Chapter Text
The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he moaned in despair. He should have been either floating in the East River, or have passed on to whatever lay beyond, not finding himself in the same bed, in the same pajamas.
It had not worked. It was too early to tell whether the loop would get worse yet, but he was not going to stay in bed until it did. He might never see Jo again. With a sudden flash of inspiration, he got up, dressed in one of his throwaway outfits and shouted, "Meet me at the river!" at Abe as he passed the kitchen. He heard a faint, "Again?!" but then he was out the door and hailing a cab.
He was at the Manhattan Bridge in record time, the Song of Destiny singing through every fiber of his being. Paying the cab driver quickly, he stepped onto the pedestrian path. There weren't many people out at sunrise, but there were a few. He knew what he was looking for though, and soon spotted it—a man dressed in very familiar workout clothes, and another one pacing him. Benjamin Schafer and Jake Hubbard. He sprinted toward them from behind. "Mr. Hubbard! Jake Hubbard!" he shouted, loud enough for Schafer to hear it as well.
The two men both stumbled to a stop, Hubbard's eyes going wide with anger and fear. Schafer took a few steps toward Hubbard. "Jake? I didn't know you—"
"Run, Mr. Schafer!" Henry warned. "Run until you get home and lock the door!"
He frowned and put his hands up. "Okay, buddy. What's going on? Do you know this guy, Jake?"
"Never seen him in my life," Hubbard said. "You go home, asshole." The sweat breaking out on his forehead belied his bravado.
Henry walked toward Hubbard slowly, his own hands up. "And let you use that syringe full of arsenic on Mr. Schafer?" He got close enough to wrestle him down if needed. "I don't think so."
"Syringe of what?" Schafer laughed, incredulous. "What nonsense is—?"
But then Hubbard roared in frustrated rage and pulled out the syringe, waving it like a loaded gun. Schafer finally took the hint. He jogged backward a few steps and then took off running.
"Call the police!" Henry shouted after him, and then charged Hubbard, grasping his wrist tightly.
"Get off me!" Hubbard yelled, but Henry only had one agenda here, to take care of the arsenic. The syringe had to either be: A) wrested from Hubbard, B) thrown over the side of the bridge, or C) injected into Henry.
"Give me the arsenic, Mr. Hubbard," he said as they struggled. "You'd only be arrested and charged with Mr. Schafer's murder, likely by the end of the day. You don't have the stomach for this!"
"No way, you'll just take it and use it on me, you nut job!" He angled the tip of the needle towards Henry. Not his favorite of the three options…
"Then throw it over the side! It'll wash away and no one will find it. Attempted murder is a much lighter sentence…"
"Forget it! My life might as well be over. Who would believe me over you and the firm's golden boy?" He turned it toward himself.
Finding reserves of strength he wasn't sure he had, Henry pulled it toward his own leg. The surprise of it made Hubbard release his grip, and the needle plunged into Henry's skin, through the trousers he'd known he'd never see again. He collapsed almost immediately, holding the syringe until the stopper had released all its poison, and even then kept it in. It would vanish with him, into that alternate realm where all his possessions went.
Hubbard gasped and ran. Henry knew it didn't matter. He'd be found again before the end of the day. He wasn't a criminal mastermind by any measure.
With a swirl of memory, Henry broke gasping from the surface of the river. He felt refreshed in a way he hadn't in a thousand days. With no murder to solve, there would be no interruptions, and he could have Jo to himself all day long. And he knew exactly what his next step would be.
He saw Abe waving from the shore line, and with broad strokes, he headed in that direction.
"I was hoping you could explain it to me."
Henry closed his hands around the watch and pocketed it. Feeling the weight of all the many times he'd said this, he answered, nodding at the old photo, "It's a long story."
Jo studied his face for a moment, and looked past him to Abe's hopeful expression. "As long as there are no new cases that come up, I've got time."
"Then if you don't mind, I have a visit to make. Many of my explanations will make much better sense afterward." He held out his hand to her. "Would you accompany me?"
"All right." He could sense that Jo had been expecting another denial, another crazy story, but since he was offering an explanation, she was willing to listen. "I'll go."
Abe patted his shoulder. "Good luck!" he whispered. "And bring her back for dinner if it goes well."
