Chapter Text
When one arrives into a situation where they are the newcomer to an established group, it is generally advised for one to adapt as best they can in order to blend in and settle into a place of acceptance. Whether it be attending a formal soiree’ to impress one another with your best clothes and most elegant conversation or something decidedly less so and typically involving a dimly lit and charmingly grimy pub while exchanging off-color jokes over well drinks, the bonding ritual is much the same. We gather, we dine, we imbibe, and we live. Or rather, we hope for things to occur in that order and, depending upon the variables of drink and topic and company, we get a wide assortment of return upon our investments.
And then, every so often, someone upends the order of things and one must think on their feet while helping someone back onto their own.
- - - - - -
Henry gently shoulders his way through the Friday night crowd at Sullivan’s as he meanders toward the sound of Detective Martinez’ laugh, which tends to be rare in his ears but clear and distinguishable. Sure enough she spies the stiff shoulders and knitted brows of a class A fop trying to slum it and only halfway resigned to the notion. She peers past Lieutenant Reece and waves him over but her call to him is lost in the din. Lucas, however, comes loud and clear. For the second time in a row he’s quick to clap poor Henry in a swift and well-intended hug and just as quick to flinch away, only now reminding himself of Henry’s peculiar, one-way bubble. It seems that Henry has braced himself for the inevitability of it (and isn’t sporting fresh soreness from a run-in with a maniac in a fully-kitted BDSM parlor but that’s a minor nuance) and the flinch is more subtle, and not accompanied with a sarcastic rebuttal. This time. The lovable beanpole means well, and an excess of physical affection is hardly the worst burden to bear.
“So. Henry. ‘Nother murder in the books, huh?” Detective Hanson says while speaking into his whiskey glass. “To think these guys were so quick to extol the virtue of jazz coming from what you feel, and here they are killing each other over it.”
"To be fair,” Henry interjects, “when one’s greatest passion is their source of income or, more often, cause for lack of it, things can get rather heated, and “6 AM” was not only a lucrative ballad financially but quite the influential track on the industry, I’ve come to understand.”
“Cool motive. Still murder.” Hanson replies, earning a gleeful yelp from Lucas, who lunges forward over the table while clutching his bottle of some pithy-looking IPA.
“I LOVE that show. Did you see the one with the red track suit?!”
Hanson’s calm gaze seems to have been sparked into a more lively energy as his own elbows both rest onto the table and lift him straighter so they can carry on. “Oh, yeah! And the pimp chain?”
“Yeah, NOT one of his better looks. Someone somewhere decided that was something to wear. On purpose. Remind me nothing’s worth going to Jersey. Okay, one thing. I DID snag a hard-to-find edition of Balthazar’s Blade at a comic shop there… but I thought I was gonna get mugged pretty much the whole time.”
Hanson snorts and Jo barely manages to avoid the slosh of whiskey threatening to jump ship from his glass. “And that’s different from your neighborhood how?!”
“Ugh. Fact.” With that Lucas settles back onto his chair. “Hey, it’s what I can afford. When something less stabby opens up in my price range, I’m SO there.”
Through the cluster of half-engaged players at the pool table nearby comes an uncommonly handsome blond with eyes as dark as the pint of stout in his grip. He heads straight for Lucas, making contact with a gentle touch to the shoulder and sidling between him and Henry, who leans back from an unmanned elbow. “I’m SO sorry to butt in,” He begins with a honeyed tone, “But I overheard you saying something about Balthazar’s Blade. “
Aaand there goes Lucas with a sudden and wide grin. This man is neither poorly groomed nor socially awkward, and has brought up comic books. A rare find indeed. While Lucas turns to look up, Henry nods toward the stranger and behind his back with a little smirk. Oh, look, our darling weirdo has found his people. He’s made the expression toward Jo, who reciprocates with raised eyebrows and a sip of her beer that seems to be a toast to her colleague’s good fortunes. The kid needs all of the social interaction he can get since most of his conversations are generally mumbling to slightly chilled corpses. He’s too young to be so resigned to the isolation of their grisly work just yet.
