Jo snuggled up against Henry on the steps to her house, watching snowflakes drift peacefully to the ground. His arm wrapped comfortingly around her, filling her with a sense of warmth despite the black hole of grief gaping inside her. For once, he sat in silence, watching his breath billow in the frigid night air, a look of childish fascination glittering in his deep brown eyes. It almost coaxed a smile out of Jo.

Amongst many others, this was one thing that both confused and fascinated her about Henry Morgan. All of the knowledge swirling in his head, waiting to burst forth; the way he talked; the way he dressed; his choices of décor – they all seemed to belong to someone of Abraham's age. Henry always acted far older than he looked, like he was some sort of Sherlock Holmes.

And then there were times like this, when something so seemingly insignificant as his breath captured his interest so thoroughly. Some of his actions when investigating a case, like stomping on floorboards or just running off, or his sometimes apparent insensitivity to the plights of others, also pointed to him being a child at heart.

It endlessly confused, fascinated, and endeared him to her that he could be this beautiful fusion of maturity and childishness. He had this incredible ability to make her feel like John Watson, observing and learning from the master one minute, and then the parent of a hyper little kid the next.

Throughout all this, whether he was being mature or childish, one feeling always remained a constant: Friendship. It was always there, a warm tendril of familiarity connecting them, giving her a sense of when he was in danger or when he was upset. They were close enough to be able to coax each other out of their respective shells, or know when to let the shell remain. Their relationship was comfortable, safe; they were content.

Jo shifted her gaze to the hand resting on her arm. The memory of Henry finding her after the crash flickered through her mind. The terror on his face before he realized she was ok; the way he had clasped her hand, as if reassuring himself that she was still there; the sheer relief radiating from him when she managed to smile at him, only half-joking when she commented about his ability to always be right. The emotions flickering on his face, emotions for her, had astonished her, and the complete lack of hesitation in taking her hand…

Henry rarely touched anyone. The person he made any sort of physical contact with most was Abraham, his roommate whom he'd known for years. Once he had returned the hug of a victim's mother; another time he had allowed Lucas to hug him; Jo had patted his hand after he'd killed his stalker. Aside from that, Jo had a hard time coming up with examples of him physically interacting with anyone that was neither injured nor a murder victim on his autopsy table, let alone initiating the contact. Then he had held her hand, and now he was holding her close.

She felt… privileged, in a way, not unlike making it into a highly exclusive club. Like the arm wrapped around her, the privileged feeling gave her a warm glow inside. Jo suddenly began to discover that there were many things about Henry that gave her a similar glow: A warm glow of pride when he showed off his skills to others; a warm glow when he stepped out of his comfortable level of interaction; a warm glow when Henry walked away, more or less whole, from a life-threatening situation; the list went on.

She found her gaze drifting to his lips. As much as she still missed her late husband, she was beginning to recognize that warm glow for what it truly represented. Right now, it was slowly eclipsing the black hole that had been present ever since Sean's death. Jo had once thought experiencing this feeling again would be impossible. But then, she had never before met someone even remotely like Henry Morgan.

Slightly muted impulsiveness crashed over her.

"Henry?"

His head turned back to her. "Yes, Jo?"

"Would it be all right if I did this?"

She leaned in and brushed her lips against his. And waited for his response, her heart pounding nervously, guiltily, and hopefully. Their eyes locked. In a brief moment, every emotion swirling inside Jo flickered through Henry's eyes like minnows.

And then Henry returned the kiss, equally light and brief.

For a moment, their gazes locked and they contemplated each other silently.

They both leaned in simultaneously for their third kiss. Hesitance, guilt, and gentle love sparked from their lips. They both pulled back, looking down at the ground, their foreheads brushing.

"This… us… can take as long as you wish, Jo," Henry murmured.

As always, he had said the right thing. At least, some of the guilt eased off.

"You'll wait?"

Utter sincerity glimmered in his eyes as they returned to hers. "Forever."

Jo smiled at this enigma of a man. He confused her brain, but it seemed her heart understood him perfectly.

Just please don't say you love me

'Cause I might not say it back

Doesn't mean my heart stops skipping when you look at me like that

There's no need to worry when you see just where we're at

Just please don't say you love me

'Cause I might not say it back

A/N: The song is Please Don't Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Aplin.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.