Jo didn't ask any questions on the drive over. Instead, they spent the ride making inane conversation that only thinly veiled Jo's intense curiosity. When they arrived, her eyebrows drew together, but she still didn't ask. She quietly followed him through the doors, past reception, into the elevator and down the hall. He gestured for her to enter the room first. Before she did, she asked a question. "Who's this?"
"Adam," he said, and then added with a huff of quiet laughter. "My nemesis."
"Your…" She looked into the room, clinical and white, the only sound the beeping of the heart monitor. "...what?"
He led her in, coming to stand by the side of the bed. Adam's heart rate immediately jumped at the sight of both Henry and Jo. "Good morning, Adam. I know I'm late, but with good reason." To Jo, he said, "This is who I went to meet below the subway yesterday."
"And now he's in the hospital?" She grasped his arm. "Henry, what did you do?"
Henry opened his mouth to tell her, but then shook his head. Pulling up a couple of chairs from the corner of the room, he said, "I need to go back a little further than that."
He started with the first time he and Jo met and the day Adam had called him, worked his way through the false stalker, the flintlock and pugio, and ended with the events of May 4th. He didn't skip anything—every facet of his immortality, every case they'd worked where he'd used first hand knowledge. She peppered him with questions. "So you died in that accident?" and, "He slit your throat?" and, "He was your therapist?" as well as, "But there was no blood! How is that possible?" And all along the way, Adam's heart rate had gone up and down, proving that he was listening intently.
When he was done, he took her hand. "There's a lot more, two hundred years more, and I promise to tell you when you're ready."
He watched her face as she came to grips with everything, as he had so many times. She had told him one of those other times that she suspected there was something not quite right, that she had been collecting information about him in a secret file, waiting until she had enough evidence to confront him—questioning him about the mystery of the watch and photo were only steps along that path.
"Thank you, Henry. For trusting me."
He didn't respond; he didn't really deserve her thanks, not after all the ways he'd deliberately deceived her. But he wouldn't do that today. "I have a question for you now." At her curious look, he asked, "What do you think I should do about Adam?"
Adam's heart rate spiked again as Jo stood, gazing on him with hard eyes. "What will happen if you leave him like this?"
"The doctor called it 'locked-in' syndrome. He can see and hear everything, but he can't respond, save for a quickening heartbeat. As far as I know, unless I—or someone else—releases him, he'll remain like this forever."
"I see." She put back on her jacket and walked through the door into the hallway.
Henry's eyes rose in surprise. Henry had been willing to leave Adam like this for eternity, but Jo?
He followed her out and down the hallway, where she waited for him. "He could hear everything? Our whole conversation just now? How awful." She grimaced and shook her head. "He doesn't belong here."
"Even if that means—?"
"He belongs in jail." Before he could argue, she said, "I know, he'd be hard to hold anywhere. But I've got a few friends at the Bureau, and I think we could convince them he's a serious suicide risk. Failing that, tell them the truth. I'm sure we could find a place where he could be kept alive. And paying for his actions." Then she took both of his hands and squeezed them. "If you're okay with that."
Henry felt a rush of love for her then, as strong as he'd ever felt. This would change everything—and it might break the cycle. Revealing Adam's immortality would likely reveal his own. Dangerous, but after a thousand repeats where nothing changed, it felt worth it. A thought tempered his excitement for a moment. "Yes. I'm okay with it. But I would have to—" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "—kill him."
"Maybe you wouldn't. I have an idea."
There were many details to work out, but when Jo set her mind to something, it got done. All of their close friends and coworkers got involved, once Jo and Henry had explained to Reece and Hanson the basics—though not the entire truth—of what was going on. They, following Liz's digital research, raided Adam's safe house to acquire evidence against him. Lucas got the full truth, because he'd proved himself trustworthy and clever during the loop. Abe was on board immediately, needing nothing but the opportunity to crush Jo in a hug. "Whatever this kid wants, she gets."
Just as sunset painted the waters a warm amber, Henry swam out to the middle of the East River, a dark wetsuit both keeping him from getting too chilled and making him harder to see. He treaded water, waiting for the signal. Lucas and Jo were connected via video app. Jo hadn't told Henry just how she was going to do it, only that she wanted a turn at Adam herself.
And then there it was—Lucas waving his arm frantically from the shoreline. All Henry had to do was wait…
Adam's head broke the water, his lungs taking in a huge gasp of air. Henry lunged, wrapping his arm around Adam's neck before he could get his bearings. "Henry!" Adam rasped. "Getting your little girlfriend to do your dirty work now? With every loop, you're becoming more like me. By the time we repeat a thousand more times, you'll be—"
Henry kneed him in the kidneys to shut him up.
