It was odd that both Assistant M.E. Lucas Wahl and his immediate boss, Dr. Henry Morgan, would feel mellow and accomplished at the same time.

It was likewise odd that Henry'd recognize a song he was humming.

No, Lucas corrected himself; 'odd' was the Doc's 'common'. This...camaraderie was a historical occurrence.

'All they are is dust in the wind,' Henry Morgan sang under his breath with an unusually serene smile. A moment later his good mood was explained. 'Nothing lasts forever, Lucas. Even Soul Slasher.'

'It's an end of an era,' said Lucas with due gravity. He'd come to terms with the fact that the Doc wasn't cut out to enjoy horror erotica. Guy just lacked that certain something in his brain.

Besides, Lucas could afford magnanimity. He was the one to deliver their findings ('On recognizing crimes based on descriptions in a comic graphic novel series, etc.') to the Lieutenant, who leafed thorough it and seemed to gain a new regard for his reading tastes.

Maybe not all that positive regard, but meh. A job was a job.

'Why must it be an end?' asked Henry, and his eyes twinkled.

Lucas gaped at him. 'What do you mean? Soul Slasher is unique! I don't know any other franchise that has this level of detail!'

'Thank heaven for small mercies.' Henry leaned down and picked something from under is desk.

'Then why – ?'

'Here,' said the Doc, handing him a dozen issues of a forbiddingly academic journal with the word Grana on the front page. 'Science awaits!'

'Um...' Lucas flipped through an one, saw pictures of pollen grains in gray scale and didn't sigh. This was pure botany. 'These yours?'

'I, too, have a library,' Henry said smugly, folding his arms.

'But, eh, what do you want me to do?'

'I realise it was before your time,' Henry frowned, as if he only then saw an obstacle he should have expected. 'But have you ever heard of a gentleman by the name of Mr. Sherlock Holmes?'

What happened next was just so Henry Morgan that he couldn't have imagined anybody other to make that offer...or, if he was honest with himself, to accept it.

'So we know this woman was a professional baker by the fungi spores and flour in her lower respiratory tract.'

'We don't know, Lucas! We strongly suspect.'

'But, Doc, we already knew she worked in a bakery. Her family told us so.'

Henry closed his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose.

'Ookay, yep, we strongly suspect.'

Being Henry's student is tough, thought Lucas, burrowing under the covers of his comfy bed. Where's my personal life? Why am I reviewing pharmacology? I don't even get pharmacology, not really. And those... things... under the nails. Ugh. Gotta tell him I'm just an assistant. Yep. Totally gonna do it tomorrow.

'Right, I predict that you picked this branch somewhere within the city, or along an interstate, going by the lack of any lichens. And you did it sometime before – 7 am?'

'Hmm,' said Henry, staring critically at the thick bough ('murder weapon') he had to have trouble explaining to the desk sergeant. 'What makes you think so?'

'You were in early?'

'You shouldn't guess! Don't go out on a limb here.'

Being Henry's student is kinda great, thought Lucas, falling asleep eye-to-eye with a Graves' disease sufferer in his book.

He probably could tell why it was great, too, but he was officially out of gas.

'Is that Mickey Mouse?'

'Just a model. And before you ask, I didn't sculpt it. I asked a friend.'

'Cool.'

Henry smirked. 'I rather thought that you would be more careful sampling a work of art than a soulless lump of wax.'

'No... I'm just surprised you know who Mickey Mouse is...'

'Pollen analysis, Lucas.'

'Coming right up!'

And then, the inevitable happened.

'May I enquire as to what you are doing?'

Drat, Lucas thought. Dr. Washington was going to incinerate him on the spot. Reluctantly, he looked up from his microscope.

'I'm counting mites, sir.' Dust mites from a mattress that had been kept in storage for a year. He couldn't pronounce some of the names of their body parts.

'Is it for an investigation?'

'Er – '

'I would advise you to keep your extracurricular studies to the hours for which you don't get paid, Mr. Wahl. You are, after all, an employee of the State. As of right now.'

'Yes, sir.'

He carefully picked the slide from the stage and put it aside. And he kept his head down. It didn't matter, did it? It hadn't, for Sherlock Holmes.

But the man hadn't been an employee of the State.

He heard the door swoosh and rapid footsteps approach, and lowered his head even more.

'Lucas! Ah, hello, Dr. Washington. Lucas! Do you have a minute? I would like to go over the Alpine Anaphylaxis Affair again.'

Lucas's guts rumbled apologetically. It was a talent of his: he had a very expressive stomach. There was a minute change in the way light fell on his desk, because Henry had moved closer. Lucas wished the floor would just open up and swallow him, microscope and all.

'Ah, I see you are occupied.'

'Not at all,' Dr. Washington declared amiably. 'Mr. Wahl wasn't doing anything terribly urgent.'

Lucas gritted his teeth.

'Indeed. Mites can wait,' Henry said pleasantly. 'People going into anaphylactic shock, on the other hand, die astonishingly fast!'

'And it is then that they become subjects of our research.'

Something about Washington's tone made Lucas understand, with a lurch, that this talk was long in coming.

Somehow, he also could tell without looking that Henry Morgan's eyes went just a bit wider.

'Luckily, there were no fatalities.'

'Dr. Morgan – ' began Dr. Washington with finality, but Dr. Morgan put a hand on his assistant's shoulder and said, with impeccable aplomb, 'If you would excuse us, sir, FSI sent me a request to review an article, and I would like to show Mr. Wahl the basics of the process. He has a sound comprehension of applied palynology, and so his input would be much appreciated.'

Forensic Science International? thought Lucas, dazed. He's gotta be fibbing.

Hurriedly wiping his face on his sleeve, he looked up into the charged air, and saw a wintry smile on Henry's face, and guarded appraisal on Dr. Washington's.

Yeah, he thought. Sometimes. Worth it. Every page.

A/N: every time I read a Forever story written by an actual native speaker (or someone as good), I am amazed anew at the free syntax I'd never feel comfortable with, and many colloquialisms... I do wish I could write so, but I can't.