Fic: What would have to be proved
Fandom: Forever
Title: What would have to be proved
Spoiler: Anything up the season finale
Summary Jo did remember what he told her about his "condition". But when, a few weeks after their Talk, she's confronted with it in all its bloody glory all she can do is not let it break her.
Warning: Some swearing, blood and tears. Must be Tuesday.
Rating: If you watch the show you can read this.
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me and I very much intend to give them back after playing.
Words: about 5000
Her feet hit the pavement in a dramatic staccato rhythm that would've made a heart patient jitter with fear. Her breaths came in painful gasps while her eyes raked the pavement in front of her for unexpected obstacles that would've turned her run quickly into an acrobatic tumble and she didn't need that.
It was 3am and so it wasn't like the streets were crowded, but it was a generally known fact that New York never slept. Traffic was slow and the occasional honking and laughing as well as the booming of loud music accompanied her flight. Her eyes started to water and she wasn't sure whether it was because of the pain in her side, the cold wind in her eyes or the knowledge that she was spattered with the blood of the man she started to like a little more than a friend. Which, of course, she'd never have admitted.
"Whoa, lady!" A man yelled, jumping violently out of her path, but she had already passed him before she even had the chance to apologize. She didn't care. She also didn't care that she probably looked like a psycho with her whole front, arms and hands covered in a dark red blood, itching where it started to dry.
With an Olympic jump she vaulted the hood of a car, leaving behind an ugly trace of blood over the yellow hood and another angry voice yelled obscenities after her. She still didn't care. All she cared was the river and the fastest way to get there.
Don't be dead! Don't be dead!, her mind kept screaming while at the same time the hope kept pulsing that maybe - just maybe - he wasn't crazy after all. Maybe, the story he had told her - the one that had stood between them since that day a few weeks ago - wasn't the result of a delusional mind and advanced photoshopping but the story of his admittedly long life. And maybe he really had told the truth when his last words before he died and vanished (HE FUCKING VANISHED) into thin air were a hoarse "See you at the river…"
Because the alternative was unthinkable.
1 hour earlier
The case was about to give her nightmares. Not the bloody kind, thank you very much, but honestly… being bored to death by surveillance wasn't exactly her cup of tea either.
It had begun as absurd as two dead bodies in an ice cream parlor could get.
Some dead guy - Collin Maisies - had been found by the owner in the wee hours of Monday morning, head bashed in by a frozen bucket of vanilla ice cream. The poor owner of the establishment, a stand-up citizen of New York, promptly died of a heart attack and was found four hours later by his employee who finally stayed alive enough to tell the story. All they could get from the crime scene was half a shoe print of a common Nike sneaker and a ten kilo bag of weed hidden under the ingredients for such exotic ice cream flavors as woodruff, basil and peppermint. Evidently a deal gone wrong.
They had suspected the estranged son of the owner to be the involved dealer but since father and son - according to statements of the suspect as well as his mother and sister's -hadn't been in contact for years, they had nothing to go on. Trusting the dealer to be moronic enough to come back to the crime scene to retrieve his goods they had started surveillance, 24/7 for almost five days on the row.
Great.
Her butt hurt, as did her back. And her feet. How could her feet hurt when she had been sitting all day?
"How come my feet hurt when I've been sitting all day?" She mumbled more to herself, but she got an answer anyway.
"Your body isn't designed for inactivity. Its whole purpose is movement. Sitting puts pressure on your spine, which explains the back aches. Back aches lead to your torso bending involuntary inwards, which leads to further cramping of muscles. The bent position further increases the strain on your circulation, especially compromising your extremities which can cause swelling in your ankles and thrombosis."
With a look at her shoes she rigorously started flexing her feet up and down.
"Of course it usually takes an extended period for this to lead to a worrisome condition."
"Thanks, Henry," she said, half tired, half sarcastically. "Maybe we should call in and come back tomorr-" With a glance at the time she sighed and corrected herself. "Today. Later."
"No," Henry replied, his eyes never leaving the street they had been watching for what felt like eternity. "There is no need to."
"And you know this because…?"
She looked at the forensic pathologist. It was way past midnight and he still made the impression of just having stepped out of the shower. There wasn't even a single crease visible on the front of his dazzling white button-down. His scarf - an elegant black today that probably cost more than her entire collection of shoes - was stylishly draped around his neck, and even in the darkness his shoes shone with a brightness that attested to lots of shoe polish and disposable cloths.
"…because I can see him."
"What?" Hastily she looked ahead, trying to see what Henry saw.
As usual, Henry was right.
