Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

AN: Because I will very likely run out of room in the summary, I'll just explain here. As stated above, this is a sequel, and picks up right after Jo left. However, this runs in tandem with the current episodes - basically my assisted view on what the episodes could be like if It Could Be Worse was canon. If that made sense... Anyway, mostly, they will be scenes from each episode, some missing, some rewritten, and the scenes in between won't be touched. Hoping that makes sense, and answers any possible questions. Merci!

After leaving the antique shop, she had stopped by her apartment to take a quick shower, change clothes, grab something to eat, and generally freshen up. Jo signaled to switch lanes, driving on autopilot to the newest scene. Drinking the cup of scalding coffee she had gotten, and hoping the caffeine was enough to hide the effect of the unplanned all-nighter, she checked her makeup in the rear-view mirror again.

She had learned so much overnight – literally. The weird and creepy doctor turned out to be immortal and unable to remain dead; the man most assumed to be his father, or at least father-figure, was actually his son; he had lived (or died, as the case may be...) through many major events through history; and his mental state after killing someone in self-defense was the least of his worries. She shook her head a little – while Henry might not be creepy anymore, he was still weird.

And how did he bring himself to trust her? Even now, she half-expected him to leave – to disappear and simply outlive her. Abe wouldn't want to, and with good reason; but she knew how stubborn Henry could be at times, regardless of who was in the right. Of course, if Henry left, Abe would probably go with him out of loyalty, if nothing else – and she dreaded going back to the shop and finding it abandoned.

The Detective took a deep breath, tightening her grip on the steering wheel and shaking herself out of that line of thoughts. She had to believe that he would stay; that he would continue to trust her. If he wouldn't trust her, then perhaps he would at least trust Abe's trust in her. Pulling her car into a parking-space near the possible crime scene, she shoved the problem of Henry and his secret into the back of her mind, refocusing on the body and problem at hand.

The scene was straightforward, but she couldn't ignore the feeling that this wasn't an accident or an open-shut case. Maybe it was just Henry's habit of constantly announcing that all of the 'accidents' that came across their desks were actually murders; but she had since come to appreciate his sixth sense of death, as it were. She wasn't alone in that feeling either, as Lucas apparently had the same feeling – that, or he was just being contrary. Knowing the length he went to at times to appease people and be friendly, she doubted that he would be that way though.

Working with Dr. Washington, she missed the banter and trivial information Henry always had for her throughout the initial examination, and she wondered how she had ever gotten anything done before he came to work – or at least how she had any fun doing her job. Talking with Lucas after the current M.E. left the scene, she also wondered just how he managed to keep track of the time since Henry had left; but kept from asking, knowing that the answer she would receive would likely make little sense in parts.

Calling goodbye to Lucas as she left the scene, she checked the address of the victim's – Jason Fox's – emergency contact, whom she assumed was either his brother or father, as the last name was the same. During her drive to the address listed, she wondered how someone who looked as well to do as Jason did could have come from such a different neighbourhood.

Turning off the car when she parked, she sat there. She hated doing this – telling someone that a loved one was gone. Maybe it was relation by blood or by marriage, but the person was nearly always expecting the victim to come home – to walk through the front door with a familiar greeting and prove that they were well and alive. This part of her job had never been easy, but it had seemed to be worse after her own husband had passed – when she herself had watched the door waiting for someone who would never open it again; and clutched her phone, listening for a ghost to call, then she could empathize with the people she spoke with. Personally, she preferred not knowing what they were going through...

"I'm the one who will have to live with it if you're injured or – worse – dead! Do you care? You have not had a hole ripped into your life, a hole that can never be filled; you don't have memories surrounding you every single day of your life, reminding you that they will never return – that nothing will be the same, no matter how hard you try."

Her words ran through her head again; and she winced, regretting the harshness of them. That was why her mother always told her to hold her tongue – to think before she spoke. Words spoken in anger – or exasperation – weren't thought through, and could often hurt the most. A faint huff of laughter escaped her as she realised that, had she not spoken so harshly, Henry would likely have never told her – instead would have waited until the inevitable moment where she saw him die.

She shook her head, reaching into her pocket to turn her phone off before going up to talk to the person. For all of Henry's genius, some things seemed to pass him by; and she wondered how he thought he could put off telling her permanently – eventually either she would have noticed he wasn't aging, or she would have seen him die. And she was willing to bet that it would have been the latter, given his sense of self-preservation.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she got out of the car and knocked on the door. When the older man opened the door, she mentally faltered as she realised that Jason must have been this man's son.

"Hello? Marco Fox?" She hesitated, "I'm afraid I have very bad news..."

AN: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, and my apologies for the extremely long explanation above. Gramercy, and God bless you. Namárië!