“Uh, yeah! I was just telling them about braving Jersey to pick up a copy of Thrayne’s Sting. That arc was just nuts from start to finish. You read it?”
“No, not yet, man. I was on the fence.” By his tone he’s giving Lucas the opportunity to elaborate and from what Jo can see, he’s smiling with a slow blink and taking a languid sip form his pint.
Lucas straightens, releasing his beer in order to properly gesticulate his points. “You have to! It’s where we meet Gandor and Zeff! Without them Balthazar never would have gone through the River Run marketplace and found the Talisman of Thade! Dude. Do yourself the favor. READ it.”
The newcomer gulps and nods. “Tell you what. Looks like you’re on the tail end of that beer. I buy you a drink and you tell me what I need to know to catch up.”
At this point Lucas is unsure of the protocols of being welcome by, yes, two different parties, and his eyes dart about for reassurance, which the table’s denizens are all too happy to provide. Jo speaks on their behalf with a quick shoo-shoo motion of her free hand.
“Go. We’ll be here a while. Do your thing.”
“Well, then, that must be my sign that they’re pawning me off on you.”
“Hey, fine by me.” He chuckles with a light hand resting between Lucas’ shoulders as they wade to the bar and claim two free stools.
“Would’ju look at that. Seems like Wahl found a playmate. Good for him.” Says Hanson as the table nods.
“Least ONE of us is branching out.” Jo adds. The conversation returns to the peculiarities of their recent case until Reece jabs Martinez with her elbow.
“Jo. Look. Our boy might be in deeper than he thought.”
The ladies both peer over to Lucas and the handsome stranger is not only not scared off by the prattling of a comic geek set free of his leash, but rapt. However, his eyes seem to be looking Lucas over as he speaks, tracing his jawline and ear in particular. Only when making eye contact does he seem to blink, peering up through his eyebrows. “I know that look.” Purrs Lieu. Jo makes the connection a moment later.
“Oh, nooooo.” The ladies share coy grins and keep their gazes on the stranger, whose body language seems to slide deeper into familiarity as he takes measured inches from the gap between them. “Yeah, he’ll be back at the table in five.”
A barback at Henry’s side has come for his order and to check for identification in the meantime and the doctor complies pleasantly. One never tires of being carded when they’ve seen at least two centuries. “Cognac, please. Your oldest. Now why do you say that, Detective?”
“That guy’s body language? He doesn’t give a rip about comics. He was looking for an in. He lets Lucas babble some of the helium out of his head, comes off as a great listener, ponies up for a drink… he’s sweet on the kid. Only, tough nuts for him. Lucas doesn’t bat for the same team.”
“I beg your pardon, Detective, but I doubt that Lucas is engaged in any physical sport, given his proclivities toward his “graphic novels” and the like. With his slender arms and tall build, batting would suit him ill. A swimmer, perhaps, but not a batter.”
“Henry.” Lieu cuts in dryly. “She’s saying Lucas is straight and his new friend there is out of luck.”
Henry’s brows furrow, then release as the connection is made. “AH. I see. A metaphor. Yes. You’ll have to forgive me. It’s a bit loud in here.” [And I’ve already made mention that I’m more of a cricket man if anything but that is hardly here or there.]
“And you’re not a sportsman yourself.” Jo adds. To that, Henry must concede.
“Moreso in my youth but as it currently stands, my sports are more of the cerebral variety. The mental gymnastics of unraveling the cunning deeds of our fellow New Yorkers is all the exertion I seek.”
“Now in that arena, you’re the Olympian out of all of us.” Hanson says with only the barest hint of envy. Henry gently shakes his head.
“More of a hobby that pays the bills than anything but I do appreciate the approval.”
