The 11th precinct of the NYPD was strangely quiet when Dr. Henry Morgan, star medical examiner, steps off the elevator and makes a swiftly-paced beeline for the desk of his unofficial crime-solving partner, Det. Jo Martinez. His heart skips a beat at the prospect of once again being near the dark-haired latina with the large, beautiful eyes and captivating smile. He swallows as he nears her desk, hoping that he could maintain some dignity and an air of professionalism as he delivers and explains the results of the toxicology report on their latest victim, a Jane Doe. However, Jo was not sitting at her desk, as usual; she was standing by her chair, as was Det. Mike Hanson, her official crime-solving partner. They and all of the other detectives and uniformed personnel were standing, their attentions riveted to several computer screens on the far wall next to Lieutenant Joanna Reece's office. Normally the screens would display street activity in real time from various surveillance cameras placed in different locations inside and outside the precinct building.

As he nears her desk, however, he abruptly slows his pace and stops just a few feet behind the unusually large throng of law enforcement personnel, all eerily silent, as they listen intently to what appears to be a press conference. Henry's brow furrows over his large, interesting eyes, his mouth a thin line as he gives his attention to the press conference, as well.

Speaking onscreen is a young white male of average height and build, in his 30's with a thick shock of medium brown hair, blue eyes and chiseled features. Several microphones from TV, cable and online news outlets are thrust into his face as he comes to the end of reading a prepared statement that details several years of relentlessly being pursued by a group of people who want to hold him captive and find out the secret of his...immortality. The wide, red, onscreen banner at the bottom of the screen displays in bold, white letters: "Breaking News...Man Claims Immortality".

Henry's brow unfurrows as his eyes widen in slowly increasing terror, his mouth suddenly forming a silent "O". His lower lip trembles as he closes his mouth back into an even tighter line. He lowers his head and listens more intently to the young man on the screen. He struggles to control his erratic breathing. At the same time, he tries to block out the titters and guffaws of the others in the room who were watching. And the cruel comments: "Guy must be nuts." "Must have escaped from Bellevue." "Boy, what some folks won't do to get a video to go viral." Henry has heard it all. And more. And worse sometimes when his own immortality has been exposed. Either this young man is delusional, or very brave. Henry wonders briefly if Adam is aware of this press conference and what he thinks of all this. Of course, he'd never be able to ask him since he has no intention of doing anything to release the older, psychotic immortal from his locked-in condition.

Reporters bombard the young man, Ben Larson, immediately with questions but he steps to his left, away from the microphones and becomes silent. A much older white-haired man in a suit and white lab coat steps in front of the microphones. He identifies himself as a geneticist, Dr. Reuben Barnes, and proceeds to bolster Larson's claim with scientific evidence derived from his extensive examination of Larson. As the geneticist did so, Larson appears both nervous and relieved as he stands next to him with his hands clasped behind his back. From time to time, he squares his sometimes slouching shoulders and raises his chin as if an invisible drill sergeant reminds him.

Henry slowly regains control of his legs and creeps closer to hear the geneticist's words - and to try to understand them. He flexes his hands open and closed even though they feel clammy with perspiration. Suddenly, he doesn't want Jo to see him. He slips the toxicology report onto her desk and lowers his head, tips it slightly to the right, in an effort to better concentrate on the scientific jargon of the geneticist.

"Some people are predisposed to longevity because certain genetic markers have been identified that make it easier for those persons to live to the age of 100 or more. Ben Larson's DNA shows these same markers but for some reason they are in a more arrested state. In other words, he has aged, most likely, since his late teens or early twenties, at a much slower rate than normal human beings. For instance, if he lived to be 125, physically and mentally his age would only be about 40." Dr. Barnes paused to exchange a knowing look with Larson, who breaks his stoic pose to also offer a small smile of... gratitude? Barnes returns his attention to the microphones and throng of reporters and announces that his remarks are concluded. He then quickly adds, "My colleagues and I have never seen anything like this is in all our years of study. Ben Larson has come forward in an effort to obtain help regarding his condition and to remain safe from those who would want to imprison him as their own personal guinea pig in their selfish quest for personal immortality for their own greedy purposes. If there is anyone else out there with Ben's condition or something similar and akin to immortality or unexplained unnatural life prolongation, please come forward. Perhaps we can help you. You. Are. Not. Alone. Please contact me at the Center for Scientific Discovery in Ithaca, New York. We want to help Ben and we want to help YOU, too. Thank you." He gathers his papers and seems prepared to take questions.