It had to be Henry out here in the water. If Adam fought him off and escaped, he might hurt someone else, and Henry couldn't risk that. No one else would die on May 5th, not when he could prevent it. He started to drag him toward shore, Adam struggling in his arms the whole way. It was slow going; swimming with one arm while keeping his arm tight enough to restrict Adam's air and keep him weak—but not tight enough to kill him, or he'd escape again.
Jo's FBI friend and her team were waiting at the shore, as well, Lucas and Abe standing well back. He didn't know what Jo told her, maybe that Adam was hiding in the river and that Henry knew where to look. He wasn't sure what explanation she might have given for Adam's nudity, though.
Adam spit and clawed like something feral as they cuffed him. "This isn't over, Henry!" he screamed. "All of your secrets will be decimated! Your life is over!" As the doors to the van closed and cut off his ranting, Henry paused. Something else was different. Then it hit him.
The music that had been his constant soundtrack for a thousand days was totally gone.
"You like it? I know it's probably nothing like your mama used to make, but…"
"It's wonderful, Abe," Jo said around a mouthful of chicken enchilada. She swallowed. "My mom wasn't much of a cook. Abuela, on the other hand, would tear you a new one for putting sour cream in this."
"And I'd let her…" Abe said, lifting his margarita to his lips and taking a sip. "...if she'd give me her recipe."
Jo shook her head vehemently. "She never revealed them to anyone but her daughters, and she was gone before I could learn from her… but I believe you would have charmed them out of her."
"Then, to Abuela!" Abe lifted his glass to clink all around.
"To Abuela!" Jo and Henry chimed in. This is the way he should have spent every night, enjoying a quiet dinner and drinks at home. It was the way he would spend the next thousand, repeated or not.
As Jo finished her last bite, she asked, "Can we get out those photo albums you mentioned? You did promise to tell me all about the last two hundred years when I was ready. I'm ready."
She laughed over all his various outfits, awwed over Abe as a baby, marveled over the people he'd met and known personally, listened to the stories from before that, and when it seemed he'd said it all, she found another interesting new question to ask.
"If I tell you everything, what will we talk about tomorrow?" he teased her when it was nearly two a.m.
"I don't believe you've even scratched the surface, Henry. But if that day ever comes, there'll be plenty of memories to make together." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and it felt more intimate, more full of love, than any other kiss they'd shared. After a while, she rested her head on his shoulder and listened to him talk. She was asleep by three.
He thought of making her comfortable on the sofa, getting her a pillow and covering her with a blanket, but he didn't want to leave her alone. Not one minute less than he had to. Especially since she'd likely be gone by morning, each in their own separate beds as they started another loop. So he put his arm around her and settled against the cushions, lulled to sleep himself by her steady breathing.
The whistle of the tea kettle roused Henry from slumber, and he had a difficult time opening his eyes. His head felt muffled and there was the most terrible ache in his neck…
"Wake up, you lovebirds, tea's ready." Abe's voice exploded in his ear and he jumped to a sitting position, Jo tumbling off him with a startled shout.
"Ughhh…" she groaned. "I feel like I barely closed my eyes." She squinted up at Abe. "Is there coffee?"
"I'll put on the percolator!" he told her, far too cheerily.
But all of this was going on while Henry was taking in his surroundings. He was not in his own bed. He was not wearing his pajamas. He was on the sofa, in a rumpled set of clothing with his leg pressed up against the woman he loved.
Henry jumped to his feet. "It's May 6th!" he cried, pumping both fists in the air.
"Are all the Morgan men this cheery in the morning? Because that is going to take some getting used to."
Henry smiled down at her. Her messy halo of brown hair and the pressure mark on her face from sleeping on his shoulder was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Not always. But most of the time." He sat beside her again, and because he couldn't stand to wait another minute, he cupped her chin and pulled her into a long, searching kiss. Pulling back and resting his forehead on hers, he said, "Next time, I'll make sure he lets you sleep in."
He'd expected her to teasingly say, 'Next time?' but instead, she trailed a finger down one side of his neck. Her touch lit his nerves on fire. "Try every time."
The tea—and the coffee—went cold.