“OOH. OOH.” Jo cuts a sip short to point back in Lucas’ direction. The stranger has been nudged to Lucas’ side or cleverly placed himself in order to appear that way, and his hand has gripped the seatback. He’s even closer and their shoulders are pressed firmly together as Lucas continues on his lecture. A drink on the rocks comes his way and they pause for a clank of glass and a little toast to one another. “Oh, yeah. He’s really going for it. Lucas is doomed.” A pretty redhead ekes in to order at the bar and nearly topples Lucas’ drink from the counter with her fussy oversized purse but the stranger is quick with a heroic catch of the glass at the last second, and only by clamping open fingers that barely cling on for dear life around the rim. No sense wasting his investment. Lucas can’t help but applaud that slick (and stupidly lucky) maneuver.
“Has Lucas ever mentioned dating women exclusively?” Henry asks thoughtfully.
“He doesn’t have a ton of dating experience but he’s only mentioned girls as far as I know.” Jo replies.
“Fair enough. Perhaps the poor boy just has yet to pick up on the cues. He can be rather oblivious while on his sermons.” Henry’s drink arrives and he signs for his purchase with a smile. Good cognac is always worth the price and, chances are, he’s the only one in the bar that has bought from that bottle in weeks. All the more reason to consider it his own little treat to himself for braving the throng and basking in a case neatly tidied up.
“Or while, you know, breathing.” Lieu adds.
“Touche.” Henry smiles into his glass. [Oh, yes, that is good.]
For some time their chatter continues, stretching from the finer points of Andy Warhol to their united agreement on the unpleasant stupidity of the Twilight franchise until Jo takes another surveying glance to a now wobbly Lucas. “That must’ve been some drink. He’s getting pretty noodly.”
At the chance to see six and a half feet of clumsiness when a case’s success doesn’t hinge upon it, everyone peeks over like meerkats from their burrow. Hanson empties his last sip. “Like he needed help being a dork.”
“Should we intervene? Who has his car keys?” asks Henry. Said keys glint from Lucas’ hip as he moves to stand, only to buckle slightly into the stranger’s side and giggle bashfully while being helped upright.
“Don’t worry. He’s smarter than that.” Jo replies lightly. A dork though he may be, the kid knows right from wrong when it counts. Well, donuts notwithstanding.
“All the same…” Henry resigns his eyes to his coworker’s well-being as he finds the men’s room and emerges soon after, reclaiming his seat. The stranger has now slid into the little crook between Lucas’ knees and is making his intentions more evident with a sultry whisper into the man’s ear, bracing both his hands on the armrests of the stool. In turn Lucas has a hand rested onto the newcomer’s wrist but it clumsily slips away and hangs at his side. The poor thing is quite past his limits and at this point Henry rises to his feet and swivels his head around the crowd at the pool table, doing his best to blend in and keep surveillance. The stranger helps Lucas to his feet, chuckling and propping him up against himself. One of Lucas’ hands paws clumsily at his chest and the stool spins him askew. Only then can Henry try to read his face over the stranger’s shoulder. There’s a pained knitting in his brow and he seems dazed. The festive wall clock advertising some mediocre lager shows a passage of a scant few minutes and with only half of his drink gone, there’s no way Lucas would already be so drunk.
He’s not getting handsy with his suitor… he’s trying to push him away.
Henry’s eyes go wide and he whips back toward the table, darting nimbly behind Jo. “Detective. Have you got your cuffs on you?”
“Henry?”
“Lucas has only been gone from this table for seventeen and a half minutes and his drink is not nearly empty but he can barely stand. You must come with me. NOW.”
Her face draws flat as all humor leaves her and they weave back into the crowd. With a quick gesture Henry directs Jo toward the pair while he himself swiftly plucks up Lucas’ abandoned glass, moving to follow. “Henry, leave the damn cognac.”
“Detective, this is Lucas’ glass. We must test it for drugs and fingerprints if we cannot catch them, or use it as evidence when we do.”
“Good point. Sneak it out. If they catch you, holler and I’ll flash my badge.”
In their wake, Hanson and Reece spy the pair heading briskly out and the Lieutenant snatches her coat from the seatback. “I know that walk. Something’s not right.”
Hanson silently nods and they move to pursue.
