Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

AN: Warnings for British use of the word 'bloody' and for use of mythology.

"Every day, over one hundred and fifty thousand people pass through my office."

The business man leaned back in his chair and smoothed his black suit out, brushing a piece of ash off his dark desk. Across from him, a young brunette stood, his eyes glancing over the room and cataloging everything he saw. In contrast to the businessman's dangerous, well-cut appearance, the brunette looked helpless in his rumpled waistcoat and dark red scarf tucked beneath his dark coat.

"Some are young, some are old; some are ugly, and others are aesthetically pleasing – but they all come through. Everyone comes through my office at least once in their lifetimes, and a few visit more than once." The businessman leaned forward in his seat and folded his arms on the desk. "And when they come through, what do you suppose we discuss?"

"Hmm?" The man ceased his examination of the wallpaper and looked back to the businessman. "Oh. I would hazard a guess that it pertains to your business."

"Indeed it does." He bent down and unlocked a drawer, from which he drew a dark, black ledger. "Every person gives a name, and what brought them here, and then they are shown out. Most, are shown that way," He pointed to a looming door on the right of his desk, "And never return, while a few others are sent back the way they came." He gestured to the left. "But those always return sooner or later and exit to your right." He sighed and began searching through the pages of his ledger, the red ink nearly running off of the page. "However, there is one person that remains an enigma and a nuisance..."

"Oh? And who would that be?"

The business man glared at the man standing across from him. "You."

A grin spread across the youth's face at the other's pronouncement.

"See here: 'Henry Morgan – gunshot. Henry Morgan – drowning. Henry Morgan – drowning (again).' Etcetra... Oh! 'Henry Morgan – hung. Henry Morgan – gunshot. Henry Morgan – exsanguination. Henry Morgan – disemboweled. Henry Morgan – electrocuted. Henry Morgan – suffocation. Henry Morgan – arsenic.'" He glared at the man across from him and tossed the ledger back on his desk. "The first two or three – or even ten! – entries would be understandable and explainable – but over three hundred?"

"What can I say? Maybe I like your company."

"Well I don't! And I'd bloody well like to send you out the right door, but I can't! For crying out loud, I killed Life, and even I couldn't get rid of you for good!" He groaned and fell silent for a second before throwing his hands up in the air and shouting. "And quit looking so bloody amused with it all!"

"But of course." Henry pulled a chair up from beside the wall and sat down. "Anything for the polite gentleman."

He buried his head in his hands. "Know it all..."

"You're one to talk..."

The man sighed and opened the ledger again, pulling out a pen to write with. "And..."

Henry interrupted him and leaned forward. "Is that the Death Blade?"

He glared at the doctor across from him. "Yes. Stop interrupting – you cause enough havoc with my systems as it is, I don't need you squandering more of my time."

The Doctor tilted his head to the side. "But the last time I was here, it was a scythe."

He looked at him, waiting for him to get to his point.

"And you were a skeleton wrapped in shadows." Henry paused, but the man didn't interrupt. "And, you also didn't have an office – let alone an important appearing one." He frowned.

"Well, I figured that since nothing else in my life changes, I might as well vary my wardrobe and location." He made to write in his ledger again, and sighed with Henry interrupted.

"Do you have skulls on your walls?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, Henry – even I get bored looking at the same scenery day after day."

"Pink skulls?"

He narrowed his eyes and glared at the M.E. "Yes. It wasn't my fault – they wouldn't let me see the colours." His eyes widened and he jumped up, shouting, "Don't you dare laugh!"

Henry struggled to control his laughter, but was unable to contain his grin. "Let all be terrified of the mighty Death with his scythe and cold touch – and pink décor."

Death dropped his head to his desk, mumbling, "Why?" over and over.

"Well, look at it this way: you will never become too cynical and heartless."

He lifted his head from his desk and glared at the doctor. "I abhor you." Sitting up again, he asked, "And how are your experiments coming along?"

"No luck, I fear."

Death sighed along with Henry, and they sat in silence for a few moments before Death lifted his pen to write in his ledger.

"So, 'Henry Morgan'... And what follows it this time? Gunshot? Burnt alive? Drawn and quartered?" He ignored Henry's quiet snort and whispered 'wrong century', and continued on. "Snakebit? Choked? Strangled? Heart-attack? Drowning? Broken neck? Do you seriously want me to continue this list?" He looked up from his ledger to Henry. "However redundant this may be, I still need to put something down. Experiment? Food poisoning? Stabbing?"

"Well, I was on a bridge.."

Death frowned in confusion and interrupted him, "Well, suicide is certainly new... Or, at least suicide by something so mundane and boring – and not as an experiment either. Or don't you remember that other time..."

Henry broke into Death's sentence, "No! Thank you, but I remember that quite well. Actually, I didn't fall – I almost did, but I made it back to my bike safely."

"Ah. So then..." He frowned. "Then why did this tale have to begin with the bridge if you didn't die there?"

"Well, I did die there. I neglected to look as I situated my bike, and was hit by a truck."

Death stared at the M.E. before throwing his head back in helpless laughter.

Henry sighed and glared at the being trapped in paroxysms of laughter across from him. "Yes, do laugh at my expense – it's not as if I restrained myself over your lack of taste in internal decor..."

"So...So very sorry...Henry – but the irony is just...hilarious!" Death dissolved into laughter again, ignoring Henry's indignant glare.

"Always happy to bring a spot of light into your realm – shall I plan on coming at the same time tomorrow?"

"Heavens, no!" Death shouted, abruptly sober. "It will be too soon if I never see you again – trust me." He scribbled the cause of death into his ledger while addressing Henry. "And wipe that self-satisfied smirk off your face. Just because you know my only weakness does not mean you get to exploit it. Otherwise, you might never wake up in your clothes again." He slammed the ledger shut and stuck the pen back into the inkwell.

"Wait, you know why I never awake clothed?"

Death smirked. "But of course! I am Death, after all – whatever pertains to that event is entirely in my realm and control."

"Well, why?"

"Ah, ah, ah! Not going to happen in a million years, Henry. As long as you keep upsetting my system and filing, I won't tell you." He waved the doctor towards the left door. "Go on – I'm sure you've something better to do than cluttering up my office. And you're intelligent – figure it out yourself!" As Henry left the office and went back to his life, Death shouted after him, "And while you're at it, figure out a way to die!"

"What, you climbed onto the ledge of the bridge?"

"I've never really been bothered by heights."

"And what about death?"

"A rather more complicated relationship."

AN: A product of too much research into history, mythology, and Henry. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this!