For my metric users:

50F = 10C

6 foot 8 inches = 203cm

babycakes12: Not ironic. I did it intentionally; I'm watching you.

…always watching…

xoxoxo

"You're an unhuman? What the hell is that about?"

Whittaker tried shushing David as he chuckled. "Keep your voice down…this is an airport. You try not to draw attention to yourself at airports. Yes, though. I am an unhuman."

David followed Whittaker to the line where you dropped off your shoes, took off your belt, and got legally molested by government-approved voyeurs. "What kind?"

"I'll give you a hint. I was born a human."

As David dug through his pockets for anything metal or otherwise suspicious to the body scanners, he thought it over. "So…you had to have been turned. You aren't a werewolf, because the stripe would have been black…and I think vampires have brown stripes, because even though they're deadly, they aren't volatile and going up against them isn't an automatic death sentence…um, so I guess you're a…" David gave up and shrugged. "…sentient zombie?"

David and Whittaker both laughed at that. Whittaker held his hand out to David, palm side up. "Press the center of my hand as hard as you can." David stared at Whittaker a moment, not quite understanding the request. "Put a finger or two in my palm and just push…as hard as you can." David did as he was told. When he first started putting pressure on Whittaker's palm, Whittaker's hand dropped slightly, but Whittaker lifted it back up, pushing against David fingers. It felt odd to be doing this to Whittaker, but other than the act itself, nothing felt unusual.

Until the pressure suddenly disappeared and David's fingers and the rest of his hand passed right through Whittaker's. "Holy…"

"It used to take conscious effort for me to remain solid. Now it's as natural as breathing." Whittaker quieted and became business-like as they passed through the body scanner and got wanded and then frisked. Once they were away from the TSA agents, Whittaker continued on: "I was born a human and I died a human.

"It all started with Cecilia. I met her in Redwood National Park. I was hiking and being a dumbass; climbing trees, throwing rocks at small birds, trying to catch squirrels…stupid things amuse you when you're into marijuana."

"Did an FBI agent just admit breaking federal law to me?"

"It was thirty damn years ago…you really think they care? Anyway, I met Cici in the middle of the woods and she was all too happy to inform me of my douche-baggery. I fell in love with her then and there. She was a nymph. And she was…" Whittaker paused and sighed, placing his hand on his chest at the memory of his first meeting with Cecilia. "She was the most perfect creature I'd ever seen. She was a willow-nymph, but her clan had been forcibly relocated to Northern California…a poor environment for a willow nymph. I spent the next few weeks courting her, a few years dating her…then a few years married to her. Both our families disowned us; I didn't care because I came from a broken, abusive family anyway. She didn't care because, by marrying a human, she was no longer confined to the Redwoods."

"Wait…why would she be confined to the Redwoods?"

"Hmm…I guess it was a bit before your time. Most nymph clans refused to acknowledge the US government as a body of authority, so the US government treated them, more or less, the same way they treated Native Americans in the nineteenth century: herd them all together on small plots of land completely dissimilar to their natural habitats. They abolished that law around 1990…around the time I died. I was coming home from my job as a night guard at a local mall. Some guys came right up to me, 'You that tree-fucker?'…didn't even give me a chance to respond – though I wouldn't have denied it. They shot me in the stomach and then beat me until I bled to death.

"It took me a long time to make myself visible, again. I just walked around invisible. You can only watch your loved ones without being seen or heard for so long before your heart breaks. By 1995, I was finally able to make myself completely solid again – but only with a lot of hard work and for short bursts. I had a great deal of help, though. You'll be meeting her today; Her name is Grace. She was with the FBI for a good twenty years, but she was already retired and working at the Smithsonian when I met her. She's the one that got me in touch with the federal slayers."

By now, they were already seated and waiting for their plane to finish taxiing. "I'm sorry if it brings up harsh memories…but what about Cecilia?"

Whittaker's eyes were downcast. "She, uh…she couldn't be with an apparition…a ghost. She said that humans and nymphs were earthly creatures. Ghosts are sky-bound, or some bull like that. She found one of her own kind to be with - another 'nature spirit' - a faun. She's happy now, though, and I'm pretty contented myself. I think you'd be pretty happy yourself if you joined the FBI." David rolled his eyes at the obvious sales pitch.

xoxoxo

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dulles International Airport. Local time is 10:45am and the temperature is 50 degrees Fahrenheit. For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please remain seated…" David stretched himself out. Even though the flight had been a quick hop, he still felt slightly stiff thanks to the narrow legroom. His ears had popped repeated during ascent and descent giving him a minor headache – and jaw ache – and his butt felt flattened against the seat. "…thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice day!"

