Permission given to archive at fkfanfic website and the FTP site. No other permission is granted to repost/reprint/reuse. As always, feedback is welcomed. If you want to see earlier "Fangs" stories, check out the fanfic website or http://www.best.com/~sclark/fk . This story is based on characters and situations that aren't mine. Thanks to TPTB for their use. "Fang Better or Fang Worth" by S. Clark Natalie felt a breeze as the door of the morgue opened. She looked up to see Nick standing before her desk. "Nick, is something wrong?" Nick shook his head 'no.' "Are you sure?" He shook his head 'yes.' "And it's normal that you're not talking?" Again, he nodded to the affirmative. "And it's normal that, although you aren't really affected by the weather, you're wearing a wool scarf wrapped around your head, covering your mouth?" This time Nick shrugged, just for variety. She continued, "even though it's June." Nat leaned back in her chair, waiting for the inevitable agreement that this was normal. "Why am I having a little trouble believing this?" she asked. "Uhth uhr." The sound came from Nick, speaking from within the scarf. It was close enough to talking that it might have meant something, but muffled enough, and lisped enough, to be fully unrecognizable as speech. "Nick, take off that silly thing and talk to me." "Ugh ghnt," was the response. Nat rolled her eyes. "Ok, we've been through this before." She stood up and started to started to pace. "Something, or someone," she stopped long enough to glare at Nick, "has caused a," she paused for a moment, seeking the proper phrasing, "reaction. Your fangs have dropped, and they're stuck. Right?" Nick shrugged again. "Ugmth." "Look, Nick. The scarf comes off, or I'm calling LaCroix..." Nick crossed his arms, a defiant gleam in his eyes. "...While he's on the air..." A bit of the defiance departed, being replaced by a hint of reluctance. "...And telling him all about this," Nat made quote marks with her fingers, "condition." This took a moment to sink in. But once it sunk, Nick knew he'd be sunk, too. He'd be forever hearing about this incident, trying to live it down. Nick started to unwrap the scarf, slowly peeling it from around his face. Nat tried not to seem interested, but her glances in his general direction caused Nick to become self-conscious, and turn away from her. "Now can we talk, Nick?" "Mahba," he responded. The fact that he was facing away from her made his words very difficult to hear. "I'm picking up the phone, Nick, if you won't face me." Nick didn't move. "One." Nat picked up the receiver. She considered just whacking him over the head with it. But, with practiced restraint, she realized that it'd take forever to get a new phone, what with cutbacks in purchasing and all. As much as it was tempting to hit him with the klewstick (or, in this case, phone handset), it just wasn't practical. "Two..." Nat moved her hand to over the keypad. "Three." She punched in the first number, to get an outside line. Before she could hit a second, a cold hand covered her own. Nat looked up and found herself face to face with Nick. The shock of how quickly he reacted held her frozen in place for half a second. Then, she did what any sensible person facing a sight such as the one she faced would do. She burst out laughing. "Ngh?" Nat managed to calm herself, putting her 'professional face' into action. Well, she managed for about another half second, then another paroxysm overtook her. Tears ran down her cheeks before she was able to again establish a more staid demeanor. "I'm sorry, Nick." She grabbed a tissue from the box at her desk and dabbed off the tears. "I suppose that was inconsiderate of me." "Uh thar uht." "Oh, Nick." Nat placed her hands under his chin, looking at his mouth from one side, then the other. "I'm not sure I want to know how this happened." "Ah haw ud igt alp." "Wait a second, let me get the scalpel." Nat walked over to her tray of instruments. "Uh ght kahn?" Nick asked, backing away. Nat followed until she had him backed against the wall. "Don't be a baby. I'm not going to hurt you." Nick's eyes showed his worry at Nat's ministrations. But, since she was getting nearer and nearer to his face with a very sharp instrument, he decided it was in his best interest to hold still and let her work. Nat worked for less than a minute, then held the offending item before his face. "Nick, how did you get the cork stuck on your fang?" "Ah thot tha blahd wahd halp." "With the," she gestured towards his mouth, "fangs?" He tried to back away, as she still had the scalpel in the hand she was gesturing with, but her body had him pinned against the wall. "Uh, Naht?" "Hmmm?" "Ah thahnk Ah'll ba ohkhay nahw." "Oh, so, I suppose you want me to move?" "Uh huh." She leaned closer, brushing her lips against his. "And I suppose you don't want me any closer." Nick pulled his head back, putting a small indentation into the wall. "Nah?" he responded, not fully sure he was making the correct choice. "Ok," she responded, quietly, breathing the word just millimeters from his mouth. Moving quickly, she took the cork and jammed it onto his other fang. "Then next time, don't come to me for help." With that she tossed the scalpel onto the desk, and was out the door in an instant. "Ngh? Ngh?" Nick waited. "Aht nght ahny, Ngh." Nick looked up at the clock. It was ten minutes past sunrise. "Ngh? Ahwth gun ahk.". He slumped down the wall, ending up seated on the floor, resting his head against his knees. It was going to be another long day.