AN: This will start off as a tag to Diamonds are Forever, but since we have three weeks to kill, I thought, hey, why not make it a multichapter?

Thank you to everyone who reviewed my first episode tag. It's always a little scary posting a fic in a new fandom, and I appreciate the support.

A Crack in the Silence

Chapter One

She had been prepared to spend the evening crying on her couch, wrapped up in a blanket and her own shattering grief. Tonight, she was going to come to terms with Sean's death, to lay it out in black and white and feel it.

Instead, however, she was sitting on her front step, spilling out her guilt, her pain to Henry, her head on his shoulder. He had shown up unexpectedly, wondering if she might want company. She hadn't, not originally, not when she had first heard the door.

But then she'd seen him standing there, bundled against the cold, dark eyes warm and affectionate, and suddenly, she was immensely grateful for his presence.

They sat outside for perhaps an hour, drinking coffee that was liberally laced with whiskey, watching the snow and sharing an occasional sentence. He kept his arm around her, and once, had even succeeded in making her laugh.

"How's your head?" he asked, leaning back far enough to see her face.

She shrugged. "It hurts," she admitted. "But I passed the concussion test, so there's nothing to worry about."

"I have to admit," he confessed, "that tonight was one of my scarier moments in recent memory."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Were you scared before or after you told me to drive into an emergency barrier?"

He smiled, just a little. "Both. And during, if you must know. I had science on my side, and I knew rationally you would be all right, but I find I very much dislike taking risks with your life."

Gently, she nudged him. "Hey, according to you, it wasn't really a risk."

His smile turned wry. "True enough. Somehow, however, that was of little comfort, especially when the call got disconnected."

She understood. Waiting for the world to right itself, for the paramedics to arrive, she could have used his voice in her ear. She'd held onto that as she'd driven, blindly trusting him to save her. I'm right here with you. It had been what she'd needed to hear.

She would always remember the overwhelming relief in his eyes, his posture, his words when he'd found her at the scene. His shoulders had actually sagged, and he'd reached for her hand with fingers that were shaking.

"You know," she began, "as...not fun as a head-on collision was, it was definitely preferable to being executed by a dirty cop."

Henry blinked rapidly. "I did mention that I found tonight particularly horrifying, yes? I think we all realized Dunn was involved about ten minutes before you did, which was about twenty minutes too late." A muscle twitched in his cheek.

Gently, she rested her head against his shoulder again, and his arm fell to her waist. "It worked out," she said consolingly. "I'm not complaining. I'm just glad this damn case is over."

He nodded. "Me, too. For your sake."

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. She was exhausted, emotionally wrung out, the constant ebb and flow of adrenaline and pain having drained almost all of her reserves. "Thank you for being here," she murmured.

She felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head. "Of course. I'll be here for as long as you need me, in whatever capacity you need me."

Shoulder to cry on, drinking buddy, partner, protector. He was already all of those things to her.

Vaguely, she wondered what she was to him, but pushed those thoughts aside. The answer was obviously something, or he wouldn't be here tonight.

It wasn't the time to dwell on it, so she tried to change the subject. "Did Abe ever find out who stole that horse thing?"

He chuckled, and she felt it. "Bit of a false alarm," he told her. "It never left the shop, actually. We're just lucky Abe didn't feel the need to try and make a citizen's arrest. That could have gotten very ugly, very quickly."

"I would have paid to see that." She laughed affectionately.

"Me, too," he said. "Paid for an attorney, that is, in the hopes of keeping him out of jail."

"Nah," she argued. "Abe's charming enough to worm his way out of about any situation."

"When he wants to be," Henry conceded. "That particular quality has saved him more than once." He sounded like he was remembering something, and she was about to ask, but then she felt his lips softly touch her hair.

For a second, her heart ached, and it wasn't because of pain.

The snow was picking up, as was the wind, and even the whiskey and Henry's body heat weren't enough to block the cold out.

"Brr," he commented.