David and Whittaker sat and waited for most of the passengers in front of them to vacate the plane. They had no luggage which made disembarking a whole lot simpler: no bags to get caught on the back of a seat, or lodged between two seat, no accidentally hitting someone in the back of the head as they passed, no stopping to try to figure out whether or not your luggage would fit in the gap between a standing passenger and a seat. Once they were back in the terminal, David nudged Whittaker's arm with his hand; he was starting to feel comfortable – familiar – with the agent. "Can I borrow your cell phone?"

Whittaker dug his phone out of a hidden inside pocket in his suit coat while frowning at David. "A teenager without a cell phone? That might be more endangered than werewolves."

David quirked his lips up into a smile as he started tapping Kurt's number into the older Nokia. "I left my phone in my bookbag…it's in my son's nursery."

The phone rang a few times before Kurt's voice tentatively responded with a greeting on the other end of the line.

"Kurt? It's Dave. Yeah, I'm ok; I'm not in trouble. I'm in DC. Agent Whittaker has some friends he wants me to talk to; listen, I don't know much of anything yet, so how 'bout I fill you in tonight when I get home? Yes…I promise I'll be careful. Yes…if anything bad happens I'll get out of here. I'll see you–"

Whittaker snatched the cell phone out of David's hand and pressed it to his own ear. "Mr. Hummel, I assure you I will keep your boyfriend safe. I promise you I will not injure him or, through inaction, allow him to come to harm…Well, I kinda have to get him off the plane before the sun sets, so, yes, I'll have him home at a reasonable hour. Ok…yep…here he is." Whittaker handed the phone back to David.

"Sorry about that, Kurt. Whittaker's…well, he's weird. I'll fill you in on everything when I get home. Love you, too. Love you. Bye."

xoxoxo

"Holy…this place is awesome! I didn't realize elephants were that big."

"And yet you could easily take one down without a second thought. Come on. We want to be in the back left corner of the museum."

Whittaker started heading around the elephant, but David hesitated following after. "Can't we just…look around for a bit?" David looked around at the different signage. "Are there dinosaurs here? Can we go look at the dinosaurs?"

"David, I am not babysitting. Stop whining like a child and come on. We have a meeting we have to get to at one, meaning we have precious little time to get our meeting here done." Despite Whittaker's testimony that he wasn't babysitting, David felt like a small kid getting chastised. "If you really want to look around, we have to pass through the Ocean exhibit or the Mammal exhibit to get where we're going. Your choice."

It took David half a second to decide. "Mammals!" Whittaker nodded and headed towards the Mammal Hall on the left. He led David through the Africa exhibit, then the Australia exhibit, then through South America and North, and then into the John D. Harron Hall of Human Subspecies. As soon as they entered, they were greeted by the sight of different unhuman skeletons.

A large angelus – no less than 6 foot 8 – stood naked down to the bone with its enormous wings extended to its left and right. David had never seen one before. In fact – he was certain all of the unhumans in this room were extinct. He knew for a fact that the dragon was extinct, but its skeleton was on display in the left of the antechamber. It was about the size of the rhinoceros they had passed earlier in the Mammal hall, plus wings. It was divided evenly down the center, with fake muscles and flesh covering the left half of the dragon. "They're smaller than I thought."

Whittaker approached the display and pointed wordlessly at the plaque explaining the display. David came up to Whittaker and looked where his finger was pressed against the description. Juvenile Dragon. Circa 870 C.E. "Juvenile…whoa."

Aside from the angelus and dragon, there was a display that vaguely reminded David of Hans Solo trapped in the carbonite from Star Wars. The display was of pale yellow sedimentary rock with the defined fossilization of a skeletal mermaid lying on her side – at least David assumed it was a 'her'. Her hands were clasped under her head, her tail curled up behind her butt and back. She looked like she had lain down in the sand to go to sleep and never woken up.