The nervous man who was walking directly towards the ice cream parlor was the embodiment of a suspect. His nervous gaze kept searching his immediate vicinity while his hands were pushed deeply in the pockets of an inconspicuous baseball jacket. Once more his head turned back and forth several times as if to make sure that no one was watching.
"Hanson, he's here," Jo reported into the radio, her former whiny tone replaced by intense concentration and activity. "We're going in."
Protocol would make sure that back up would be here within minutes.
Jo and Henry quickly climbed out of the car, closing the doors as quietly as possible, to follow the man who had turned into a dingy alley leading to the back door. Suppressing the need to tell Henry to stay behind her she got out her weapon and couldn't help but relish the feeling of security and protection the heavy tool implied. Immediately after leaving the relative safety of the illuminated street they found themselves surrounded by darkness, still trying to stay hot on the man's heels. Which, of course, was easier said than done considering they could barely see him if it weren't for the dirty grey puddles of light the distant flickering street lamps shed.
They heard the crunching of pebbles then the distinct rattling of keys.
"Ha! Spare keys. I knew it." Henry said and Jo could literally hear his grin. She groaned inwardly.
Then the sound of a heavy door opening and swinging back slowly with a screeching noise. Next to her Henry sprinted ahead to stop the door from closing. The door stopped with his fingers stuck between the metal and its frame and he smiled at her when she caught up with him.
"Normally I would say Ladies first but…"
"I'm the one with the gun, Henry," she interrupted and pushed him aside. He was about to object but she held his index finger to her lips. "Shut up!"
His mouth closing obediently while his face said No need to get prissy they were looking into each other's eyes while straining their ears to hear the suspect rummaging around, searching the large storage rack for his goods. After a few frantic minutes of searching there was a loud "Fuck!" coming from the inside and Henry's face lit up in amusement like a Christmas tree.
"His vulgar language gives the impression he is unable to find his preferred flavor."
"Shut up, Henry!" Jo repeated in a hissing tone and opened the door a little wider to yell into the premises. "New York police department. Marco Jonasson, you are arrested for the murder of Collin Maisies."
A shot rang out and she let the door fall against the frame, causing the door to slam shut again. Which meant they couldn't get in.
"He's got a gun," Henry whispered and managed to sound almost personally insulted.
"No shit, Sherlock."
Loud stomping sounds came from the inside, something crashed on the floor and then the sound of something heavy crashing against a window.
"He's trying to get away through the front."
Henry stated unnecessarily as Jo had already come to the same conclusion.
They ran, Jo first with Henry close behind her. Another crash and this time followed by the sound of exploding glass. They rounded the corner back to the main street, Jo still a few feet ahead of Henry when she experienced two sensations at the same time. Another loud gunshot and the body of her partner crashing into her, throwing her into the passenger door of a parking car. A sharp pain shot through her left arm as she collided with the unforgiving frame of the car and the force of the crash pressed the air from her lungs. Adrenaline cursed through her veins and for a moment she feared she had been hit but it quickly dissipated as she had no problems lifting her arms. Steadily she aimed her gun at the suspect who was standing a few feet away, his eyes wide and panicked.
"Put your weapon down!" Jo yelled, gritting her teeth, and her eyes never left the young man who still held his own gun in front of him. His left gun-holding hand, was shaking viciously while his right wiped non-existent sweat of his face. They looked into each other's eyes and if it weren't for the shaking of his hand the next bullet would have hit its aim. Something swooshed past Jo's head - its trail creating a hot draft next to her temple - and in the same instant she pulled the trigger of her own gun, hitting the man exactly where she had intended. He crumbled to the floor with a pained scream, dropped his gun and pressed his left knee against his torso with a whimper. With five steps she closed the distance, kicked the offensive gun aside and watched it disappear under another car.
"That was a huge mistake," she barked at him, but from the pained expression he made she concluded he probably didn't hear her at all.
"Henry, you okay?" She asked, her eyes still fixed on the man lying at her feet as she'd been trained. Never NEVER take your eyes of your opponent even after he's down.
"Henry!" She repeated this time a little louder.
"Just … wonderful," Came the answer but it was the tone that made her throw all caution in the wind. She looked back and saw her partner sitting on the pavement, his back against the car she had crashed into and there was something wrong with his white collar. It was dirty.
"Henry?" She swallowed, bile rising in her throat as she realized that the crash had not been Henry turning all klutzy on her. It was Henry pushing her out of bullets way.
"Henry! Dammit!"
"Detective, cuffs!" Henry ordered, his voice weak yet inappropriately patient.
She hesitated for a moment before she leaned down to clap the metal around the wrists of the man writhing at her feet. In the distance she could hear sirens.
