Chapter Text
Henry Morgan may have been over 200 years old, but he remembered every person worth remembering. And as he helped the detectives he so admired on this particular case, he couldn't help but think of someone who was once very dear to him. Someone he would have given anything to see again.
"Okay, so let me get this straight," Hanson's forehead became more and more consumed by the frown that had lain on his face ever since this case had started, now becoming more defined as he paced back and forth, looking at a seemingly innocent brochure, "You're telling me he willingly sent his own kid to that place?"
This case hadn't been easy on Jo either, who was struggling to find the right words to describe the man that now sat in Interrogation Room 2. A sigh and several euphemisms would have to do, she decided, though her thoughts now drifted; not focusing on the cold blooded father but on the smiling, sweet, dead and buried 15 year old boy she saw on his sophomore school ID, now rendered useless forever.
"How can people be so cruel." the words came out, charged with more sorrow than she had anticipated. The kid looked so young, so full of life, of love. He had so much ahead of him, and all of it was taken away from him when his not so full of love father had sent him to Willow Tree Camp for "troubled boys". That name, written on the top of the brochure Hanson had thrown away now, exasperated with the whole situation; was code for Willow Tree Conversion "Therapy"/Torture Camp for gay teens.
"Cruel is an understatement. I mean, he knew what that place was gonna do. He f*cking knew what they were gonna do to him- and he sent him anyway!" Even if his voice was raised, no one thought to try to calm him down. He had kids of his own, and they could all see the utter disbelief he was feeling after the revelation that Danny Baker's father had sent his son there voluntarily, essentially sending him to his death.
As his and Jo's faith in humanity had slowly been drained from their souls throughout the case, through the ungodly "therapy " session tapes, children's testimonies, conservative parents' complaints and several of Henry's "AHA!" moments which had thankfully lead to the end of said conversion camp; she had watched her unofficial partner's dissociative trips down memory lane closely. He did that a lot, just stare out into space and be somewhere (more like somewhen) else most cases, yet she could tell this one had something about it that bothered him profoundly.
At first, she had been worried he was slightly homophobic. Maybe without the slightly as the case progressed. Now that she knew how old he really was, the idea that his old-fashioned manners and tendencies could extend to outdated beliefs wasn't too far of a reach. Still, she knew Henry, now more than ever, thanks to a particular decades old photograph; and he wasn't the type to judge others for that kind of thing. He was kind, accepting and, of course, Henry "the least judgemental person you'll ever meet" Morgan. He wasn't like that. He couldn't be. Not at all. So that thought had come and went never to return.
She had tried asking him about it, why he had been uncommonly dry when talking to the kid's parents, why he had run after the staff counsellor at the camp with her, why he had taken the opportunity to grab him by the collar and stare through his soul, even if he knew she was right behind him and would catch the unarmed and slightly sadistic counsellor either way. However, Henry had made it clear it was something he wasn't ready to talk about, and she knew better than trying to make him spill. She had worked hard to gain his trust and she wasn’t about to chase him away.
So she waited, and watched, and gave him reassuring looks, hoping he would let her in. Its not that he was still keeping secrets or anything from her now. I mean, it had taken some time for him to completely tell her everything, from the Empress of Africa to Grand Central to Abigail and Abe and even Adam, but once he had gotten talking, opening up, Jo had found he sometimes couldn't shut up. It was a wonder how he kept it all in before- the man was a complete babbler. She didn't mind the lectures, of course; in fact, she loved hearing about it all. How each case would stir up old memories from ancient times, and he would tell her about the roaring 20s, funky fashion trends or forgotten wars. What's more, she could tell Henry liked confiding in her too. And that meant the world to her.
So, what was different about this case? Why the sudden sullen silence, the monosyllable answers? Was he shutting her out again? Had something happened? Maybe this case reminded him of something that happened more recently, and he simply hadn't gotten over it. She doubted that, he would have told her. She was certain of it. There had to be more to it than his emotional walls simply going back up without warning. Thinking of him, and the young boy who had never and now never would have the chance to love without being judged, she made her way downstairs, hoping her partner was alright.
Henry sat in his office chair, looking at a copy of the same photograph Jo was minutes ago. Such a bright future, he thought, a pointless tragedy. Such a loss. He just sat there, feeling for the boy. Hated for loving. Killed for it too. Henry liked to think things like this had gotten better and, in so many ways, they had, at least in this part of the world. Nevertheless, some things never change, no matter how hard some people try. Because there are others pushing back just as hard, with false claims of what steps to take for salvation, verses on why loving can be considered a sin, affirmations that what they were doing was “unnatural”. Last time he checked, killing someone is much worse than love. How ironic that the all-welcoming "love thy neighbour" community only loved you if you met certain criteria.
Henry had encountered many similar situations in the past, senseless casualties product of senseless principles. No matter how old he was, how many years passed, all of those he had come across would stick with him; but this one, this specific boy, he would never forget. He looked at his glistening blue eyes, his golden curls and crooked smile and, only for a second, he thought he saw a modern-day picture of his brother staring back at him.
April 1791, England
“Where do you think you are going?” Oh well, out the window with the “going unseen” plan.
No matter, Nick knew just what to say.
“For a walk, miss” Nicholas said casually, hoping she would let them go without too much of a fuss.
