Chapter Text
Doctor Henry Morgan is immortal. Not in the sense that he never dies–he does that quite a bit–more that he is reborn after each death in his thirty-four year old body. He lives in New York with his adopted son Abraham Morgan.
He have lived for a very long time and he might have a wide variety of knowledge but that knowledge did not extend to the scene before him. Detective Jo Martinez, a picture in her hand of Henry, Abigail, and Abraham when he was a baby. He hadn’t thought the picture made it, he could have sworn he’d searched everywhere. She must have gotten to it first but either way, he had to cover for himself. How could he do that? A photography theme? That’s how it looked so old? How could he explain the baby?
Maybe he needed to consider telling her the truth?
But how could Henry tell Jo, his unofficial partner with the NYPD, all his knowledge was gained through centuries of practice literally? How could Henry tell Jo, the woman he had come to cherish more than he ever thought he could after Abigail, that he had been resurrected more times than he could count over the last two hundred or so years? Of course, if he explained his mortality dilemma, he would be able to justify the picture currently in his hand as well as the pocket watch Jo had found in the subway.
‘Abigail…my Abigail’ Henry thought affectionately, unaware that it was so completely etched into his very expression that Jo felt her exterior soften at the sight. Did she wish that was her picture instead of another womans? She wouldn’t admit it.
“Tell her.” Two words. Abraham only needed to say those two words and offer a reassuring look to Henry who had only just then taken his eyes off the love of his past life. Henry offered a resigned smile.
“It’s a long story.” His grin was worth it, Jo thought. It was worth it to come all the way down here and figure out what was going on, finally. All she had ever wanted was for him to open up. At the time she had mentioned it, she’d meant it platonically. She had wanted to be a friend to the seemingly anti-social, introverted, but highly intelligent man. Now she wanted more but she needed more from him. Surely she wasn’t imagining things between them? No, she didn’t think she was.
“I’ve got time.” She replied, smirking back at him. She followed him to the dining table where Abraham made tea in the background, not speaking. He allowed the two to converse because it was well needed and he only wanted to offer something for them to do while they spoke. A cup to fiddle with. A sip of delicious chamomile to calm the nerves. The couple made quiet conversation while Henry baited his time until the tea was ready.
“I’m quite nervous, Jo, about your reaction. I’ll tell you on the condition that if you don’t believe me, you won’t tell anyone anything.” He gripped the hot cup in his hands tightly. Abraham left the Antique store, locking it behind him.
“Okay, I can do that.” Jo had heard plenty of wild stories, mostly because of her job. She had witnessed and heard and saw everything. At least, she had thought she had. Whatever Henry was about to tell her was beginning to create a pit in her stomach. She tried to keep an open mind, she refused to jump to conclusions before he uttered a word of his predicament or excuse.
“Would you like proof or the story first?”
“You’re stalling, Henry. Just say it and get it over with.” She was tired of his charade. She was ready to unveil his mask. The stage was set, for better or for worse. He didn’t need to come up with a game plan on how to trick her or smoothly talk her into not getting to the truth. She wasn’t going to hear another lie come from his mouth. Something in her gaze warned Henry that she meant business, perhaps the set of her jaw?
“I’m immortal.” Whatever she had refused to assume was nowhere near this. Well…insanity was kind of close but she didn’t think it’d be so far fetched. “I was born on September 19, 1779.” Henry enunciated each word even more carefully than usual, speaking slower and more carefully.
Jo didn’t respond. She didn’t know whether he was being serious or not. He had the face of someone who could tell a joke with a somber expression but she didn’t feel like he would do that to her. Not right now. The very old photo of him being alive in a picture dated before the 2000’s as a grown man with a wife and child. Jo didn’t want to believe he’d play a joke of this magnitude on her. The issue was that immortality wasn’t real. Perhaps Henry was insane? He didn’t appear to be–other than the delusion that he was immortal.
“I died the first time on April 7, 1814.”
So he was completely serious about this immortality situation? Jo couldn’t believe that the man she had known for months had been insane. Especially when he seemed normal! As normal as he could be anyway. The issue was that there had been clues that he was older than he appeared. Jo had witnessed his knowledge that seemed way past what a twenty to thirty year old medical examiner should know. Jo knew he was wealthy, wealthier than he had any right to be with a medical examiner’s salary. Jo had thought she saw him get shot earlier in their…partnership. She couldn’t be sure of that, though, could she? She had been dazed at the time due to her own bullet wound.
“How are you immortal if you can die?” She noticed he was waiting for a question, waiting for a response so she asked him the first thing that came to mind which pleased him.
“Everytime I die, I come back to life. I always wake up in the water.”
“That’s why you’re caught in the river? Without clothes?” She received a small nod of confirmation. An almost sheepish look crossed Henry but he kept his face controlled. He was trying to be reasonable–whether he was or not was still up for debate but at the moment he was calm.
Jo–once again–had nothing. No response. Hardly any thoughts she could express. She was trying to piece the new evidence into the puzzle that was Dr. Henry Morgan. She was trying to find clues that she had dismissed during an earlier investigation. Well…investigation was a strong word. Maybe she could stick with ‘puzzle’?
“Jo, I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.” He meant that sentiment genuinely but Jo couldn’t figure out how he could have told her earlier.
“How would you have told me earlier? And how can you prove your immortal without killing you–” Jo’s eyes widened at the realization. “You were going to kill yourself to prove that you were immortal? Do you know how crazy that is?”