"You have the right to remain silent, asshole," She spat between gritted teeth and jumped back on her feet. "Henry," She scolded angrily as she turned back to her partner and kneeled down next to him. "That was incredibly stupid you idiot."
Carefully she lifted the revers of his jacket, wincing slightly as the whole extent of the wound came to light. She was starting to feel lightheaded and had to suppress a cry of panic. "Dammit, Henry. That's…"
"It's okay, Jo," He said and she looked up into his wide eyes filled with pain and something else: a weariness that seemed to reach further than a physical fatigue. A spiritual understanding of how life sometimes pissed on your leg when you expect it the least. How could he be so calm?
"No, NO, it's not okay. This is NOT okay, you hear me?" She couldn't help it. She felt panic rise deep down inside of her, could hear her own voice break and her hands started to shake. "This looks…"
"Bullet hit the lungs. One side collapsed. Other side will follow. Hit artery." He listed the damage almost inaudibly and shook his head. "Two minutes, three tops." Like he was a coroner examining a subject on the sterile table of his work place. "Starting to feel light-headed. Vision blurry. Hard to breathe."
The front of his shirt was soaked with blood and it was spreading quickly. Jo's eyes widened and instinctively she did the only thing she could do. Without thinking she pressed her hands against his torn side, causing him to moan.
"I'm sorry, Henry. I have to stop the blee…"
"No!" He interrupted. "Y'only make it hurt long'r." He coughed miserably. Rosy bubbles of blood were dripping over his lips, adding to the colorful spectrum of his front.
"I can't just…"
"Stop... please," He ordered, his last word a mere whisper. He was starting to have problems focusing as his eyes blinked rapidly, pupils dilated in a physical shock. "They'll be here soon. Need to be gone…"
Coughing."…by then."
"What do you mean?" She swallowed and tried to think straight only to fail... miserably. How could this happen? How could he just be shot and how could he possibly think he was going to survive this? It was impossible. No one could survive this. No one - either 35 or 235 years old - could. Angry tears started to fill her eyes and she wiped them away. The sirens now blared louder, causing the first windows above their heads to lighten up with artificial lights. Nosy New Yorkers wanting to know who it was that disturbed their sleep by daring to die on their doorsteps.
"Don't worry, Jo," He managed to croak. "It's gonna b'fine. Told you."
She took a deep breath and stopped pressing down on his sides. It didn't matter. It wouldn't make any difference anyway and she knew it. Slowly and with an aggravating weight settling on her shoulders she leaned back, sat on her feet and slumped in defeat. It painfully felt like she was giving up on him.
"Henry, " She began softly, licked her lips. "How do you know this?"
He just smiled a crooked smile. In his eyes shone a light twinkle of amusement and - it took her a moment to understand it - trust.
"Trust me."
It didn't feel like her own head when she nodded and it was all she could do not to lose her dinner in the gutter.
"Okay," She nodded again, this time a little stronger and sniffed. Her eyes watered, she couldn't help it but she ignored it. "What… what am I supposed to do now?"
His smile actually widened and his eyes went down, trying to find the strength to look for something. His left hand slowly rose up and crawled under his jacket, patting against his bloodied chest. Then it stopped, vanished a little further, came back from under the fabric. His hand was covered in his own blood but she could see he was holding something.
"Keep this for me." He pressed his beloved watch into her outstretched hand, closing her fingers in an affectionate gesture over the golden hull. The delicate chain clinked softly. He held on to her, his warm palm giving her the strength and courage to look back up and into the eyes.
"See you at the river…" He breathed. A sudden look of surprise and wonder flickered over his face before a soft sound of exhaled air came from between his lips. She saw his life leaving his eyes, could feel it leaving his body like a sudden pulse of energy that fled a sinking ship, could feel her world shatter, could see him die in front of her, just inches away.
His features relaxed and he looked calm, almost serene in the unforgiving light of the lantern above her. He had never looked more endearing.
"Henry?" She pressed her hand against her mouth, unconsciously almost kissing his ticking memorabilia while her other hand carefully searched his pulse. Of course there was none.
What had she done? She could've saved him. Should have.
There was a soft sound, almost like a sigh as the empty space in front of her imploded. Henry had vanished. Just like that. Just like that he was gone and air filled the room his body had taken only milliseconds before. She now looked at the side of the car. A large bloody stain, barely visible on the shiny dark paint was the only proof of his existence. That and here attire. She stared down at her hands and they were shaking like after one of her long nights in good ol' Jack Daniel's meager company.
For a second she felt another wave of panic starting to rise, but then, all of a sudden, she became aware of her surroundings. The screaming brightness of the artificial light, the frantic flashing of red and blue over the facades, the voices of police officers giving instruction and someone calling her name.
