A/N: Another story I posted to Tumblr. Just trying to keep everything in one place.
Ballarat Hospital morgue. One week before Christmas.
Alice: Caucasian male, 20 - 25 years old, severe skull compression and laceration directly below the parietal lobe.
Blake: Yes, and there appear to be glass fragments in the wound. Hand me a pair of forceps please, Alice.
Alice, smacking forceps into palm with more force than necessary: They were right there next to you. Do you need a tray?
Blake: Yes, please.
Alice: Looks like he was in a fight - there's some cartilage damage to his left ear as well. Have you picked out a Christmas gift for Jean?
Blake, missing the tray and dropping glass shards into the corpse's mouth: What? Right. Well, I've, um…Yes…that is, well, no.
Alice, giving him the look: Leaving it to the last minute? You missed a piece over the right canine.
Blake: And I'm not sure it's anyone's business what I give to my housekeeper for Christmas.
Alice, and another look: "Housekeeper"?
Blake: Can we get on with it? (waves forceps over the corpse) Preferably without any more superfluous personal questions?
Alice: Fine. Just make sure it's not an appliance or an apron or something equally mundane.
Blake says nothing, but his ears go red.
Alice: Oh, good God, you didn't.
Blake: She said she needed a new iron.
Alice: You are the stupidest smart person I've ever met.
Blake: What's wrong with getting her what she wants?
Alice: No woman wants a new iron for a gift.
Blake: It's practical…
Alice: Yes, you're right. A perfectly appropriate gift for your housekeeper.Shall we open him up?
Blake, giving up any pretense of autopsy-ing: Fine, what do you suggest?
Alice: Why ask me? I'm just your morgue mate.
Blake growls.
Alice: Jean likes the theatre, doesn't she?
Blake: There's nothing here in Ballarat…
Alice, trying and failing not to roll her eyes: There are some wonderful productions in Melbourne or Sydney. I understand The Music Man is playing at the Tivoli now.
Blake: How would she get there?
Alice: Oh, do keep up.
Blake, speaking aloud to himself: I suppose I could give her a holiday for, well, the holidays. A weekend in Sydney, theatre tickets…
Alice: I'm away the third week in January, so I can't cover for you.
Blake, looking confused: Why would I need you to cov…oh. Yes. Right. Good.
Alice, muttering: Bravo, you got there at last.
Blake: Alice, would you mind…
Alice:…finishing for you? No, go ahead.
Blake, grinning: Thank you. (heads for the door) Oh, and Alice?…Merry Christmas!
Alice, smirking: Get out of my morgue.
Blake leaves, whistling "Twelve Days of Christmas".
Alice yells after him: And I like white wine and Belgian chocolate!