There was a kind of silence to the room that made it hard to speak first. It wasn't threatening or oppressive, or even heavy, but it was the kind of room that was used to silence and speaking into it gave the impression that one was committing a slight faux pas in the social order of things.

Silence was sterile, and everything in here was white and chrome and polished tile, cleaned and neat. All the tools were laid out on their trays, the tables had been scrubbed down, the lights were dimmed to an unoccupied faint light. Everything was in its place in the cabinets or the cupboards, and all the drawers were shut and locked. It was a peaceful place to be. Or it would have been, except for the rhythmic thumping coming from the left. Bare flesh against metal, that's what it sounded like.

And laughter. There was definitely laughter in the room.

It rose and faded a little, quiet except for the fact that it was echoing in the metal that surrounded it. And even if the laughter was muted it carried through the room and possibly would have slid into the hallway if the door was open. The thumping increased for a moment, and the laughter fell quiet. And then there was something very like a groan.

"Duncan?"

Silence. Then more laughter.

"Shut up!"

Even more laughter. Giggling, actually. Breathless giggling and the sounds of something that wasn't a struggle, maybe someone trying to roll over just so he could breathe. The atmosphere in the room roiled between grumpy and giggling.

"Stop laughing." Duncan sighed. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this."

"Oh, you loved it."

The silence was broken not by giggles, now, only by the rhythmic thumping. A foot trying to kick open the door. A fist trying to break the lock.

"Are they back yet?"

Sardonic tones replied. "I think if they were back you'd hear it by the sounds of them screaming."

"Oh, shut up."

It was probably true. No one expected thumping from a morgue drawer. No one except the horror movie fans, maybe. And even the bravest horror movie fanatic would run screaming from a morgue drawer that was thumping with life inside. Perhaps he would run especially fast, with a more acute vision of what might be in there.

"You're supposed to be a corpse, MacLeod..."

"I get it, I get it."

The other man giggled again. There was a shifting sound from inside his cabinet, as though he had discarded thumping out of hand as a bad idea and was attempting to pry out the hinges.

"You could find this a little less funny, you know."

"Oh come on, this is hysterical."

"This is going to get us in big trouble. What happens when someone comes down and finds us here?"

The man sighed. "They'll either think we're ghosts and faint, or they'll glare and ask us what medical school we're from so we can get reported for this stupid prank."

There was a grunt from the other drawer, as if in acknowledgement. "I don't want to know how you know that, do I?"

"I talked to Richie."

Silence, and then the first sounds of reluctant laughter from MacLeod. He remembered that incident, although he didn't think it was how his companion knew the likely responses of medical examiners and morgue attendants.

"It's still your fault, you know." The thumping resumed, the sounds changing. He was starting to get somewhere, finally.

"Oh, how was I supposed to know that was a real bomb?"

Laughter.

Go to the top! For you have reached the bottom.