"Yeah," she agreed, reluctantly disentangling herself from him and standing. He followed. "I think I'm going to head for bed."

He was watching her carefully, and she wondered what he was seeing. "Good night," he said quietly. Then, even softer, "Call if you anything."

She smiled. "I will."

"I mean it," he insisted.

Her heart hurt again. "I know you do," she whispered. Impulsively, she stretched up and kissed his cheek. His hands caught both of her elbows, making sure she was steady.

With a final smile, he turned, heading for the street and hailing a passing taxi.

She hurried inside, locking the door firmly behind her. The cold had started to seep inside her bones.

A hot shower had never seemed more appealing. On her way to the master bathroom, she stopped to take Sean's deposition tape out of the player. Firmly, she put it back in its case then back in the box. There would be no more self-indulgence. Sean was dead, and replaying his words wouldn't change that. All it would do was hurt her more.

Still, a few tears escaped as she stood under the shower spray, steam billowing around her. The water stung the wound on her head, the tiles cold at her back.

For several minutes, she did no more than breathe.

It was difficult enough.

Later, curled beneath her down comforter, clad in fleece pajama pants, she decided she finally felt human again.

She felt the touch of a phantom embrace, and for the first time, it wasn't from Sean's arms.

With a deep sigh, she decided one more indulgence would be all right. Closing her eyes, she held onto the feeling of Henry being close to her. If she tried hard enough, she could smell his cologne, hear his voice.

Whatever their relationship actually was, they had taken a decisive step tonight.

And, even if it felt wrong to admit it, it was so nice to dream of the living and not the dead.

The next day, she finished up her paperwork quickly, anxious to close this case literally, figuratively, metaphorically, and any other way she could think of.

Despite doctor's orders, Hanson was at work, too. He made a crack about his kids driving him crazy, but she knew part of the reason he was here was because he knew she'd be around, and he wanted to make sure she didn't do anything stupid.

Around eleven, Henry called. She could tell he was in his office. "You know," he said as soon as she picked up, "a day off would have done you good."

"Yeah, yeah." She rolled her eyes even if he couldn't see her. "What's going on?" Henry was not the sort to call simply to chat.

"I was wondering if I could drag you away from your desk for lunch." There was a smile in his voice. "Lucas has a date tonight with someone he met online, and if I have to hear any more about it, I'm going to be forced to shut him in cold storage."

She smiled. "Well, if it's to save Lucas's life, I suppose I could be persuaded."

"Excellent. I'll wander over your way in an hour or so."

She was still smiling when she hung up. It was...nice, having something to look forward to.

There were a few back-logged reports she needed to get to, and in a good mood, she worked quickly.

Engrossed in trying to remember a particular timeline for her last case, she didn't realize Henry was standing in front of her desk until he cleared his throat.

She jumped.

He made an effort to look contrite, but she could tell he was amused.

"Ready?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

The small restaurant was just a few blocks away from the 11th, and she smiled as she took in the vintage decor. It looked like a place where you ordered milkshakes with your boyfriend after going to a drive in movie, right down to the red vinyl booths.

In all honesty, it didn't seem like Henry's sort of restaurant, but when he told her this was one of Abe's favorite spots, she let it go.

Like always, Henry was alarmingly handsome, his tailored suit emphasizing all the right spots. He looked perfectly composed, perfectly in control. It was hard to remember that this man had sat on her front steps with her last night in the middle of a snowstorm, drinking whiskey out of coffee cups and letting her cry on his shoulder.

She was abruptly grateful that she was able to see a side of Henry Morgan that he usually kept from the world.

"So Lucas has a date, huh?" she asked.

Henry sighed, sounding deeply exasperated. "The worst part is, regardless of how it goes, I'm going to hear about every individual second of it tomorrow."

She chuckled. "I'm assuming this has happened before?"

"Yes," he replied. "All things considered, I suppose I have to hope it goes well. If not, Lucas feels the compulsion to go over every word he uttered during the date and second-guess himself."

