Chapter Text
It started with a drunken conversation with his cousin. Henry Higgins wasn't one to disown family over something he firmly believed was part of their nature, not a simple choice of lifestyle. It just was his way. When he was younger, Henry had assumed that a person could only truly be attracted to one sex. He based this idea on observation of his cousin, whose parents had introduced him to various women in an attempt to fix his problem, though he showed no interest in any of them beyond that one would show any acquaintance.
As far as Henry knew, everyone else in his family believed it was simply a matter of finding the correct woman. He, on the other hand, believed that his cousin only indulged his parents to keep his relationship with his family in place. Not everyone was as accepting or tolerant, but as long as his mother and father hadn't given up on him, no one else would cause trouble. It was this understanding that Henry had based his thoughts for quite some time, only to have it be altered dramatically when he had to admit, if only to himself, that he could understand how one man could become attracted to another. Though not to the point where he would act on such things, not like his cousin. It was only on occasion anyway. Henry had found that he was more likely to be drawn, as a general rule, to the fairer sex. Or at least that was what he told himself.
Of course, all of this had little to do with the conversation that would change Henry’s life; merely stray thoughts down less traditional paths that occurred to him from time to time. Once the conversation happened he could no longer hide from himself, and it became a struggle to hide the truth from everyone else, especially those he most needed to conceal it from.
“It’s like we never hang out off duty anymore,” Henry whined into his beer as his cousin patted him on the back comfortingly.
“That’s what you get for falling for a man who is only interested in the female form.”
“Wha?” Henry snapped his head up, now sitting rigidly in his seat. “It is not like that. I just miss having someone to go places with; places and events you couldn't take a respectable girl. Of course, he’d probably take her, though. She’s one of those modern women.”
“I would think so.” His cousin snorted, trying to hold back an inappropriately timed laugh. It would only upset Henry even more. “She is a doctor after all. But we’re focusing on your secret love for him, not your animosity against her.”
“Not in love with anyone. And I like her well enough, I just wish she would stop dominating all of his free time, not to mention a good amount of his work hours. Always consulting with her about something or other Detective Murdoch has him working on. Practically only works with me when ordered to by the inspector or detective.”
“Ah yes, Detective Murdoch. An interesting fellow, yet I only get hear about his accomplishments through stories starring George or complaints about his attempts to impress the detective.”
“That’s not true,” Henry insisted with a slam of his fist on their table. “It might come across that way because George is often part of the story when it comes to Murdoch.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” His cousin laughed and gave Henry a slap on the back. “You are obsessed with that constable of yours. Just admit it and you’ll feel better.”
Henry leaned forward, his chin tucked into his hand, as he took in his cousin to try and judge if he was serious. The alcohol may have muddled his thought processes, a benefit to his cousin who would get a confession out of him. That thought made Henry realize he did in fact have something to admit. He let his head fall forward and hit the table; he had definitely consumed too much beer tonight.
His cousin leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Told ya.”
The next day found Henry back on shift doing desk work instead of the foot patrol. He usually didn't mind a day at the desk as long as it doesn't involve fingermarks. There was something frustrating about going almost cross-eyed looking for a match only to having Detective Murdoch pop up at the last minute and say whose they should actually check. He didn't care what George said, it did happen a lot.
Ah, yes, George Crabtree, the reason why Henry was feeling disconcerted about sitting at his desk for the day. When he was assigned such duty, it was inevitable that George would be assigned the same. Suffice to say that after last night’s bout of self-discovery he was getting little work done. Instead he found himself surreptitiously glancing at the man seated at the desk across from him. Although he was possibly not as stealthy as he thought he was being, given the currently confused look on George’s face.
“Is there something bothering you?” George asked, his concern showing in his voice. “You haven’t quite been yourself today.”
Henry flushed a little at being caught out; embarrassed, he mumbled in reply, “Nothing’s bothering me. Just a little tired.”
“If you’re sure, because if you need to talk...” George gave a little wave of his hand. Before Henry could give an answer, he was interrupted.
“George,” Emily Grace called as she crossed the station house. Both men turned towards her and Henry couldn't help but catch through the corner of his eye how George’s expression changed to the expected an bright smile upon seeing her. Emily smiled back as she stopped at the side of George’s desk. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Of course not,” Henry stated testily as he turned back to his work. He could feel George’s disapproval sweep over him before the man struck up a conversation with his visitor. Henry thought he should try and avoid letting the situation affect how he was around Dr. Grace; it wasn't her fault he had feelings for her guy, ones that would never have seen fruition even if she wasn't around. He should be happy that someone he cared for has found a suitable companion, one who understood and appreciated him as he was. As Henry would. Though he often wondered about George’s peculiar theories – the man tended to know the strangest things from the oddest of places – but he chalked that up to a writer’s imagination and its tendency to bleed into real life, something Dr. Grace seemed fully to understand. She even went as far as to encourage some of George’s ideas, but then she had some interesting ones herself.