(Reporters clamoring, yelling over each others' questions)

Reporter #1: "Mr. Larson, do you still fear for your safety?" Henry's ears perk up for Ben's response.

Ben sighs and looks down at his feet, then quickly back up: "Let's just say that I knew I had to trust someone and I chose Dr. Barnes and his staff. So far they have lived up to their promise to keep me safe. And for that, I am grateful."

Reporter #2: "Have you met anyone else with your condition or something like it?" Even though Henry is quite sure that Ben and he have never crossed paths, he holds his breath and stills himself, awaiting Ben's response. Fortunately, Ben immediately states his denial. Henry breathes again and slightly shakes his head as he blinks repeatedly.

Reporter #3): "Dr. Barnes, would these other so-called immortals be readily identifiable even if they choose not to come forward?"

"Well, I don't want to cause a panic or anything," Dr. Barnes hesitantly begins, "but there might be others who are even older than Ben Larson. That is, people who have learned to hide in plain sight, out of fear of exposure, of course. It's conceivable that they would also age at a much slower rate like Ben, or maybe not at all. They would have lived through times that you and I only know of in history books. This firsthand knowledge would make them appear more learned, more intelligent, more observant than the average individual. Look for someone who might seem to be out of step with today's world. A walking history book, so to speak. Perhaps their preferred mode of dress is not exactly up with the times, either. They might use outdated expressions and/or speak several languages, especially languages that are no longer in use. Their apparent young age will not match the vast storehouse of knowledge they possess."

Henry slowly casts his eyes downward, taking in his preferred style of dress: the vest, the scarf, suit coat and the waist coat. These items of clothing offer him just a small bit of comfort, of familiarity left over from his normal life a little over 200 years ago. No one else would know that...or understand that. He knows that his style of dress is called the "1910 look" and is in style now, pocketwatch and all, but he can feel the panic rising as heads begin to turn towards him, as they gradually become aware of his presence. His mouth is dry and he probably would not be able to utter an intelligent word to Jo or anyone else right now.

He schools his features, paled now in the wake of Dr. Barnes' irresponsible dronings about how to spot an immortal. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears and all he wants now is to turn and run as fast as he can to the safety of the morgue. No. Run home! And pack! He and Abe LEAVE New York. Ohhh, just when he thought this was such a lovely spring day, Bloody Hell !

He turns to his left and begins to make his way to the elevator, ignoring the curious stares of Jo, Hanson, Reece and several others. They're making the connection, he says to himself. It's not fair! Why won't people just leave me alone and let me live SOME-where in peace? If it's not prying eyes and curious minds, it's that fiendish Adam. Adam! Henry realizes in another wave of panic that Adam is not going to age in his locked-in condition. And someone will realize that Henry Morgan of the OCME is the emergency contact. Eventually, someone will put two and two together - what's taking the blasted elevator so long to get here? He can hear the familiar click, click, click of Jo's heels behind him; the familiar jingle of Hanson's keys in his pockets whenever he moves at all. Henry can tell that Hanson is jogging and so is Jo. He's got to get off. this. floor!

Thankfully, the "ding" of the elevator is heard and Henry quickly slides into it. But just as he turns to punch the down button, both Jo and Hanson slide in after him. They're both flushed and a bit breathless from the short sprint to catch up with him. Henry freezes but draws on every bit of willpower to calm both his features and his breathing. Hanson is the first to speak.

"Hey, Doc, that Dr. Barnes almost described you to a tee. Do I need to...rat ya out?" Hanson laughs good-naturedly. Then, in a softer tone, "Lieu wanted us to make sure you were OK."

"Yeah, Henry. Maybe we should shadow you for a while to make sure nobody kidnaps you," Jo says with that brilliantly beautiful smile, which at any other time would have made his heart flutter and stolen his breath away. Well, it IS stealing his breath away. And his heart IS fluttering...just not in a good way. He clasps his hands together in front of him and somehow manages to smile faintly and respond as lightheartedly as possible, "No, no, detectives, I can assure you that I do not need to be 'ratted out'; neither do I require your generous offer of being my bodyguards." The three of them have a good chuckle.