“I do not believe your father has authorised you gentlemen going out right now. If I remember correctly, you, Mr. Morgan, are supposed to meet with him in under half an hour to go over your study plans, are you not?”
Father had been forcing Nicholas to spend an hour every night with him in his office to teach him how their family company worked. He was set to go to Oxford in autumn to complete his classical education. Nick didn’t mind the idea of university, though he hated anything business or economy related profoundly. However, at 17 years old, he knew his future as the eldest son was already written in stone. The Morgan Shipping Company one day would be his. At least, he thought, Henry would be able to be… well, Henry.
Knowing that his brother would be able to live as himself and not fall prey to their father’s tedious enterprise brought him comfort. Nicholas had high hopes for him, and ever since he had thrown that fit years ago when father had taken him hunting for the very first time, begging to save the wounded bunny’s life, he had known exactly what Henry would grow up to be. He had always been the smart one.
It was too bad he wasn’t a doctor yet, because unfortunately the bunny had succumbed to his bullet wound.
“You are not mistaken, no. Even so, Miss, it is a beautiful day. And it has been raining for weeks now, and I would very much like to take my brother on a walk” when Miss Smite opened her mouth to shut their expedition down, as the designated killjoy in the Morgan estate (oh, and the housekeeper as a secondary occupation), Nick waved his hand up to silence her- not discourteously, but in fact rather amiably, “A moment’s walk, of course, brief enough to allow me to be on time and ready to join my father upstairs.” He beamed at her, innocently tilting his head, making sure his puppy dog eyes made the wished upon effect and she would stop asking questions. “The sunset is set to be upon us presently” he added softly.
He always had a way with words, Henry thought as they exited their home by the kitchen door.
He followed his wild haired brother across the fields, who was ushering him to go faster. Henry didn’t know where he was taking him, but he followed him anyway.
Through the white flowers blooming in the sunset’s familiar gleam, a warm coloured blanket thrown across the sky, the Morgan brothers made their way to an old oak tree, a favourite of Nick’s.
Henry struggled to climb it and would never have been able to without his brother’s help. He had cursed him in his head when he fell down the first time, and apologised mentally back when Nick held out his hand for him to take.
Sitting on one of its top branches, Henry got lost in the gorgeous landscape before him.
“It helps quieten the constant humming, does it not?”
Henry hadn’t even heard him at first. Then, he thought it was a rhetorical question. His brothers soft laugh beside him, a laugh directed at him, made him snap out of it soon enough.
“I suppose it does, then” Nick managed to say in between faint chuckles.
“What do you mean” he couldn’t help but smile back.
“Your mind,” he said as he teasingly shook the young boy’s head, “you told me it never allows you to breeeathhe.”
“Oh. Right. Yes, then. I, I suppose it does help, yes.” His eyes wandered to the view again, and Nick followed suit. Silence had never been a gift either of them were given, but they did not speak for several minutes, the quietness comfortable and reassuring.
Nick broke the silence first.
“When I leave for university in September, this tree will stay behind. It can be here for you if you may need it, you know. Think of it as my less charming temporary surrogate. If you need me, I will be here. In between these leaves”
Henry looked at the ground for the first time since he had climbed up, the well-acquainted restlessness in his head stirring up again. He had been thinking a lot about what his best friend leaving would be like. And he did not like it one bit.
No one took him seriously at home, he was so young then, even though his pre-teen mind held more information than most people did. He also was deemed too strange in general. His eccentricities had always been a part of him, and highlighted through time and even stranger experiences.
Only Nick saw him for who he truly was. Only he knew his heart.
“I wish I could come with you”
“Well, Oxford is not a place for children, I’m told. However, I do believe you would make short work of even the most upstanding students”
Henry smiled while his brother ruffled his hair in a swift motion, lowering himself a bit before letting go and falling on the ground fairly gracefully.
“Come on. It’s getting late”
Henry got ready to do the same, but before he could, Nick advised him to take a safer route through the branches, so he did.
The walk back was peaceful at first, nothing but their footsteps braking the stillness. Still, after a short while, those same heavy footsteps became lighter and quicker, their laughs becoming more amplified the less rays of sunshine that remained. If they did not hurry, Miss Smite would have both their heads.
Henry had already left the building when Jo’s elevator arrived at the -1 floor where the gooey side of their investigations took place. Before meeting henry, she had despised going down there. The smell alone was a little off-putting, but the worst part of it all was, ironically, the living. The MEs were always one of two things: they either were boring and detached, almost colder than the bodies they were examining, or they were stereotypical narcissistic slightly morbid doctors. Thankfully, Henry was neither, though he could be cocky when his theories were confirmed (which was pretty much all the time) and those who didn’t really know him could argue he could be distant.
Jo begged to differ. He was too sweet to be labelled as such. as Dr. Wilcomb informed her that she had just missed Henry, she let out a sigh, thinking that he had probably left in a hurry to avoid her inquisitions about his current mood. Obviously, this was very, very true.
Because, as he had finished Daniel Baker’s final report, echoes of his brother’s fate had filled his skull like a siren, plaguing him with images he had tried hard to bury. At the same time, he had held on to those painful memories for no other reason than that he didn’t wish to forget the last time he had seen his brother- alive and, much to Henry’s heartache, dead.