Frank and said, "I do believe you two need no introduction, but I'm not sure if you've ever met Mike's partner, Det. Jo Martinez."

Frank and Jo exchanged official pleasantries. "Been hearing a lot of good things about you and your two partners here, Det. Martinez."

A bit embarrassed by the unexpected accolade, she thanked him, then swallowed. 'Praises from the NYC Police Commissioner, no less. Wow.'

Frank turned his attention, along with a serious expression, to Henry. "First of all, on behalf of my father, me, and the entire Reagan family, I'd like to thank you for saving my life - (he hesitated as he eyed the others) - a while back." He nodded and smiled knowingly at Henry.

"Oh, you're very welcome, Commissioner, although I was merely performing my duties at the time as your physician. But I am very happy, as I was then, that you not only survived that particularly virulent strain of flu, but grew up and went on to live a very exemplary life." He nodded to him. "Thank you, your father, and your family for your service."

He then sighed. "But now, it's time for me to tell you all the truth ... to 'come clean', as my ... son," he dipped his head to indicate Abe and smiled with fondness and pride, "has been urging me to do for some time."

Frank, Jo, and Mike all dropped their jaws and slowly swiveled their heads to gaze at Abe in awe, then back at Henry, then each other. They broke their gazes from each other to let that unfathomable fact sink in.

Mike summed it up for all of them when he grinned and said, "Man, this is gonna be good."

vvvv

Darnell Johnson sat in the small visitation room at the small table in a prison jumpsuit, half listening while the public defender assigned to his case rattled on about the charges against him. He put up a hand. "Yeah, yeah." the frustration and impatience on his face evident. He then leanded forward, his elbows on the table as he wrung his hands. "What about the guy? The guy that I shot? He vanished right in front of me!" His voice grew louder as he spoke, then he sat back and calmed down when the guard took a step towards him. "Okay. I'm calm."

The public defender,Terrence Dell, was a novice assigned to his first case. He adjusted his thick, horn-rimmed glasses and was at first silent, choosing his words before he spoke.

"What about the guy, the vanishin' guy? Ain't that worth something? I go public on that," he leaned back and scoffed, "I'm sure nobody wants me to do that!" He pointed a finger at the young attorney. "You get me a deal in return for my permanent amnesia about that."

"You want to cop to a plea of sanity?"

"No!" The guard stepped forward again, his baton raised. "Sorry, sorry." he said, waving his hand to calm the guard down. In a quieter tone, he replied to his attorney. "No, I'm not crazy, it just sounds crazy. Look, they got me in here for shooting him with that cop's gun and then it went off accidentally and I got shot. He shifted in his chair eager to make himself understood. "The guy vanished. He didn't take off like that cop put into his report. It's like," he leaned back and spread both his arms out to the side, "I didn't shoot nobody, really. Well, except myself. And I ain't pressin' charges against myself." He laughed, then frowned and leaned forward, trying to get Dell to agree with him. "Right?"

The attorney closed a manila file folder and shoved it back into his briefcase, snapping it shut with his fist. "Except, Mr. Johnson, you did it with the gun that belonged to 'that cop', as you say. That is never good. The fact that you were injured with a self-inflicted wound in the process does nothing to keep you from doing some serious time." He adjusted his glasses again as Johnson frowned in confusion and demanded to know what he was doing, where did he think he was going?

Dell quickly rose up from his chair. "Where am I going? What do I think I'm doing? I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson. Back to my office to tender my resignation and then to the nearest bar to get stinking drunk! Because if you or anyone else thinks that I went through Yale School of Law just to sign up to babysit kooks like you - " He didn't finish his sentence; he nodded to the guard and stood anxiously near the door as it was being unlocked, nervously clutching his briefcase to his chest and pushing his glasses up again with his finger.

Johnson stood up, angered. "You can't just run out on me. I got a right to counsel." Dell was out of the room by now and storming away down the hall. Johnson yelled after him. "I'll get another attorney, a big shot this time. I'll go to the press. Somebody's gonna listen to me!" The guard unlocked his cuffs from the chained restraints on the table and hustled him back to his cell.