The elevator stops and the doors slide open, having arrived on the floor where the morgue is. Henry steps past Jo and she gently touches him on his left upper arm. She looks into his eyes and in a serious tone tells him that he should contact her immediately if he does have any trouble. Hanson gently fistbumps him on his right upper arm and reiterates what Jo said, ending with, "After all, what are friends for?"

Henry nods a couple of times, grins widely and swallows a lump in his throat. He's really touched that they care that he might be "mistaken" (yeah, right) for an immortal and they will be there for him. He stares into Jo's soft brown eyes and her grin is almost identical to his as she stares into his chocolate-brown eyes. Her eyes flitter from his entrancing eyes to the scruff on his cheek and neck and up to his lips. His eyes, likewise, drink in every aspect of her face, her hair, her lips, her neck, back to those tempting lips of hers.

Hanson rolls his eyes and loudly clears his throat. "OK, you two, neutral corners. This is a place of business, so none of that dreamy-eyed lovey-dovey stuff. I just ate, Geez." They blushingly take the hint as Henry steps away so the doors can close. He watches Jo lower her head and bite her lower lip as the elevator doors close. His reflection in the smooth metal of the doors grins back at him. He shakes his head and shoves his hands into his pockets as he walks into the morgue. Perhaps he should invite Jo to dinner tonight. It's customary, after all, to end a date with a...kiss...right?

He's shaken from his thoughts when Lucas runs up to him with several of his comic books ("graphic novels, Doc") assuring him that he can borrow any of them that contain "immortal stuff" in an effort to learn how to protect himself from those who might mistake him for an immortal. "Because we got your back, Doc! I mean you may have all that weird, creepy fuddy-duddy thing goin' on, I mean, uh, you're not weird, OR creepy, but it might look like that to someone else...who doesn't know you like I do, like WE do...that is...ya know, I'll just leave them on your desk and you can read 'em when you get a chance. Or not. Your choice. I'll just, uh, goooo backkkk over here -"

"Thank you, Lucas," Henry cuts him off. "I appreciate your concern but your fears are ungrounded. And I can assure you that I have been called worse." Much worse. "Perhaps I will peruse your graphic literature in order to glean information for research purposes, only, you understand?"

Lucas' head bobs up and down until Henry thinks it may come unglued from the poor lad's body. Henry can't help but smile at the endearing antics of his young assistant. "OK, Doc, yeah, yeah, OK, you got it."

Henry takes the books from Lucas who is swooning almost as much as he and Jo were earlier. He drops the books onto his desk and sits in his chair. He marvels at the close connections he has made while working in the morgue and with the NYPD these past few years. Perhaps, he muses, he won't have to out himself like poor Ben Larson. And he can stay here and enjoy this life for a few more years because he realizes he has what Ben Larson obtained, in his own way: a safety net.

vvvv

Summary:

Henry's temporary euphoria fades and paranoia sets in. Reece, Jo and Hanson confer about keeping Henry safe from those who would "mistake" him as being an immortal. Jo begins to have doubts that immortality does not exist. Lucas sees his boss, Henry, in a state of despair and overhears a troubling phone conversation between Henry and Abe.

vvvvv

Hanson presses the elevator button for their floor in the precinct while Jo keeps her eyes diverted downward as the elevator hums to life and lifts them upwards. "Not - another - word", she says stonily. He raises one eyebrow toward his thick thatch of black hair but diverts his own green eyes up, suddenly becoming overly interested in the elevator's floor counter and thinking it's best to keep his trap shut...for now.

The awkward silence between them is thankfully broken when the elevator stops and the doors slide open. Jo steps out and strides towards her desk. Hanson closely follows. As they get closer to their respective desks, they see that Lt. Reece is standing just inside her office with the door slightly open. She motions for them with a slight "come hither" motion of her right hand. Jo can't help but think that the motion is not too unlike the Queen of England's sideways wave to her lowly subjects. After all, Reece, one of the most experienced and capable black women on the force, is the Queen of Sheba here; this is her domain and her rule is not challenged. Not by her, not by Hanson, not by anyone else in their right mind.

As they walk towards her office, they can't help but notice that several others notice them and what feels like their walk of shame. As they enter and seat themselves in the two small chairs facing Reece's desk, she closes the door and takes her seat behind her desk, facing them. She gazes intently at them and asks, "Have we gotten either an ID or COD on Jane Doe 462 yet?"