- - - - -
Two silhouettes move down Barrister and turn the corner to make their way along a calmer street as one buckles repeatedly at the knees and the other hoists him up beneath the shoulder.
“Nnnh… buh…”
“Hey. Baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll get you into bed. You can barely talk.”
Lucas lolls his head back and the buildings on all sides are a thumping blur, the chill of the night imperceptible on his increasingly numb skin. “How… y’dunno… whe… where… I… my…”
The stranger eases Lucas toward a sleek black sports car at the curb, moving to open the door, then turning Lucas and slamming him bellyfirst onto the hood, pinning him down with his own sober, agile weight. Until now his words have been a soothing, melodic strain, but they come now as a gravelly rasp as a hand finds Lucas’ throat in a firm show of dominance and cranks his head as far back as his slim neck will allow. “Oh, baby… I never said you were ever getting back to YOUR bed.”
Lucas’ veins pump icy dread as his failing muscles continue to imprison him and his eyes blink with rapid fluster. They might be watering but between the blurred, waning vision and the numbness he can’t actually tell. He can scarcely feel the teeth sinking into the side of his neck as the hand begins to constrict his windpipe, or the other hand working at the button fly of his jeans.
“After all… none of the others did… why the Hell should you be so special?”
His mind is wheezing with its last throes for his body to do something, anything to fend off the stranger’s beastly pawing but his arms betray him and hang useless and trembling as he gapes like a fish dropped onto a dock and facing its fate. He has reconciled countless case files with this grisly end but not once did he ever consider it for himself, and if he were more with it he might even dwell on the odd symmetry of it all, but muffled shouting is only adding to his stupor. There’s the glitter of a familiar watch chain vying for his attention as the world is doing such a good job of going black, and a firm thud. After that he collapses entirely and nothingness blankets him.
- - - - -
For the second time in as many months Henry Morgan comes to understand that pain can indeed be freeing as his fist finds the cheekbone of a target with dubious morals and the need to be halted as quickly as can be done by a man who carries no firearm. As the stranger doubles back, the detectives and Lieutenant swarm him and Henry barely catches an unconscious Lucas by the underarms before his skull can hit the curb.
“Lucas!” He beckons, swatting the man’s cheek with no result. “LUCAS!”
Nothing.
Jo doubles back as Hanson pins the stranger facedown onto the concrete with the Lieutenant’s callous assistance. “Henry. What’s going on? He okay?”
Henry sets the glass onto the sidewalk and frantically checks Lucas’ vital signs. “He’s completely blacked out but his pulse is there.” He shifts to cradle Lucas carefully and props his head up with an ear near his lips to catch the reassuring, tiny breeze of thread breath. “How did you all get here?”
“We pooled here in a cab. And you took your bike, right?”
“I did.” Henry pants. “You all get that BASTARD taken care of!” He hisses. “I’ll mind Lucas. I need your cellphone.”
“Yeah. Call a cab. I’ll foot the bill.” Jo keeps her gun trained as a precaution and pulls her phone from her pocket, placing it in Henry’s waiting hand.
“There’s no need for that, Detective. I’ve got someone closer. Please. Take care of him. I’ll keep Lucas in good care. You have my word.” There is a potent honesty in his inky black eyes and Jo nods, heading toward the others. Henry agitatedly waits for her to leave his earshot and begins with some difficulty to operate her phone. At last, a few blocks away, Abe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. The din of the bowling alley nearly drowns it out but he tucks himself away behind a beam.
“Abe’s Antiques. Unfortunately we are closed for the evening but our hours are-”
“Abraham! It’s Henry! I’ve borrowed Detective Martinez’ telephone.” Once he’s shouted past the faint street sounds around himself he struggles to keep calm, but the tendons rippling along his arm as he adjusts the cell phone are expressing his urge to panic plenty. Dozens of tragedies have taught him the virtue of an even speaking tone while all is in a shambles around him, if only for his own peace at the moment. Lucas will wake, surely, and will soldier on, but it’s a familiar face and frame slouched against his person and that shakes Henry even now. Lucas isn’t just a coworker, he’s the beginnings of their story as partners in the struggle to out the shadows of humanity’s darkest motives. The virtue of solitude as at once its weakness; there is no bonding. There is less richness but also no personal loss.