"Detective! Jo!" That someone was also touching her elbow and with a surprised yelp she jumped around to find herself standing in front of Detective Hanson. Sometime between Henry's vanishing act and now she must have gotten up without realizing.
"Jo, are you alright?" The other man's face showed a concerned skepticism and changed into alarm as he noticed the blood. "Jo," Firmly shaking her shoulder he tried to get her attention. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Jo shook her head and forced her body to relax and let professionalism take over. "I'm fine." It didn't quite work.
"You're covered in blood," Detective Hanson stated worriedly.
"Uhm…" Jo nonchalantly shook his hands off her shoulder, took a little step backwards and straightened her posture. "That's his blood. " Her arm pointed past Hanson's shoulder at the man on the floor, who was obviously in his own world of pain. Not that Jo felt took pity him. He was about to have his rights read by another police officer and probably didn’t even register that. “. "I cuffed him."
"Okay. So what happened? And where's Dr. Morgan?"
Dr. Morgan. Henry.
Oh, he just died and vanished, you know. His chest by the way was torn to pieces and he drowned in his own blood. His lungs had collapsed and he bled out in front of me. And he told me to trust him...
"Gone," She managed to croak. "He's gone… to change. Idiot spilled coffee over his shirt. Burned his chest and all…"
"Spare me the details," Hanson waved aside her comment and pointed over his shoulder to the ice cream parlor that showed a large broken window pane on the front. Glass was spread all over the pavement. "What happened at the parlor?"
"We… I surprised him when he went to find his stash. He fired. I fired back. I'm better at aiming, I guess." She explained, lamely. How she managed to form a smile was beyond her.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, yeah! Sure. Why do keep asking?"
Wow, I'd make a very bad actor, She realized close to hysterics.
"Because you're acting strange and you're covered in blood, Jo. That's why." He squinted. "What's that in your hand?"
"I. Am. Fine,” She stressed with an annoyed glance and quickly let Henry's watch glide into her pocket. "I guess I really need to … change, too," she added with a look at her sleeves.
"Probably." Another judgmental glance at her appearance. "Preferably before you come to the station to give your statement."
"Yeah, probably. I gotta…"
She turned around, started to walk away. Slowly first, then faster. Her heart was beating hard, pumping blood through her body until she could hear the steady beat in her own ears.
She heard Mike yell after her ("You should probably take your car, Jo!") but the only thing she knew was that somehow and as fast as possible she had to get to the river.
To Henry.
She started to run.
Now
In the distance, nestled between the facades of two buildings, she could see the surface of the East River, the sparkling of the reflected light of the moon like a carpet of diamonds. The Brooklyn Bridge was to her left. And only now she realized that - holy crap - the river was huge. Henry could be anywhere. What if he showed up on the other side of Manhattan? Maybe he would come back in the Hudson River. Maybe… but maybe he wouldn't be there at all. What if he wasn't there? What if he was…?
No, don't go there, she told herself and concentrated back on running. She knew she had taken the most direct route to the closest body of water, just like she had been told a few weeks ago. Taking any shortcut and backyard she could. She knew New York like the insides of the cupboard above her oven. If Henry showed back up it would be here.
If.
Coming from the three lane road over her head she could hear the sounds of the early morning traffic and she collected her remaining strength running up to a hoarding fence. Searching for a way to get past. It took a few more minutes in which she started to feel like she was at the end of the rope. Her knees were shaking, someone was tickling her spleen with a scalpel and she had to bite her lips in order to keep the hysterical laughter in her belly.
What the hell was she doing here? It was half past three in the morning. She just had to watch Henry die an excruciatingly painful death, had seen him fight for a last breath, had the proof red and smelly all over her yet here she was ridiculously hoping that he'd be on the other side of the fence to… to what? Get a hot cup of coffee and laugh about the blood stains in her clothes? He'd probably have some bizarre insider tip on how to get it out of cotton. Something with baking soda and some spritzers of Dr. Peppers or whatever. And she'd roll her eyes and be annoyed.
Oh how she wished she could hear his stupid lectures again.
There, a hole in the fence that she could slip through. Something ripped as she pulled her left leg after her through the tight gap. Cold air hit the heated skin of her calf. After a few more steps the Pier 15 lay directly in front of her and in a light jog she crossed the remaining distance to the end of it. Her steps on the wooden planks of the recreational area echoed loudly and she meandered aimlessly through the forest of deck chairs for a few minutes. Finally she came to a stand at the handrail at the end of the pier, looking down on the black water. Just standing there and realizing that… she was all alone. No Henry.