"Uh, no," Jo replies, "neither yet, but we're all working on it. Henry dropped the toxicology report on my desk a little while ago, but I haven't had a chance to look at it."

Hanson shakes his head and adds, "Fingerprints are a no-go because of the extensive burns on her hands fingers and feet. Whoever murdered her (Geez, I sound like the Doc) that is, IF she was murdered (he shoots a sideways glance at Jo) we'll know better once we find out who she is. We got DNA but nobody to match it with yet. We're waiting for dental."

Reece nods and leans forward. "So, what's up with Henry? That TV press conference seemed to really upset him."

"He didn't say but most likely he didn't like Barnes' description of a so-called immortal," Jo replied. "An overzealous individual could easily invade his privacy by mistaking him for being one."

"Yeah," Hanson adds, "the way he dresses and all that history he spouts at the drop of a hat. I mean the guy speaks an old style of English and at least three other languages fluently: Spanish, Italian, and French. He's an easy target."

"Well, he also speaks Russian, German, Portuguese and Welsh..." Jo's voice trails off at the end. She bites her lower lip and her brow furrows in that familiar way when she's sorting things out.

Reece volunteers that Henry once told her that he also speaks Norwegian, Polish and Lithuanian. They all recall how he was able to expertly transcribe the Codex from their bridge jumper case a few months ago. The room is silent for several moments as they all digest what they have just shared. The lieutenant then reminds them that it's important to provide Henry as much support as possible during this time, even if he refuses, because he is considered to be one of their own.

Jo is lost in her own thoughts about Henry and some things he has said in the past that didn't make sense then, but maybe now... No. She shakes the absurd thought out of her head. Henry might be a private person with his own brand of eccentricity and Victorian, gentlemanly manners and dress. She suddenly imagines him in Dickensian England, exiting a black, shiny carriage and slowly turning his elegantly handsome face towards her with that dazzling smile. But...NO...immortality is for fairy tales! Right? That Larson guy who claims to be immortal and that Barnes fellow...they're either crazy or they're lying. She snaps back to the present conversation when she realizes that Reece has ended the short meeting. "...and everything we've discussed about Dr. Morgan does not leave this office. Back to work, Detectives."

Jo and Hanson leave Reece's office and return to their respective desks but do not sit. Hanson adjusts his belt and sighs. "How 'bout I treat ya to some coffee, huh?" Jo, a bit surprised by his offer, gladly accepts. They've been partners for a little more than two years and can read each other pretty well. "Coffee" is code word between them for "Let's discuss this in private." Once out of the building, they head to the 50's diner around the corner. Chief topic of conversation should be about their Jane Doe 462, but they both know it will be about Dr. Henry Morgan.

vvvv

Henry sighs and his temporary euphoria fades. Who was he kidding? Would his small group of comrades line up to protect him if they knew the truth about him? His long story? His complicated, long story? And what he did to Adam, no matter how well-deserved the punishment? He wagered they would not. Groaning, he runs his hands through his brown curls, leans forward and places his head in his hands. The phone rings on his desk but he doesn't react to it. He retains his position while the phone rings.

Lucas, hearing his boss groan, silently rises from his desk just outside the ME's office and peers into the open doorway. He's dismayed to see Henry in such a state of despair after his seemingly happy demeanor only a few minutes ago. After the fifth ring, Henry finally sighs and moves one hand away from his face to finally answer the phone. As he does so, Lucas quickly ducks back out of sight but can't help but hear Henry's side of the conversation.

"Yessss, hello," his tone flat and tired.
"Oh. Hello, Abraham."
"Yes, I saw the Barnes and Larson circus on TV this morning!"
"I'm not yelling! (silence) I'm not yelling...my apologies."
"What?! No, I don't remember any Barnes family - ohhh, oh, God. I do remember. Oh, dear God!"
"I'm not yelling! Er, uh, look, Abraham, I'll be home as soon as I can. I'm leaving my office now."

Henry hangs up, jumps up and trades his white lab coat for his top coat and scarf. A new scarf he had recently purchased in order to impress Jo. Oh, fal-de-rol to that! He makes his way quickly out of his office and as he rushes past Lucas, he apologizes for leaving early but that there is a family emergency. It isn't exactly a lie, he tells himself. It's an old emergency that has reared its ugly head so many times in his long and complicated past: he may have to suddenly disappear, move somewhere else and start a new life. Either with or without Abraham.