She laughed again, then went back to her menu.

The bell above the front door rang and she gave a cursory glance up. When she looked back down, Henry was watching her. It always made her a little nervous, being the focus of his gaze. He saw everything. In a moment of panic, she wondered if he could possibly know that she had drifted off last night imagining his arms around her.

And then the shouting began.

She turned, hand instinctively going to her hip.

At the front counter, a man was yelling at the young waitress serving coffee. She recognized him as being the man she'd just seen walk in.

"What's his name, huh?" he was demanding, words loud, harsh.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. The waitress was either the girlfriend or the ex-girlfriend, and the man doing the shouting was the boyfriend, clearly under the impression that there was someone else.

"What's his name?" he screamed again. "I'll blow his damn head off!"

She glanced quickly at Henry before standing. He looked concerned, and she hoped he stayed put. Instead, he followed her.

"Hi," she said casually, slowly walking towards the front of the diner. "What's the problem?"

When the man turned and faced her, she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. She'd seen that look before in someone's eyes - crazy, unhinged.

"The problem?" he echoed. "The problem is that this cheating bitch thinks she can get away with it!" His hand shook as he pointed at the waitress, who was standing stock-still, looking horrified.

"This is hardly going to solve the problem," Henry piped up from a foot behind her, and she wished he would just shut up.

"What's your name?" she asked calmly, ignoring Henry, taking another step forward.

"None of your damn business," he answered. He turned sharply back to the waitress, hand going to the waistband of his jeans. In the next second, she saw the gun in one shaking hand.

She drew her own weapon immediately, taking one step to the right to block Henry totally. "All right," she said, fully in authority mode. "NYPD. Drop it."

He turned back, sneered at her weapon. "Or what?"

"You know, this is a very stupid way to die," Henry said. The idiot stood at her side again, and she felt a thrill of terror. "What will this prove?"

There was a tense silence. The waitress behind them let out one small, choked sob. Looking back, Jo would always remember it as the catalyst.

The next three seconds happened in slow motion.

The man turned, fired blindly at the girl behind the counter. He missed, then turned back to them. She fired, hit her target. The man got off one last shot, and she lunged for Henry. She felt like she was moving underwater, like her limbs weren't cooperating.

She felt the bullet rip into her shoulder a heartbeat before she crashed into Henry. When she could think about anything other than how goddamn much she hurt, she realized she was propped half-up in Henry's arms, both of them on the floor.

She could hear his frantic voice in her ear, not at all sure like it had been last night. "You're an idiot," he kept saying, alternating it with, "it's all right, you'll be all right."

Things kept alternating between being fuzzy and the picture being too sharp. Henry was warm and solid at her back. Distantly, she heard sirens.

"It's not that bad," he said quietly. "Really." Carefully, he shifted her, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. With efficient movements, he pressed a folded towel, commandeered from the kitchen staff, against her shoulder, staunching the flow of blood.

Finally, she focused on his face. He looked...angry, she decided. And scared.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded.

She blinked, slowly. "Maybe thinking that I didn't want you to be shot," she whispered. Every word hurt. Dimly, she realized she was annoyed with him. Hello? She had just taken a bullet for him.

His arms tightened almost painfully around her. "You're an idiot," he said again.

The bell over the door jangled again, and she decided it was very annoying. She heard the clatter of wheels, and knew it was the paramedics.

Henry kissed the top of her head. "You'll be fine," he whispered. "Trust me."

"I do," she breathed back.

As she was loaded into the ambulance, Henry walked at her side, one hand on the edge of the gurney. He was silent, but she was still grateful for his presence.

Hanson showed up, and she was touched by the worry in his eyes. Or she would have been, had the morphine not been coursing through her veins.

"You're not allowed out of the precinct ever again," he told her shortly. "I swear to God, I'm chaining you to your desk."

She offered him a small smile. Then the doors were closing, and the last thing she saw was Henry's face, looking almost unbearably upset.

She closed her eyes, but the image stayed with her for long after.