Thank you for your reviews! *squeee*. This is a companion piece to the first chapter. I would so love to read a real crossover between Forever and Melmoth, maybe in modern setting... but for now...

He came in later than usual, delayed by a bit of bike maintenance. (Henry Morgan wasn't dragging his feet, not at his venerable 235 years old. He simply cared enough about his safety to spend a few minutes checking tires every once in a while.)

Those few minutes translated into his running into Lucas near the elevator. Although, going by unamused police officers heading off to the stairs and the growing stack of cardboard boxes in the cabin, it might have been unavoidable either way.

Lt. Reece preferred her revenge hot. And legal. But mostly, hot.

'BOSS!'

Lucas was beaming. 'Out of breath' was as rare for him as 'healthy-coloured', and, in Henry's considered opinion, a much more attractive state. (Not that he ever ogled his young assistant. You live long enough, you learn to recognize small mercies.)

'Morning,' said Henry, slipping Melmoth into his pocket.

Loath as he was to (and he really, really was), it was time to lend a hand. Everybody in the precinct seemed to know about his predicament, and he wished to cut the spectacle short.

And boy, comic books were heavy for their lack of content.

Graphic novels, he reminded himself. Today, they are graphic novels.

'No, 's alright, I'll manage -' babbled Lucas, waving a hand towards his hoard.

'Go ahead and change,' he offered. 'Otherwise, you might catch a chill, you've sweated through your shirt.'

'Thanks, I'm going, I'll help you unload!'

And Lucas scarpered off, leaving him to finish, which was when Detective Martinez entered the lobby. Just his luck.

'Renovations?' asked Jo with a smirk. She had bought herself a burger, the poor woman. Nevermind, he had scones for both of them.

'Spoils of war.'

'Going to the victor?' she stressed, biting her lip.

'But of course!'

He almost said we won this fight against crime, but caught himself at the last moment. Jo had a look about her. Jo had a man's death on her conscience.

'Well,' Jo smiled blandly. They stood awkwardly amidst the luggage. Henry pressed the button. 'If I knew you're a fan, I would have got you one before.'

'As you see, I suffer no shortage of this – resource. Let's have lunch together.'

'I'd like to.'

They exchanged a word or two about The Frenchman, whom Abe was taking out to dinner. The woman had regained her composure by the time reinforcements arrived, and sold a pair of hunting knives to the Sergeant who took her testimonial. Then the elevator stopped, and Henry resigned himself to a day of alternative culture.

…...

Lucas Wahl, assistant medical examiner, was on Cloud Nine. According to himself.

They retreated to Henry's office, because Cloud Nine was not high enough and people kept stealing glances at their barricade of nonsense.

Lucas was entering their findings in excel, which (Henry told himself) surely meant 'very good at typing', because his mouth wasn't closing for longer than half a consonant.

Soul Slasher was a long story.

Henry wanted to buckle up and process the whole batch one issue after the other, in chronological order. Lucas had favourites. Henry was all for doing his job in a timely manner. Lucas supposed every novel had its redeeming points.

Indeed, as soon as he opened one, he saw plenty of them.

Lunch was an oasis of calm. Conversation was lagging, by his standards, but Jo didn't mind, and Hanson brought homemade apple pie. The detectives were more understanding of his plight then he had uncharitably expected.

'Man, you should have read that forum,' grumbled Hanson, scowling at his chipped mug.

'Give it a rest, Mike,' muttered Jo. This looked like a rehearsed argument. 'Just 'cause some psycho took up murder after browsing the 'net, doesn't mean you should unplug everything at home.'

Ah. So this had to do with Hanson's boys. He should have known.

'Maybe it does! Take Doc, he lives without the – how d'you call it –'

'Trappings of society?'

Jo snickered into her coffee, mouthing 'handcuffs' behind her hand.

'Yeah.'

'Contrary to popular opinion,' said Henry with dignity, 'I do not reside in a cave. We have a television set, a telephone –'

Just then, Hanson's own phone went off, and he excused himself to talk to his wife.

'How're you bearing it?' Jo asked softly.

'Barely.'

'Consider it a bonding exercise.'

'I thought I was to bear it.'

'Hen-ry.'

He liked how she said his name. It was a highlight of his lunch, and therefore of all his working hours that day.

Maybe of the whole week, or more, if they had to visit the library again or if Lucas's collections were incomplete.

But Henry felt safe on that count.

…...

Evening fell, and he had to smother the urge to grab his coat and escape the morgue ahead of his co-workers. Dr. Henry Morgan had a reputation to maintain.

Lucas had talked himself hoarse, but his enthusiasm never dimmed.

'If only there was some point to it,' Henry mused aloud. 'Something beyond gratuitous...I am not sure what to call it.'

'It's a genre, you know, 's got its laws,' Lucas croaked. 'Doesn't have to be deep.'

Henry looked away.

'There is no care, no thought beyond this! Let our children call on me for instruction, for promotion, for distinction, and call in vain–I hold myself innocent. They may find those for themselves, or want them if they list–but let them never in vain call on me for bread, as they have done,–as they do now! I hear the moans of their hungry sleep!–World–world, be wise, and let your children curse you to your face for any thing but want of bread!'

There was no answer. He turned to the other man.

Lucas's mouth was hanging open. The computer was humming evenly. Everybody else had already left.

And because the day had been long, and he was weary, he dashed a hand across his eyes before taking out the laughably modern book and presenting it to the other man.