Hey, look who joined the Forever fandom!

Disclaimer: Yeah... no. Me no own.

Abe had been with Henry for a long time. His whole life, in fact. Henry's immortality had never been hidden from him, even as a child, so the many deaths his father suffered was not new to Abe.

Neither was helping along these deaths in the name of science.

Of course this last bit was fairly recent, the hobby only acquired after Henry decided on his latest career path, but in the years since, it wasn't unusual for Henry to enter a room with an apologetic smile and an explanation of the latest of unlikely deaths to pass through his office, followed by an unsaid question.

Help me?

Abe rarely said no. If he did, he knew his father would go on to do it anyway, and while Abe knew even if something did go wrong Henry wouldn't really be in danger, there was always that what if. Abraham was plagued with what ifs, ever since he was a child, sitting in the dark night after night, wondering.

Wondering if there was a limit to his father's unexplainable immortality, if one day his death would really be permanent, if he'd slip away during an experiment Abe had refused to help him with.

So Abe rarely said no.

Standing beside the table Henry had situated himself on, hooked up to wires or machines or both, Abe with the switch in hand, there was always that twinge, that hesitation. What if. Abe didn't let on. If he did, Henry would feel bad enough that he would no longer ask Abe to help him with his experiments, and that couldn't happen. If Abe wasn't there, and something well and truly went wrong, if Henry expended his limit of miracles, either Abe would return to find Henry's body, for the first time actually dead, or Henry would just disappear, just like always, and Abe would wait for that phone call.

I'm here. I'm okay. I need clothes.

Except if something went wrong, that phone call wouldn't come. And if Abe hadn't been there, he wouldn't know. He'd just wait and wait and wait, and keep waiting. Because he wouldn't stop waiting, not if there was a chance of the phone ringing again.

What if.

It only got infinitely worse after Henry started helping the police. Because now he could be shot, could be killed – had been killed, and while Abe didn't know about it until the phone rang with Henry on the other end, sheepishly requesting clothes, his heart always stuttered. Because he hadn't been there.

Abraham lived in fear of the day the phone would ring, but Henry wouldn't be on the other end. That instead there'd be Detective Martinez or Lucas, trying to tell him there'd been an incident, that Henry's body was still there, and wasn't going anywhere. Or maybe one day he'd get a phone call telling him Henry had been hurt, but had disappeared. Then Abe would wait, phone in hand, clothes folded in the backseat of the car, for the phone call that wouldn't come.

Abe wondered if Henry ever had these same fears. If just before he slipped away and woke in the water, there was a moment of panic, a moment of what if. If there ever was, Henry didn't let on. Maybe because he knew it would only worry Abe more. Or maybe he chose not to dwell on those thoughts, because clearly things had worked out as they always had, so there was no point in worrying over what ifs.

Abe wished he could push it all aside that easily. Instead he worried. Every time Henry got called in by the police, every time he got that gleam in his eye that only appeared before he went off to do something ridiculously dangerous and stupid, like chase down murderers all on his own, Abe's first thought was what if.

He'd focus on other things while Henry was out with the detectives, lose himself in work and books and life, always with his phone in his pocket, ears tuned to the telltale ring, clothes folded and ready to go. Sometimes, if Henry was out late, and had called ahead to tell him something along the lines of bit more complicated than initially thought, suspect in sights, just a little difficulty in bringing them in Abe was ready. He knew enough to be able to tell when Henry was attempting to assure him that nothing could go wrong this time, so after the call he'd head to the car and wait by the river, buying something to eat, bringing something to read. Sometimes he'd get that call, and he'd be there within two minutes, handing over the clothes and a towel, and sometimes he'd get a different call, one telling him the case had gone smoothly, the suspect apprehended, all was well, and Abe would head home.

He would never tell Henry about his little trips, and Henry wouldn't ask.

When Abe was young, after the first time he could remember his father dying and coming back the next morning, usually to his mother's brief, yet telling, cold shoulder, he remembered asking Henry what would happen, if it was possible, when he didn't come back one day. What if.

Abe thought maybe Henry remembered the question, even after all the intervening years, and maybe that was why he called after every close call to tell him it was okay, what if didn't happen this time.

While every 'close' call gave him further evidence to the contrary, Abe constantly worried that it wouldn't always work out. That one day a close call would be just a little too close, and Henry wouldn't come back, wouldn't call. Until that day, Abe continued to go out at all hours with the clothes and towel, with only slight complaining, because appearances, and because he knew it put Henry – and himself – at ease; he was never truly angry, because at least he knew what if didn't matter.

This time.

Aren't I just so creative when it comes to titles?

What can I say. I watched Forever tonight, like every Monday, and for some reason... this happened. I don't. I don't even know. I want to be sorry, but nah. I just love the whole Abe/Henry dynamic, and c'mon, this has gotta be going through Abe's head sometime, right?

Thanks for taking the time to read whatever this is.