- - July 5th - -

Horatio's eyes snapped open, and he sat up in bed. He'd been dreaming, he was sure, but already he could remember nothing of it except a vague feeling of unease.

He glanced around him. It was still dark, though he could sense the sky was growing lighter behind the curtains over the window. He was in Henry's guest room, the one he'd said had been a bit cluttered. It was in fact so cluttered Horatio had no idea how he'd managed to leap the boxes to get into bed.

There was a small clock on the nightstand next to him; it was seven o'clock in the morning. Exactly four hours after the last time he'd checked, which in turn had been four hours after he'd first lain down to sleep. This was not surprising, as he had never been entirely able to break out of the sleeping habits he'd acquired as a watch-keeping officer. In fact, he'd had a very restful night by his own standards. He might just as easily have lain awake all night long, tormented by the alien sounds of the city and his own lack of knowledge about any of it.

He decided he might as well rise. He had no idea what time Henry and Abe were in the habit of starting their days, but he might prefer it if they weren't up yet. He'd determined to do some exploring of this strange place on his own, no matter what Henry said about getting 'mugged.' He was a military man, he could damn well fend for himself.

His clothes were scattered about the room, lying on top of boxes and chair-arms and lamps. As he dressed, he recalled the events of the night before. They had all gone up onto the roof of the building to drink the wine and watch the fireworks. Horatio had in truth been afraid that his lifelong discomfort with heights would cause him to embarrass himself yet again in front of the others, but he was lucky to be seated far enough away from the edge of the roof that he could not see over it to the ground below. They'd sat at a long table under a pergola, the rockets continually bursting in the distance. Horatio hadn't been feeling up for making an effort at conversation, so he was content to listen while Henry, Abe, and Jo talked and engaged in friendly banter. The latter two both had sharp wits armed with equally-sharp tongues; Henry's manner was more subdued, but his own verbal barbs were in a way far deadlier, as the intended victim would often not discover his fate until the rapier was already buried to its hilt in his chest. Horatio saw them all to be far better conversationalists than himself, and so was glad of his decision to abstain. He felt that none of the others had particularly missed any contributions from him, in any case. Jo seemed to be very comfortable with both Henry and Abe… but especially Henry. Horatio had been in love many times and recognized the emotion when he saw it reflected in others; it struck him as curious that neither Henry nor Jo seemed willing to acknowledge what was so obviously going on between them. But that was their business, and he was in no position to risk becoming involved.

Finished dressing, he navigated his way around and over the boxes and slipped out of the room. In the kitchen, he found Abe sitting at the table, buttering a thin piece of bread. "You're up early," the old man said, regarding him with a raised eyebrow.

"Hm." Horatio glanced around surreptitiously. "Is Henry awake?"

Abe motioned with his butter knife towards the bathroom. "He's in the shower. You hungry? There's toast, and fruit in the fridge… I can make somethin', if you want."

Horatio's empty stomach rumbled, but he needed to take advantage of this opportunity. "I'm going out," he said, facing Abe with a challenge in his expression, daring the man to try to stop him.

"Like hell you are," Abe said, placing the butter knife down on the table. He raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth drew upwards in a smile. "Not dressed like that, anyway."

Horatio scowled at him, but he was a bit curious. "You're not worried I'll get myself into trouble?" he said sardonically.

"Yeah, a bit," Abe said, "but you can do what you want. Henry won't like it, but he'll live. He's just a little bit clingy. Side effect of the immortality. Guy's lost a lot; when he has something, he holds onto it." He frowned at Horatio's uniform. "What I am worried about is you walking out of this building sticking out like a sore thumb. That would be tempting fate. Hm… you're about the same size as Henry, too, aren'tcha? If a little skinny. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we raided his closet."

