THURSDAY

Today is Thursday, and that brings us pretty much up to date. Henry acts all twitchy and nervous every time he notices Jo and I talking, like he's waiting to see if I'll blab when his back is turned. Which I haven't. It is getting harder to avoid slipping up, but only because he keeps telling me more crap, so I've got more and more to hide.

Take this morning, for example. Jo and I are in the morgue to hear his findings on our latest victim, and Henry tells us the guy was strangled with piano wire. When Jo steps out to make a few calls to piano repair shops, I make the mistake of wondering out loud if we should be looking for a "smoking piano" that's missing a string or two.

He shakes his head and points to the vic's neck. "The tight spiral pattern of the ligature mark tells me that this was an unstretched bass string. It was never used in an instrument."

Feeling clever, I ask, "Why bass? Are sopranos not as deadly?"

He gets that spacey look in his eyes and says, "The higher strings are called treble, and in my experience, they can strangle a man just as easily."

"You see a lot of piano victims down here?" The question is out out my mouth before I remember: my New Reality Is Weirder. Henry looks almost apologetic when he clarifies, "Slightly more personal."

Why did I have to ask? Naturally, that's the moment when Jo finishes her phone call and comes back. I attempt to carry on a normal conversation, but two seconds ago Henry told me that he's been strangled to death by the treble string of a piano. I doubt I pulled off "normal."

We've been working together for what, nine months now? He ought to know by now that I'm not the cloak and dagger type. I don't enjoy secrets. And I don't know how much more of this I can take.

The boys are finally asleep, and Karen and I are settling in for the night when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number, but I pick up anyway. It's Henry.

"Detective? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I need your help." I repress my first reaction– extreme irritation– because even though having Henry Morgan's issues follow me home is not what I wanted for my evening, he sounds strange, almost panicky.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"I don't know where Abe is."

I frown into the phone. "Henry, your roommate is a grown man. Don't tell me you keep constant tabs on him."

"Of course not, but he always answers when I call his cell phone, and he's not answering."

Something occurs to me, and I look at the unfamiliar number on my screen. "Whose phone are you calling from?"

"I'm not sure." I hear muffled voices, then he's back. "An obliging gentleman by the name of Eddie." There's a pause, and he adds, "I believe he wants it back now. I'm by the East River, the place I told you about, and I could use a lift." He pauses again. "And a towel. Please, Detective, come quickly. I'm worried about Abe."

I knew it. I knew I would end up being his death cab. But what am I supposed to do, leave him there? "I'll be there in half an hour. Try not to get arrested."

I now have a damp immortal being in my passenger seat. A damp, frantic immortal being.

The first thing he says when he opens the door and slides in is, "Have you found Abe yet?" Never mind that he's naked, or that he apparently died tonight for reasons as yet unknown to me.

"No, I haven't even looked," I tell him. "I came straight here to keep your soggy English ass out of the drunk tank. You're welcome."

Henry doesn't so much as acknowledge that I'm doing him a massive favor, even as he's pulling on my second-favorite sweat suit. "Give me your phone. I need to try his number again."

I hand him my phone. "What's the matter, is he sick or something?" I can't think of any other reason for Henry to get so worked up over a few missed calls.

He shakes his head as he dials. "Not that I know of."

I keep pressing. "Has he been missing for over 24 hours? Were there signs of a struggle?"

"No, of course not." He's getting upset now. "But I need to find him!"

I'm starting to get upset, too. "Just leave the man alone!" Maybe it's not my place to say, but Henry made it my place by dragging me out of bed for this. "He's got his own life, and he doesn't need you calling to check on him every five minutes like you're his father!"

"I AM his father!" he yells. I have never heard Henry yell before.

I'm still processing what he said when I hear a tinny voice answer the phone, which had still been ringing. "Abraham!" He almost shouts the name in relief before he reins in his emotions and continues. "Are you all right?" I can't hear the other half of the conversation, but whatever Abe says calms Henry down immediately. "I thought you had an extra charger in the car." Pause. Pause. "Well, never mind. I was just– yes, a little. Don't worry, I'm fine. I'll see you later."

He hangs up the phone and hands it back to me, and neither of us say anything for a minute. I can't tell what he's thinking. Me, I'm thinking that despite the fact that he just died, came back to life, dragged me out of bed and then jumped into my car naked, Henry actually makes sense to me tonight.

He's a father, and he was worried about his boy.

Apparently we're on the same wavelength (also a first), because he echoes my thought. "Abraham is my son." I don't interrupt, and he goes on. "Abigail– my late wife and I adopted him after the War. He's the only family I have left."

I think of my own little hellions, currently masquerading in their sleep as little angels. I send up a quick request to whoever's listening that I die at a ripe old age, but well before they do. I can't imagine what Henry–

"Come on, Doc. We both need to get home." I suddenly need to see my sons, and Henry needs to see his.

FRIDAY

It turns out that it wasn't the piano strangler that killed Henry last night, or anything else remotely sinister. He was jaywalking across a busy road, not paying attention, thinking about…whatever old English guys think about, and a semi flattened him.

We're sitting at the usual Eleventh Precinct happy hour table, waiting for Jo to join us, and I used the private moment to ask how he ended up bobbing in the river this time. I laugh in surprise at his answer, then shake my head. "So the side effect of eternal youth is that you go all careless and spacey?"

He shrugs with his eyebrows (that's a thing, right?), but he doesn't argue.

I've had something else on my mind today, and I finally say it. "You know, with everything that's been going on this week, I never thanked you for saving my life. Even if the dying part doesn't stick, you still took a bullet for me. Thanks, Doc. I owe you one."

He smiles and shakes his head. "You owe me nothing. My 'condition' feels like a curse more often than not, so I was happy to use it in service of a friend this time."

We don't talk for a minute, but it's not an awkward kind of silence. More like thoughtful. I'm the one to break it with some unsolicited advice. "You should tell her, Henry."

He nods. "I know. And I will. I want to. I just…I'm not sure how, exactly."

"You think too much," I say. "Just tell her." He nods again. It's obvious that he's thinking about how not to think about it. I suppress a sigh and say, "It's not just about the… immortal thing." I whisper the crazy part after a glance around. "I'm willing to bet that you're her best friend."

He smiles a little. "I can't speak for Jo, but she is certainly mine– aside from Abe, of course."

I thought so. "And deny it all you want, but there's a definite something between you two. She ought to know the real you before it goes any further."

I half-expect him to deny the vibe yet again, but he just gives me this approving kind of smile and says, "Jo is lucky to have a friend like you."

I shrug it off. "What can I say? I'm a gem."

Henry laughs and lifts his glass. "Cheers to that."

I clink his fancy snifter with my pint glass. "Cheers."

"What are we celebrating?" Jo walks up just in time for the toast.

Henry stands, always the gentleman, and smiles at her. "The successes of the week."

She gives him that intrigued/amused/perplexed smile that only applies to him and points out, "We haven't solved the case yet."

"It's true that we don't have all the facts yet," he admits, "but we have more than we did a week ago. It's only a matter of time before you discover the whole truth." He manages to slip in a subtle nod to me, then he offers Jo a seat while he buys her first round.

Henry Morgan, you can be one smooth sonfoabitch when you try. I still kind of miss my blissful ignorance, but I'm glad he's on our side.

THE END

Thanks for reading! It's been fun living in Hanson's head for a while.