“So you SORT of joined the twenty-first century. Mazel tov. I’m in a league game here!”
“My coworker Lucas has been drugged at a bar. We must get him seen to immediately.”
The annoyance in Abe’s etched features drops away and he clutches the phone with more intent. “What, you mean that sweet weird kid with the comics?”
“Yes! And he’s blacked out. I need you to get to the corner of Barrister and Viceroy. NOW.”
“I’m on my way.” He pockets his phone and turns to a fellow bowler in a rival shirt. “Well, Goldman, you old coot, your record still stands. Personal emergency.” Without waiting for a reply he dashes toward the exit.
- - - - -
“Andrew Wilhelm. You have the right to remain silent.” Jo begins after having removed the stranger’s wallet to read his drivers’ license. Half a block away Henry hoists Lucas farther upright into his chest and nestles a fatherly little kiss into his hair while stroking his head. [Hm. Dr. Morgan is human somewhere in there after all. Good to know.]
“I’ve got you, Lucas. I’m right here. I’ve got you.” He chants in a fretting mantra. Lucas surely can’t see through his eyelids but Henry feels the need to keep the man’s face shielded into his chest nonetheless while he himself can scarcely look away from the arrest, keeping a falcon’s gaze out for any attempts by the assailant to flee or cause more trouble. “He can’t harm you now. I’ve got you.” From the far end of Barrister come the wailing sirens of a squad car and Hanson drags Wilhelm to his feet. The warmth is gone from the stranger’s gaze as he leers toward Henry and Lucas.
“And here I thought someone so desperate for acceptance would be glad to finally get laid, huh?” He says with a snort. Jo relishes every second as she shoves him by his head into the backseat, toppling him onto his side and hovering headfirst through the door.
“My colleague is a better man than you ever could have been. You’re the one that depends on lies and drugs to get your kicks.” With that she slams the door and settles herself into the front seat while a second squad car arrives for Hanson and Reece and, on its tail, Abe’s sedan. With the glow of those familiar headlights Henry rises to a knee and only with great toil can he bring Lucas anywhere near standing but Abe, surprisingly quick on his feet for a septuagenarian, dashes out in his festive Ten-Pin Doozies shirt in a garish shade of teal.
“Oh, man. Lookit him. Poor thing.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid he’s rather heavy, being limp. Get beneath his other arm.”
Abe complies as they each scoop up one of Lucas’ legs and head to the car. “Where’s the closest hospital? The clinics are closed, right?”
“There’s nothing their diagnoses would hold that I don’t already know. Home. Quickly.”
“You got it.”
They reach the main streets swiftly but traffic is anything but sparse on a party night. Henry lays Lucas out flat on his side and makes a wadded jacket pillow for the head on his lap. “On his side lest he vomit and asphyxiate… keeps the airway clear…” He whispers to nobody.
Abe’s voice comes with solemnity from the driver’s seat. “I don’t have any water or anything.”
“He’s passed out. Trying to make him drink would only choke him. No, all that will benefit him at this point is a pillow and a babysitter.”
“So… long night?”
Henry palms his hair back and replies with a grave nod in the rear-view mirror. “I’m afraid so.”
- - - - -
“So what the Hell happened?” Asks Abe as he fusses with the apartment keys while Henry muscles Lucas from the car and braces himself for a fireman’s carry up the stairs.
“A stranger chatted him up, bought him a drink, and in minutes he had reverted to a liquid state. Detective Martinez and I -hooooyouareaHEAVYone- followed them out and the man had Lucas pinned against a car… and the only thing stopping him from his nefarious scheme was my now throbbing fist.” He staggers across the street, moving twice his weight with some to spare, and gratefully sinks to a knee the instant Abe can help him. In minutes Lucas is arranged bellyfirst on the sofa, arm dangling with fingertips dipping into the plush carpeting below like a beige puddle, and Abe arrives with the mop pail and a water glass.