Before Horatio could respond, Abe dragged him into the master bedroom. "Let's see what we've got…"

Horatio emerged from the room wearing a dark blue shirt and a pair of short tan trousers - "khaki shorts," according to Abe. The shorts, looser than his own breeches, ended at his knees, but the stockings - socks - Abe had given him rose only to just below his ankle, leaving his undefined calves completely exposed. The shirt felt incomplete as well, its sleeves terminating above his elbows. Abe had insisted that he leave the collar unbuttoned, for reasons unknown. Horatio had never cared much about his personal modesty, but neither had the prevailing fashion in his time allowed for short clothes. The experience was new to him, though not entirely unpleasant. He certainly would have appreciated a pair of such shorts when he'd been stationed in the West Indies. The laced grey shoes he now wore also had less of a heel than he was used to, but they felt more comfortable because of it.

Having trussed Horatio up to his satisfaction, Abe returned to his breakfast. Before Horatio could make it downstairs, however, the old man thrust a small object into his hands, along with a slip of paper with a set of numbers written on it. "If you get lost or anything, flip open the phone, punch in that number, and hit the green button," he said. Utterly clueless about what was supposed to happen if he did so, Horatio placed the mystery object and the slip of paper into the pocket of his shorts, deciding not to question it for now.

He stepped out of the antiques shop and into the faintly rotten-egg-scented New York air. It was early in the morning, but the sky was light and there were already people on the streets. They hurried along, none having a glance to spare for him. He supposed that was the benefit of the new clothes. Now he could blend in.

Navigating the streets posed a challenge at first; he was nearly struck by one of the cars that flew down the roads. In his time, the streets had been narrow, and this had necessitated that they be shared by pedestrians and carriages alike. Observing the people walking around him soon showed that they were confining themselves to the raised paths along the side of the road, and only crossing where the streets intersected and the signal-lights ahead of them flashed green.

Having figured this out, he found he no longer needed to worry about the cars and was free to admire the cityscape. One of the first things he'd noticed yesterday was how tall the buildings were, and that fact still amazed him. There were some off in the distance that were higher than anything he'd ever seen, practically touching the clouds. The trade-off for this wonder, however, seemed to be that the architecture was utterly tasteless. Anything above three stories was just a featureless block, in colors ranging from grey to taupe. And in an odd show of extravagance,some of the tower-like buildings seemed to be all glass. There must not be any sort of window tax here if the Americans could afford to build such things.

He reached a street lined with shops, and glanced into them as he passed. Some things were familiar; there was a bookshop, a pub, a tailor's. In other shops, he couldn't even identify what was being sold. There was one window, for instance, which displayed only a row of thin rectangular objects with flat, black faces, and another that promised games but only offered white or black boxes of varying sizes and small discs covered with intricate artwork. Then there were the Starbucks. Horatio passed by two of them within ten minutes; the name didn't give him any hints as to what sort of merchandise could make Mr. Starbuck rich enough to own two stores. Nor did the twin-tailed mermaid pictured above each door. He didn't think the wares were sea-related, since the only things he saw patrons leaving with were large cups.

Amazingly, a few streets more brought him to yet another Starbucks. This time his curiosity got the better of him and drove him inside to see for himself what was being sold. On the wall behind a long counter was a menu with a selection of drinks, nearly all of them appearing to be varieties of… coffee.

Horatio took a deep breath in through his nose; the scent of coffee filled the air, strong and rich. It actually made his fingers twitch with desire. He now wished he had asked Abe to borrow some money. It felt like ages since he'd had a good cup of coffee, and this Starbucks seemed to have an endless array of blends to choose from. There were dark roasts, cappuccinos, frappuccinos, espressos… he had no idea what many of the names meant, but he intended to try all of them.

Sadly, having no recent currency, the sweet ambrosia was most likely out of his reach; he doubted the bespectacled employee behind the counter would accept a couple of pennies dated 1804. It was with extreme reluctance that he turned to leave the shop, but stopped when the door opened to admit a familiar face.