Her breathing was heavy, still strained from the long run. The moon was bright enough to see far over the river. Far enough to know that nothing - no living body - was swimming in the murky water. The bright lanterns on this public place made her clearly visible. She was definitely standing out. If Henry was in the water or had already left it, he'd see her. She'd have to give him a chance of finding her instead of searching for him. Only, she wasn't sure whether she was strong enough to just stay and do nothing. On the other hand, she had no strength left to do anything else.
Who was she fooling? Henry coming back from the dead would not happen. No one came back from the dead. Not Henry. Not Sean. Not anyone, no matter how much she wished.
She let herself fall back into one of the chairs, pulled her legs close to her body and immediately started to feel the heat of her physical efforts leaving her body. What was left were shaking limbs, cramping muscles and chattering teeth in the crisp air of another New York night.
Her head was filled with contradicting emotions fighting to get the upper hand. She let them battle, too distant with her fleeting thoughts to even grasp a concrete concept of a single sentiment.
Confusion, regret, anger, betrayal and the painfully growing feeling of a loss, deeper than what her heart could momentarily feel. Yet another loss. Another hole in her heart that would never heal. That no amount of time or alcohol or a mix of both could even get close to.
Slowly her head sank against her knees and she stared at her trembling fingers pressed against her lap and still covered with his blood. Silent tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks, leaving hot trails of wetness.
How was she ever to get it off? Cotton or skin. It was all the same.
Something next to her creaked softly and the sound was so close she jumped and almost fell out of the chair. Turning around she was confronted with a picture that would haunt (delight) her for the rest of her life. Henry, glorious Henry, stood in front of her. How he had managed to get this close without making a sound she didn't know, but maybe it had just been her own misery that had kept her from realizing what was happening around her.
"Henry?" She formed the word as a question, not sure whether she could trust her voice. "Is this real?"
He did not reply and for a fleeting second she was afraid she was just seeing things and his appearance was just a sick joke of her brain. They looked at each other and Jo, her vision still a little blurry, noticed something else.
"You're wearing a tarp."
Why would her brain dress him in a tarp?
A large, coarse piece of canvas was wrapped around his body and only his head was showing.
"Can't be too picky when it comes to fashionable accessory after dying," he said dryly and Jo risked taking a step towards him. Hoped, he wouldn't vanish again.
"You…" He just looked at her, his face carefully neutral and calculating. "You idiot!" She spat angrily and took another step towards him. Her hand found the canvas first, which felt real, wandered up to his hair, still dripping wet, and his face. Then she slapped him, hard. The sound of her hand on his face was painfully loud and finally she found the courage to embrace him. Found the courage to do what she'd wanted to do from the very moment he'd showed up. Held him so close that she was afraid of causing them to tumble to the ground.
He was real. He was honest-to-God standing in front of her.
"I'm sorry, Jo," He mumbled against her ear, sounding both relieved and incredibly sad. "I'm so sorry."
"I thought I'd lost you," She whispered, another wave of tears threatening to fall and she let them,merely. Merely pressed her face against the curve of his neck. The canvas smelled like fish and salt and she knew she'd have problems eating sushi in like forever after this moment, but she didn't care. All she cared was his hair tickling her ear, his breath soft and warm against her shoulder and his beating heart, his deliciously alive and warm body under…
"You're naked!" She cried suddenly, took a startled step backwards and laughed hysterically at his helpless facial expression.
"It seems so." It was hard to tell with his stiff cloak, but he shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "That's the hardest part."
"That's debatable," Jo retorted, still angry at him, but relieved enough that she was in the position to yell at him in the first place.
"Well, at least the most embarrassing one."
An awkward silence settled down between them and he finally cleared his throat.
"Maybe…" - "I should…" They started both at the same time. "Yeah…" - It's really…"
This was getting better and better, Jo thought and wondered whether they'd ever be able to talk like civilized people again. And also wondered how it was even possible that they'd be able to talk at all. No, later. She'd think about it later. Now she was just enjoying the fact that he was here at all, talking or not.
"Sorry, Jo," Henry said and with a nod encouraged her to speak. "Ladies first."
Of course she'd already forgotten what it was that she'd wanted to say until something clinked in the inside of her jacket. Her hand wandered into the pocket and she enfolded his golden watch, pulled it out and stared at it in wonder and amazement.
"I have… so many questions."
"I would have been surprised if you hadn't." Henry smiled, now an honest smile. One that reached his eyes and brightened his face. One that she'd never want to miss anymore.
"You must be freezing."
"Comes with the circumstances."
"You'll catch a cold."
He blinked and looked at her for a second. Something flickered over his face which Jo found hard to read until he answered: "I'll survive."
And this time she got it.