“Jo!” Henry couldn’t prevent the flashback to his first wife. His first wife who had told him he was crazy, that he was insane. It was happening all over again. He tried to keep his face neutral but his hands still shook, his jaw snapped shut in an attempt to keep the water from entering his mouth. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth. Jo stood up, intentionally lowering her voice at the disguised fear in his expression. He hid it well but after enough detective work she had come to notice multiple signs of fear–not just the obvious ones.
Jo walked around the table, grabbed hold of Henry’s hands–both of them–and rested them in her hands on her knees. She bent down and looked up at Henry. She tried to smile but he could see the pain in it. Whoever said a real smile always reaches the eyes has lied. Her eyes didn’t move but the smile upon her face shined as she spoke.
“Whether I believe you or not doesn’t change how I feel, Henry. Whether you're immortal or not, whether you come back to life after each death or not, I would never want to see you die. Don’t make me.” She begged, hoping to God he didn’t try anything, hoping that he understood that it didn’t matter what she thought. It mattered that he was alive. “I don’t want you to suffer.”
How could he form thoughts when such powerful words and raw emotion was used to convey the sentiment that she wasn’t required to believe what he said for him to need to stay safe. How come she was allowed to determine that his secret being revealed to her by him mostly willingly wasn’t as important as his supposed safety and wellbeing? He was immortal! He wouldn’t die and the recent hope he had received–which he wasn’t entirely sure how to feel and hadn’t exactly dealt with it yet–had been stomped upon by life.
He had theories. Of course he’d looked for the science behind it and found nothing. No previous cases–obviously. There was nothing to prove either for or against. Nothing but hope and experiment. The first of which was a failure. He had; however, determined a way to neutralise an immortal threat, Adam currently laid in a bed until he was dead. Which should take a while.
“How do I convince you, then, Jo?” Henry asked, willing himself to stop shaking, willing himself to limit the fear allowed in his expression. He needed to stop. Just as Abraham had said, Jo was different. She was still here, she hadn’t called him insane. It was okay.
“Tell me anything about your life. Every detail you want to share, I want to know. What were the 1900’s like compared to now–the 1800’s–, tell me every place you’ve travelled to. Oh, and I want to know about Urkesh.” Henry laughed at that, grinning at her as he slid one hand up to rest his head in. Somehow, his hand in Jo’s felt secure and perfect.
“Alright, Jo, get comfortable.” Jo couldn’t mistake the affection in his eyes as he spoke, couldn’t miss the tone of adoration when he said her name. Relief. That was in there, too.
So Henry told Jo everything he could. Even some of the rough parts. Even the ones that made him nervous, worried, or outright upset. She only comforted him during those times. Jo was happy to realise that there were more happy moments in his life. Sure, he had seen a lot of bad things but as far as good and bad that happened to him–there was a lot of good. There were a lot of things that he looked back at and laughed.
She laughed with him too. She was also pretty convinced that he wasn’t average. He may be immortal. She believed his stories, every detail.
“So it went well?” Abe asked from the front door of the antique store. He must have heard them laughing.
“Yes. Abraham, come in, I was just telling Jo…” And the conversation continued fluidly. Jo stayed over the rest of the day, ate dinner with the two of them, before Henry walked her to the door. He hadn’t stopped smiling in hours, overwhelmed with how well it had gone. He did have doubts but those were based on previous experiences, not because Jo appeared unbelieving or even upset with knowing his secret.
“Jo looks happy. How’d you convince her?”
“She did not take too kindly to my way of evidence but after a few stories, I think she began to believe me.” Henry was still smiling, this time in remembrance. His hand in hers, her wonder filled smile, She asked a lot of questions, mostly silly little things. He knew some of them were sort of tests–asking what the eighteen hundreds were like literally. How we washed clothing, monetary value and gain, etc.. ‘What were the living conditions’ was the broadest but easiest to answer. It had the most conversation attached to it. She appeared to be fairly satisfied with Henry's answers.
“So she had to pick you up after one of your ‘swims’?” Abe chuckled, imagining the awkwardness of the situation.
“No, she refused to see that. She asked me to tell her stories. Everything.”
“And did you?” Abe’s eyes shone with concern for Henry. Abe loved him and to retell his life to Jo meant something.
“Only the best moments. Abigail, you, being a doctor, Urkesh. Those times.”
“So you didn’t tell her about Nora?”
“Briefly. But not after…,” Henry paused, unable to complete the thought but Abe understood and the sentence was allowed to trail off. “Nor her death.” Abe nodded his head in understanding, turning away from Henry and out the door where Jo had been minutes earlier trying to get a cab.
Abe and Henry talked a little bit longer, mostly reminiscing, before calling it a night. Henry locked everything up and cut off all the lights while Abe went to his room. Henry slept better than he had in a long time.
The next day was when he received a case. He decided to continue on with his job as a medical examiner because Adam had not succeeded in his original goal meant to deter Henry out of New York. No, Henry needed to be here.
Life would be returning to normal now, he would work on cases. His inner circle was now expanded, he would be able to relax and rely on others a bit more. He did his best not to think of the afters.
He wrapped the scarf around his neck, a lovely green scarf with tiny, hardly noticeable patterns in it.
“‘nother case?” Abe asked, watching Henry move towards the door.
“Yes!” He ran out the door, flagging a cabby.
Could life ever return to normal for Dr. Henry Morgan?