"Hi Horatio," Jo said with a bemused smile. "Almost didn't recognize you in your new digs."

"...Digs?"

"Clothes. You look nice." She joined the queue that snaked around in front of the counter. "What are you doing here?"

Horatio followed her without joining the line. "I noticed several of these shops and grew curious about what they sold."

"Ah. Well, it's coffee."

"I can see that," Horatio said, his yearning gaze drawn to the stream of dark liquid being poured by an employee behind the counter.

Jo noted his expression. "You want anything? My treat."

Horatio felt, for pride and politeness' sake, he should decline. He instead found himself saying "Yes, thank you" and sliding into the queue. Times certainly had changed, he reflected. A week ago women had been entirely financially dependent, and now here he was practically begging one for a cup of coffee. He found he did not exactly disapprove the change; since Barbara had brought the lion's share of the money to their marriage, it had always bothered him that she was forced to ask his permission for its use. She would have liked this new world, he was sure. The thought brought with it a melancholy feeling, which he immediately did his best to suppress. The past was gone forever now, and he couldn't afford to dwell on it.

After a few more minutes of waiting, he followed Jo out of the shop, a large - "venti" - cup of coffee in his hand. Not caring about the beverage's temperature, he took a huge gulp, then let out a contented sigh. It wasn't the very best coffee he'd ever tasted, but it came damned close. It was leagues better than anything Styles could produce, at any rate. And it was remarkably fortifying; after only a few sips, he felt strangely energetic, his slight early-morning weariness completely forgotten. He felt alive, buzzing with adrenaline. Of course, he knew the effects of coffee, but never before had he experienced them this strongly. It took another three gulps for him to realize that his fingers were twitching, but he didn't dare stop now. He finished off the cup and tossed it to the side of the road.

"Hey! No littering!" Jo picked up the empty cup and threw it into a large metal cylinder. "If you have trash, it goes in the trash can. Don't make me write you a fine."

Horatio wasn't sure what he'd done that was so offensive, but he didn't feel inclined to argue. "My apologies."

The police-woman had her own cup of something called a latte, and seemed to be eyeing Horatio thoughtfully. "Hey," she said eventually, "you would know practically everything about that ship from yesterday, right?"

Horatio tilted his head slightly. "...I'm not entirely sure what you mean."

"Well," Jo said, seeming a little undecided, "I'm actually heading back there now as part of a case."

"Case? What sort of case?"

"Murder by decapitation." Jo casually took a sip of her latte. "Your Hotspur's being made into a museum, and it turns out the victim worked there. It could be helpful to have someone along who knew a lot about that ship and would be able to tell if something was off." She looked at him pointedly.

Horatio blinked, taken aback. "Ah… I suppose… but I am not a police officer." He felt safe in assuming there were rules about that.

Jo waved dismissively. "If anyone asks, we'll just say you're a consultant. Captain Gregson uses them all the time, so it's no big deal. Besides, it's not like you'll actually be involved in the investigation. More like a personal tour guide. Nothing illegal, I promise." She raised an eyebrow. "Well? You in?"

Horatio had to admit that the idea of witnessing a murder investigation intrigued him, and it stroked his ego to be relied upon as an expert. He did in fact know every square inch of the Hotspur . It would doubtless be satisfying to do something useful instead of continuing to mope about his situation. And the effects of the coffee were making him itch for action. After a moment or two of thought, he nodded. "Very well."

Jo smiled. "Great! Come on." She motioned him towards the right, where Horatio saw with a sinking feeling that her car rested at the side of the road. He repressed a shudder. "Ah, is it completely necessary that we use that machine…?"

Jo clearly noticed his unease, but didn't seem sympathetic. "Unless you want to walk for an hour."

"As a matter of fact - "

"Get in the car."

AN: I have actually rewritten this story pretty significantly since the last time I posted a chapter on this site, mostly with regard to how the murder-mystery part plays out. So I've updated all the previous chapters to reflect that.