“You hold tight. I can see where this is headed. I’ll brew up some coffee.”
“Yes. THANK you, Abraham.” Henry nurses a twinge in his lumbar but it resets with a mighty crack, much to his satisfaction, then heads to the linen closet and produces two blankets. “And perhaps something to eat, if you don’t mind. I should like to keep my vigil as long as can be done.”
“Sorry about your friend, there. You catch the guy?”
“Yes… he was fool enough to try his tricks with our entire department at one table and didn’t get far. I suspect Jo had a grand time cramming him into that squad car after he had the nerve to gloat at me about it all. She will see him hanged and flayed if the gets her way and I’m nearly wont to let her.”
“She’s a pretty little tempest, that one.”
Henry sets one blanket aside and drapes the other along Lucas, then sees to unlacing sneakers from feet that hang clear over the arm as replies with a reverent and honestly charmed huff. “Oh, yes, and one must love her for it.” With each generation women are seeing more and more of their own durability and wisdom, and it’s one of the shows of time’s march he’s perfectly happy to observe and even advance when he can.
The coffee pot clanks into the brewer and Abe heads to the fridge. “We got some meatloaf. Meatloaf sandwich?”
Henry primly sets the shoes beside the sofa and nods. “Perfectly fine, yes. Thank you. For… all of this.” His eyes, meanwhile, silently size up Lucas’ shoes against those on his own, smaller feet for his own amusement. [Size thirteen. And I’m eleven. Higher-end athletic shoes… kept nicely cleaned, save for that miniscule splatter on the side. Blood from the lab, perhaps.]
“Hey, my old man keeps interesting company. What’s that noise about getting old enough to bail your parents out of a few scrapes and pay ‘em back?”
“Very poetic. I do seem to recall many a night like this with you in his place. Bogeyman nightmares… colic… and baby’s first bender.”
“Now THAT was a good night.”
Henry bellows a hearty laugh and it relieves him to be calm enough to do so. “Your cheek was red from several pretty women turning you down!”
“Hey, that was the first night I was brave enough to try. Man, Suzy Richenbacher. What a dish.”
“Yes, that’s quite enough of that.” He prods the record player from its own sleep and the room echoes with gentle, classical music while Abe works and he himself settles into his nearby recliner. “I have been putting off this book for too long. Now seems as good a time as any to do it justice, hm?” Once his blanket is settled he tugs a thick tome from the side table and seeks out the bookmark. “Is it too late to return to your game?” He asks with the resignation of a man who sadly knows the answer. “Of course it is. I’m so sorry to have bothered you, Abraham… but I knew you would be closer.”
“Ah. Fuhgeddabouddit. What’re kids for, huh? Besides… with your two-hundred-year-old back… you needed the lifting help.” He enters with Henry’s dinner and coffee, then looks back to Lucas, who is oddly motionless save for the shallow rise and fall of his back.
“A side effect of the drug, I’m afraid… he’s not so much asleep as in a helpless stasis until the drugs are burned off. All the more reason I’ll be out here tonight.”
“If it’s alright with you I think I’ll turn in. You need anything, though, I’m here.”
“I know.” Henry nods. “And for that… I am eternally grateful.”
Abe gives Henry’s hand a squeeze, then pats Lucas softly on a shoulder before padding off down the hall.
“And so… the vigil begins.” Hums Henry.
- - - - -
As good as his intentions may be, Henry’s tired eyes are beginning to cross and lose focus after being at their work so long. The current paragraph has repeatedly been taken into and then slid back out of his mind a dozen times like a hamster never quite gaining footing in its wheel. The record player crackles at the end of its last track and clicks off, tapering into nothing while the clock ticks and informs him of the wee hour. Perhaps I’ll just… rest my eyes… he fibs to himself. Just a brief respite to refresh myself and then back I’ll go. His eyelids lower dreamily and his hands cross on top of the splayed book. Yes. There we are. We’ll just give the old wind-up key a few turns and be right as rain.