The next room in the 'Hall of Human Subspecies' seemed to focus on the interrelations between unhumans and normal humans. There were artifacts from various human cultures depicting unhumans, and artifacts from the cultures of different types of unhumans. A partially broken stained glass window showed humans binding angelas and then burning them. A plaque showed the official title of the piece to be "The Purge of the False Prophets." Not far from that display was a rough-hewn coffin. Peering in, David could see the remains of what had to have once been a vampire. The neck bone had been severed cleanly and the rib cage was shattered on the left side: over where the heart would have been. A wooden spike was displayed innocently inside the ribcage where it had fallen after years of decay had eaten away at the vampire's tissues. David felt his stomach churn in agitation.

They continued on through that room of the hall and came across another room with various dioramas showing unhumans in their natural, ancestral habitats. Small plastic fairies played in a box bush. Their wings looked like delicate little butterfly wings. A small wax person hid behind a fake tree staring out at the fairies. He wore an undyed, rough woolen shirt that reminded David of a gunnysack in its texture and woolen trousers dyed dark brown. He had wild, shaggy red hair. David assumed he was supposed to be a leprechaun, but he didn't look like any leprechaun David had ever seen.

The box bush was part of a fake, cultivated hedgerow that surrounded a thatch hut that was partially painted onto the wall, partially constructed as part of the set. In the doorway of the hut (which had a blanket as the door, pulled back so that you could see inside) there was a hag hanging herbs to dry from the roof of her modest domicile. Farther down in that same Eurocentric display, the forest of fake trees became thicker. If you looked upwards into one of the trees, you could see a lovely naked woman, slight of build with long luscious brown hair and pale features. Her lower privates were censored by the placement of a well-bent branch. "A nymph?"

"Yes. She looks a bit like Cecelia – most nymphs have the exact same complexion, the same hair, the same eyes, the same sparse smattering of freckles along their noses. This one is missing the light all nymphs have, though." His hands clasped behind his back, Whittaker walked to the end of the display.

David had almost missed it, but he saw a werewolf hunkered down between two large bushes (small trees, really). You could only really see it if you stood directly in front of it, its dark fur was so well camouflaged in the darkness of the artificial forest. He was hunkered down on all fours, his weight on his back paws. His head tilted up with his ears craned forward and his eyes large. He looked like he was trying to sniff at whatever visitor to the museum stood before him at the moment. "That's our Rupert. He donated his body to science after his suicide in 1999." David turned around and saw that a well-dressed elderly woman had come to stand behind him. Whittaker was at her side. "He's a huge improvement over Ernst – our last werewolf."

"He's…he was alive?"

The woman nodded. "A few of our displays are taxidermies. These days we try to make certain that the specimen on display actually wanted to be on display, though. Ernst, our last werewolf, had been a lynching victim from 1916. German and a werewolf: not a good mix during the First World War. His remains were returned to his great grandchildren once we got Rupert." She reached out her hand and stroked Rupert's muzzle, despite the numerous signs asking people not to touch the displays. "The taxidermist also did a far better job than the one who handled Ernst. Ernst had been preserved in an upright position to show off his sheer size. It's a rather unnatural, uncomfortable position for werewolves. They prefer being on all fours, or atthe very least hunched over. Their back feet aren't designed to keep them stiffly upright for very long."

"You know a lot about werewolves…you're Grace, Whittaker's friend, aren't you?"

She held her hand out to David. "That I am. And I should know my werewolves. I've been in charge of this particular hall in the museum for about eight years now and have worked in this hall for nigh on two decades."

"And you were a slayer, before that."

"Yes, I was. Whittaker has told you quite a bit about me, hasn't he?" David nodded. "Did he tell you why he brought you to me?" David glanced over at Whittaker. It was possible Whittaker had told him during the plane ride, but David had been so fascinated watching a miniaturized world pass by he had zoned him out. He decided to shake his head in the negative. "Well, David, Whittaker is hoping you'll join the slayers and if you do, I can help mentor you in your transformations."

"Have you helped other werewolves gain control of the change?"

"I have helped many unhumans control themselves. Milton here is living proof of that…metaphorically speaking of course."

Whittaker smiled good-naturedly while shaking his head. "Grace, you're an ass."

xoxoxo

Dear Darwin – sorry I bulldozed your hall in the Smithsonian so I could fit in the Hall of Human Subspecies.

And for anyone interested, if you Google it, the Smithsonian has a virtual tour of the Museum of Natural History. Minus human subspecies, of course.