DISCLAIMER: Nikki & Nora are the property of Nancylee Myatt and Warner Bros. Television. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
12 Days of Christmas
By N&D
"Twelve pack of Bud, Eleven wrestlin' tickets, Tin a' Copenhagen, Nine years probation, Eight table dancers, Seven packs of Redman, Six cans of spam, Five flan---nel shirts… Four big mud tires, Three shotgun shells, Two huntin' dogs, and some parts to a Mustang GT."
"That's awful, Charlie," Nora said as she entered the morgue and wrinkled her nose in distaste of the resident coroner's choice of wording for the ever-popular Christmas carol. His singing talent had left a lot to be desired, too.
Charlie grinned. "Gotta give it to Foxworthy. The man knows rednecks."
Biting back a smile, Nora shook her head and pointed down at the redneck of the hour. "So, have you figured out how Bubba here met his end?"
"Well," Charlie sighed tiredly. "The gunshot to his head came postmortem." He fingered around an almost perfectly round hole in Bubba's forehead and moved his hand down to a series of knife wounds, any one of which appearing as if it should've popped the victim's rather large beer belly. "These?" He raised a brow and looked over at Nora. "Postmortem, too."
Nora frowned. The man was a virtual model for 'injuries that should kill a person.' "What did kill him?"
"Poisoned," Charlie said, nodding his head sadly and yanking off his gloves. "Must've been one helluva Christmas Eve for ol' Bubba Thibodeaux."
"Yeah," Nora agreed. "I guess his wife really wanted to make sure he was dead."
Whistling tunefully, Nikki strode into the squad room, causing Nora to look up and glare at her partner.
"What?" asked Nikki, perplexed by the look her lover was shooting her. She wasn't that late.
"What is it with that song?"
"What song?"
"The song you and Charlie are obsessed with..."
"Charlie's singing it?"
"Sure. Twelve Days of Christmas. At least the tune anyway."
"I doubt he's got my lyrics though, sugah."
"How can you be so sure?" asked Nora, leaning back in her chair and raising an eyebrow in challenge.
"Twelve shoe stores stocking, Eleven coats selling, Ten purses matching, Nine lipsticks glossing, Eight oysters dripping, Seven busts a-making, Six dances owing, Five DA-AAYS off..."
At that, Nikki stood up and sauntered around her desk so as to be singing far more quietly and more directly into her lover's ear.
"Four nights alone, three meals a day, two ladycops and my lover in our claw foot bathtub."
"NIKKI," blushed Nora, attempting to suddenly look busy, prompting Nikki to grin before returning to her own desk.
"See? Told ya my song was different to Charlie's!"
Nora's thoughts strayed to Nikki's final verse and a bubble bath filled tub. She hurriedly reached for the phone. "Dan? We solved the case… Yes, it was the wife… Yes, she signed a confession…" Nora rolled her eyes at Nikki as she dealt with their boss's endless stream of questions.
"Dan?"
"DAN!"
"It's Christmas, can we go now?"
Barely waiting for a reply, Nora slammed the phone into its cradle and sprung from her chair, grabbing Nikki's hand as she headed for the door. It was time she came up with her own, more libidinous, verse to the song.
The End