A resonating thud and ringing crash shatter the calm and a jagged bolt of adrenaline strikes through him. The exhaustion and weight in his eyelids evaporate entirely and give way to panic. Lucas has rolled off of the sofa and racked his arm on the mop pail but remains passed out. “LUCAS!” Henry yelps. He surveys his guest for injuries and, finding none, he fills and empties with a mighty sigh, patting Lucas’ belly a bit. “I’m too old for a scare like that, young man.” And back up he goes. Not without huffing and puffing and some sliding of the sofa but he is eventually righted. Henry returns to his chair and hones back in on the book. Not how I had planned to revive myself but even in his fragile state Lucas seems ready to aid me as always. He shifts a little, fluffs the pillow at his back, rubs his temples, and raps on his own skull. Yes. Back to the reading. Now how was I situated? No… the armrest is cold… my arm wasn’t there… but it feels so odd on my lap. Something is amiss. For some time he squirms and shifts but his concentration is entirely broken and the book thumps shut. “Well, then. No better time to return my dishes.” On his way back he turns out a few unnecessary lights and adjusts the window shades, then turns to give Lucas another once-over.
“No swelling… bruising… no blood… everything’s as it should be. Good.”
Be that as it may, he refuses to go to his bed but his armchair has seen its share of him. As his eyes shift to Lucas’ short, dense eyelashes and wait for them to flicker, he recalls a much smaller roommate rapping at his bedroom door a dozen lifetimes ago.
“Dad?” Little feet tilted inward as toes poked sheepishly from Lone Ranger pajamas outside the bedroom door.
“Abe…raham…” Henry’s voice came in a groggy rumble. He nearly passed back out but sniffling cued him to the need to rise. “Coming… yes… coming.” The door opened and Abe’s reddened eyes peered up at him from behind a love-worn teddy bear. Henry raked a hand through his hair and lowered to a knee. “What’s wrong, Little Ranger?” He sighed with an obliging nod.
“The… the fire… I had the fire dream again.” He mumbled through the bear’s stuffing.
The dream in question recalled a house fire scare from the year before when Abraham had toppled an oil lamp and caught the curtain ablaze, and had manifested itself as a stubborn nightmare that burrowed resolutely into the boy’s slumbering mind for a lengthy stay. Henry nodded again and hoisted Abraham onto a hip.
“Alright, Little Ranger. We’ve got room for one more.”
“Henry, darling? What is it?” Abigail chirped from her pillow.
“Our little man has had a nightmare and needs some reassurance.”
Her smile warmed the dark even when unseen. “Between your big, safe arms and Mummy’s kisses I think we’ve got things under control, hm?”
The boy tunneled into the blankets between Henry and Abigail, who surrounded him in their arms and gave each other a little goodnight kiss over his head.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“Now, what’ve I told you about bad dreams, Abraham?” Henry demanded gently.
“You’ll always have a hug ready for me.”
“That’s right. Now shush and have some nicer dreams, hm?”
“Or else Mummy will put on fresh lipstick and smother that whole handsome face in kisses.”
Abraham yelped and tunneled farther as Henry and Abigail joined in a soft giggle and the three settled back in.
Decades later, Henry’s job is a litany of bad dreams becoming all too real and, though Lucas cannot ask for help, there is something to be said for a bit of human connection. With cautious hands he lifts Lucas’ head and sits himself beneath it as he had in the car. Ordinarily he must crane his neck up to meet his coworker’s eye level but here, on his lap, Lucas seems to strangely small and childlike. “No more of this… falling business.” He chides. With that he turns off the lamp on the side table as the last of the light is whisked away, and rests his head back against the couch. His eyes close and an idle hand starts to fiddle with Lucas’ ear, something he used to do to calm a fretful Abraham as a much smaller boy, until he too drops off. “Until the morning.” He mouths before sleep claims him.