A/N: the events of The Totally Unreal Diary of the Fairy Mortician through the eyes of other people. AU, loosely based on the episodes (I don't want to write about prions, for example, because actually this situation would have been unbelievably dangerous and I don't like the cavalier treatment it got on the show, so I'll just pass them by.)

*******FOREVER*******

'This is our break room. And this is our Dr. Washington,' said Mrs. Spinner with a slightly awkward smile.

Dr. Henry Morgan's skill of noticing and retaining small details of his environment was well-honed to the point of being exceptional. It was the honest truth, and while his attention span was slightly longer than average maybe due to favourable genetics, the work he invested into near-constant observation was all his to claim.

By Spinner's hastily straightened back, hands held nearer to her sides, and a tiny increase in the angle at which she leaned away from the other man he thought that she didn't like Washington much, at least at the moment.

As far as he was concerned, one could hide truth from others, but being deliberately unaware of it was asking for trouble. And trouble, Henry knew, might be slow in coming...but it always delivered. Henry Morgan, freshly minted Medical Examiner and immortal creature with two hundred thirty five years of experience, shook hands with his superior.

'Pleased to meet you.'

'Hello, hello,' Washington mumbled, just this side of polite. He blinked at Henry's suit, and his mouth twisted in a series of masticating movements, but he refrained from commenting on the matter. 'Ann, you may go, I will show Dr. Morgan around. Bring me what you have on Jane Doe from the playground.'

Spinner nodded, smiled to Henry – this one reached her eyes – and left, shoulders slumping a little.

'I've seen your credentials,' Washington told him. He waved at the coffee machine, but Henry declined, and they went out into the morgue proper. 'Why do you think you're qualified to work with dead people?'

And it should have been insulting, but Henry understood him only too well. He'd met doctors who were brilliant care-takers, but rubbish at post-mortems. Lately, diversification let most people occupy a niche to their liking, and a medical examiner was far enough from the typical image of a healer that many considered the profession entirely divorced from 'medicine'. Washington, who probably had never had to treat anybody alive, likely had opposite reservations.

'I always felt an inclination to study anatomy,' he answered carefully. 'Not the most exciting field, if one counts recent discoveries, but...'

'Oh I know what you mean,' the other put in with vehemence. 'Applied discipline! Dead science! Pfft. Science is only as dead as you judge it to be.'

Henry bit his lip and looked down. The truly ironic thing was that this was true, if unfortunately worded.

'And this job makes a difference,' Washington intoned, the spark of feeling going out of his voice. 'The people upstairs cannot build their cases without good old data. Much as they try to. Conjecture artists, I call them.'

Probably to their faces, Henry thought, to give credit where credit was due. The man didn't lack in sheer presence.

'It's not always their fault,' Washington admitted grudgingly. 'Our toxicology lab leaves much to be desired. You will see. Understaffed and doing nothing about it! You don't have any training in that area, by any chance?'

'Ahh...' Henry swallowed down his panic. 'Only sample preparation and the like...'

It was one thing to learn the effects of many toxins by first-hand experience. It was a completely different thing to operate gas chromatographers coupled with mass spectrometers. Reading journals could only help so much.

Luckily for him, Washington couldn't reasonably expect anything different. Unluckily, he was going to have these same problems with the lab as everybody else, and Henry hated not knowing when the only constraint preventing him from finding the answer was time. But 'time' here was never a constraint, by itself; it meant somebody's forced separation from family or hobby, and he could not, in good faith, demand from mortals that they abandon their values to run another test or question the results of a previous one.

'You've met Ann,' Washington went on. 'Here's Nina Blake, our main histologist, when we have the leisure of specialization, which is seldom, so don't count on it. Gregory Hops – more-or-less technician, in that he knows whom to call when your microscope light stops shining. At least you don't fix it yourself, do you, Gregory?.. Bill Walker – medical examiner, but he's on holiday until tomorrow,' this with a growling undercurrent, 'and Lucas Wahl. Ahem. Wahl! Come here.'

Henry, who had been exchanging half bows and friendly waves with his new colleagues (and ignoring their amazement at his clothes), turned to greet a tall young man in scrubs, who was grinning at him unabashedly.

'Pleased to meet you,' said Wahl, and he did look pleased – and so curious he was twitching.

'Show him the paperwork,' Washington ordered, and without further ado shuffled off to his office.

'So!' Wahl said brightly. 'First day here, eh?'

'Indeed,' replied Henry warily. They entered the small room designated as his office. The décor was utterly bland and impersonal, but he would see about that with time. 'If I may, the vacancy seems somewhat unexpected?'

What he meant was 'why are you showing me the paperwork and not the person who was doing it before? You don't look like that person,' but caught himself at the last moment.

Abe had made a big fuss about it just that morning.

Wahl's earnest expression drooped into shiftiness, and he gently shut the door behind him. 'That's because it was unexpected,' he confessed in a loud whisper, hugging himself. 'Dr. Fromm very unexpectedly found antibodies to the Black Death.'

'The Black Death!' Goodness! He'd won big, if they had any cause to check for such outrageous illnesses.

'Umm, worst part is... he found 'em in a DNA sample.'

So much for winning big.

'Ran in shouting about his find, and poof, ten minutes later he's not the Assistant Chief anymore.' Wahl sounded sorry for the man. 'Also they say he's much better already. I mean, gotta be good at finger-painting if you suck at finger-printing, yeah?'

Henry could only nod.

'So, here are the forms,' Wahl prattled on, uncurling his long arms from around his trunk and coming to the table. The ugly plastic table. Henry swore to himself he'd bring his own desk. 'You will need to check in with Lorraine upstairs...and they insist on block letters, man, you should have read Fromm's chicken scrawl, betcha they had to send his reports to China just to stuff them into correct drawers, I sure hope your handwriting is better, 'cause Washington's gonna send me upstairs again for oral presentations, and I'm not a pigeon, actually, wow, that's complicated, but lookie here – no, it's complicated, too – '

Henry Morgan sat down, pulled the haphazardly piled print-outs to himself, and tried to concentrate.