Date: Mon, 18 Dec 1995 23:42:23 -0500 From: Sharon Scott A Knightie Christmas pt. 1 by Sharon S. Scott The Loft "Where are you, Nick? You were supposed to be here at 8." Nat was ready to give a certain vampire homicide detective a piece of her mind. "I know, I know, but the strangest thing has happened ... " Nick's reply was cut short by Nat's imperative, "If you're not here in fifteen minutes, I'm calling the whole thing off. Do you hear me?" "But, Nat ... " "Fifteen minutes." Slam. Nick punched the talk button on his phone and put it back on the table. "Yes, *ma'am*." He went to the closet and stared at his clothes a moment longer, looking perplexed, and finally took out a turtleneck and a jacket. ******************* Nat's apartment "Nick, what *do* you have on? I told you this was fancy dress." Her frown and impatiently tapping foot conveyed her displeasure with him in general and his clothing in particular. "It was either this or jeans." "We don't have time right now, since we're already going to be late, but I will require an explanation when we get back. Let's go." Grabbing her evening purse and wrap, she swept from the apartment, looking back to assure herself that he was following. He wasn't. He was standing in the doorway, staring at her. "Shut the door and come on! Move it, move it!" He moved it. ******************* Nat's apartment, later that evening She fell onto the sofa, taking off her high heels and rubbing her feet. "I love dancing. Why don't you take me dancing more often?" "Because dances occur at night. At night we're working." Nick removed his jacket and sat on the other end of the sofa. "Oh yeah. Work. I had forgotten all about work." She patted the cushion next to her. "Come on over. I won't bite." Nick smiled and stayed where he was. "You did bark earlier this evening, remember?" "With good reason. You were supposed to be here at 8 p.m. At 8 p.m. you were still home. Can you tell me what you were doing at home at 8 p.m.?" "Of course I can. I was trying to figure out how someone got into the loft." She sat up straight and looked at him. "Someone got in? How? Who?" "I don't know who or how. No signs of forced entry." "Was anything missing?" "My buttons." She looked at him in amazement. "Your buttons." He looked back at her. "My buttons." ******************* A Knightie Christmas pt. 2 by Sharon S. Scott ****************** Sorry about the short first part, but it was just the *perfect* place to stop. :-) ****************** Nat's apartment "It's cold in here." She shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her bare arms. "Where's the remote for the fireplace?" "That's *your* place that has fake fire, not mine. You'll have to make do with the real thing here." She stared at his back as he knelt at the hearth, starting a fire a Boy Scout would be proud of. "Somebody broke into your place and didn't take anything but your buttons? Come on, Nick, you're kidding me, right?" He dusted off his hands and sat down on the far end of the sofa again. "I am not kidding." Nat searched his face, and finding no sign of anything even resembling humor there, got up and went to the sideboard to pour herself a drink. She drank one Scotch down neat, poured herself another, and walked slowly back to the sofa. "Why would anybody want your buttons? It doesn't make sense." "I know it doesn't, unless someone's playing a practical joke. Janette might have done something like that in a fit of anger, but she's not here, and LaCroix ... as much as he enjoys annoying me, I can't imagine him doing this. It's not his style." "You looked around? They weren't stashed some place?" "I looked everywhere. They're just gone. As in missing. Absent. Gone West." "All your clothes?" "Everything. Shirts. Jackets. Pajamas. Pants. I've got the waistband of the pair I'm wearing safety-pinned together." "But your jacket ... " "Pinned. See?" Pulling the front of the jacket open, he displayed a neat row of shiny silver safety pins. Never one to waste an opportunity, she scooted down to his end of the sofa, looked at the jacket, and smiled. "Hmmm, and a very neat job you did. You get a gold star." He grinned and pulled her closer. "Why, thank you, Mom. I'm glad none of them came open and stabbed you while we were dancing." "I'm glad, too. And I did have a nice time tonight. A very nice time." She put her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your break-in, though." He put his arm around her shoulder and said, "It's the breach of security that worries me. Whoever did this finagled the code for the door and didn't set off any of the alarms. I'll have to change the code. And talk to Aristotle about a more sensitive alarm system." He sighed and stared into the flames. "But I'll worry about that tomorrow. Tonight I want to enjoy the fire. And you." ******************** Nick's loft, the next night "Nick? What are you doing?" she asked as she entered the loft from the elevator. He was sitting on the sofa, in his robe, intent on something in his lap. "Sewing." She had to see this. "You're *what*?" "Sewing these damn buttons on. Do you have any idea how much buttons cost these days? And how many different sizes and colors there are? I spent two hours in the fabric shop--finally bought a couple dozen white and black in every size. And thread." "Wait a minute. I have to sit down. You went to a fabric shop? You bought notions? You're sewing on buttons?" She sat and watched in amazement as the needle and thread flew. "Where's the camera? This is a Kodak moment." "What's the big deal? Sewing's a basic skill. Everybody ought to know how to sew a button on." He looked over at her. "Stop laughing. Who do you think sewed soldiers' buttons on in the field? I've stitched up my own and others' bodies. Buttons are nothing after that." "You're right. I'll stop laughing now. Really, I will." She contained herself with a great effort of will. "Why don't you simply pay somebody to do this?" "I'll take everything else on the way to work, but I've got to have something to wear tonight. I don't think Reese would approve of a dressing gown at the precinct." "Probably not. If you've got another needle, I'll help." He smiled and handed her the pincushion. "Help away." ****************** A Knightie Christmas pt. 3 by Sharon S. Scott ***************** Nick's loft, 3 days later "Pick up, Nat." He held the phone to his ear and walked to the refrigerator for a bottle. He needed a drink. Badly. Her answering machine picked up. Damn. He left a message, put down the phone, and took a long drink. Nat returned his call in a few minutes. "I just got in. What's up?" "You aren't going to believe this, but it's happened again." "What's happened again?" "The Great Button Caper, part deux. The buttons I just paid to have sewn back on are gone again." "No." "Yes. Aristotle installed the new system and somebody still got in." "What about the security cameras? Didn't they work?" He sighed. "Yeah, but all you can see on the outside monitor is a figure in heavy winter clothes and ski mask walk up to the door and spray fake snow into the camera lens. And the inside tapes show the same figure spraying the same fake snow into all those cameras. Can't tell if the body's male or female because of the clothing. He or she's 5'7" or 5'8", but that's it." "Should I come over and join the sewing bee?" she asked, and could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, "Please. My clothes and I both are in need of you." "Let me feed Sydney and I'll be right over. " He put down the phone and went upstairs to stare into his closet again. ******************** An undisclosed location in the USA She was glad she'd bought the heavy sweaters, the long underwear, the down- filled coat and the mukluks. The ski mask she could live without--it made her face itch. But the normally-mild weather in her part of the country had turned cold and nasty, with a blue norther blowing and ice and snow predicted, and the Arctic gear felt good. She greeted the cats and dogs, turned the heat up on high, and sat down with a Diet Coke and a cigarette to gloat over her bag of goodies. Buttons, buttons, who's got the buttons? She did. From his leather jacket, his black shirt with the white zigzags, the poet's shirt, the black velvet doublet with the lace collar, the red silk shirt, the vest with one-sided bullet holes, the Civil War uniform, and best of all, from the black silk pajamas. She'd keep one from each article of clothing for herself, and share the wealth with her much-aligned fellow faction members. There would be joy in Knightieville this Christmas! ******************** Thanks to Lana Soward for the inspiration for this in an AOL chat. :-) Scottie scotts@baylor.edu or sss44@aol.com