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Title:
A Claus for Fear Just a little peice of holiday fluff for Witchblade fans. Not beta-read, so be kind...ks Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?
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Sara doubled back and ended up behind Ian Nottingham in an alley. "Boo," she said conversationally. He didn't flinch, but she was convinced that she saw a hint of surprise in his eyes. That was better than nothing. "Getting sloppy, Nottingham," she chided. "Or did you want me to see you?" Nottingham frowned slightly and shook his head. Then, he glanced up at the sky and stepped back into the shadow of a building. "Quickly!" he hissed, motioning her toward him. When she just raised her eyebrows at him, he reached out and snatched her sleeve, dragging her to his side. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded, yanking her arm out of his grip. "Don't you have someone else you could stalk?" A strong wind blew down the alley, and only after it passed did the man look at her. "Tonight is a dangerous night," he whispered, peering up at the sky. "I am protecting you." "It's Christmas Eve," Sara said, then looked at her watch. "Barely. There's no one out tonight. I'm safe." "No, you're not," Nottingham insisted, and Sara thought she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. "He's out." "'He'?" Sara waited for an answer, but Nottingham continued to scan the sliver of sky visible between the buildings. "Who is 'he'?" Nottingham met her eyes, and there was no mistaking the fear this time. "Santa Claus," he whispered. ***** Sara locked the door behind them and turned to find Kenneth Irons' bodyguard pulling closed the curtains in the kitchen and hovering in the dark there. Sara stalked past him and yanked open the fridge. "I need a beer. Want one?" she asked, but when she looked, Nottingham was cowering out of the way of the light from the refrigerator, shaking his head. "All right, but I think you could use one." Or possibly some Thorazine, she added to herself. She still wasn't sure why she'd brought Nottingham home with her, but she had. He hadn't been willing to talk to her outside, saying, "He can hear us." Maybe it was a little shred of Christmas spirit that had caused her to invite the assassin into her home. Or maybe she just need to know what it was about Jolly Old St. Nick that so freaked out someone she had thought was fearless. Sara shut the fridge and twisted the cap off her beer. Only after she took a long draw from it did she look at Nottingham again. "All right. Explain," she told him. Nottingham nervously looked at the wall of uncovered windows across from him, then crossed his arms over his chest and hugged himself tightly. He opened and closed his mouth several times before any sound came out - and when it did, it was a whisper. "He knows when you're talking about him. It's not safe." The big man's eyes darted around the apartment. "He can move so fast." "Of course - he can deliver presents to the world in an entire night," Sara said, trying not to laugh. "And he knows if you've been naughty or nice." Nottingham frowned. "Do not mock me." He dropped his arms to his sides and the familiar half-anger Sara always saw in his face returned. "There is much in this world that you don't understand." "So tell me." Sara shrugged. "If it's so important." Nottingham looked torn. However much he wanted Sara to believe him, he seemed to be unwilling to risk whatever danger he thought might come of it. Finally, Sara couldn't stand it any more. "Oh, come on. Irons just sent you here to play with my head." Sara slammed her beer bottle onto the counter. "We're talking about Santa Claus here, right? Santa? Big guy, red suit, bag of toys? What could be so scary about that?" Nottingham's eyes focused over her shoulder. "I think you're about to find out," he said, his voice heavy with dread. ***** Sara turned just as the window exploded inward, showering the apartment with shards of glass. Nottingham barreled her to the floor, and Sara felt a rush of wind go by above them. When Nottingham rolled off her, she spotted what looked like a tambourine imbedded in her kitchen cabinet, just about where her head would have been. A gun appeared in one of Nottingham's hands and he flipped over the kitchen table with the other. Sara crawled over to crouch behind it with him as a barrage of objects hit the cheap formica. "Don't tell me," Sara said, pulling her own gun from her holster. "Santa." Nottingham nodded grimly, then quickly popped his head to peer over the table. A wooden sword missed his head by an inch as he crouched back down behind the table. "And elves." Nottingham grimaced. "I hate elves." Sara felt her eyes widen, but couldn't seem to get a word out. She settled for jacking a round into the chamber of her gun. "That won't kill them," Nottingham said, nodding at her gun. "But it should slow them down enough for you to escape." Sara covered her head as a shower of marbles smacked onto her head. When they stopped falling, she had managed to regain her voice. "What about you?" she asked, batting aside a teddy bear that sailed over the table. "You're coming, too." "It's not me he's after." Sara sighed. "Let me guess: the Witchblade." Nottingham nodded and leaned out around the side of the table and squeezed off a couple rounds. A high-pitched angry squeal filled the apartment, making Sara flinch. "What does Santa want with the Witchblade?" she demanded when the noise stopped. "What on earth could he need it for?" "You don't understand," Nottingham said, then stopped for a second as a gnarled gray hand reached over the table. He smashed it with the butt of his gun and it disappeared. "Santa isn't a jolly old elf. He wants to control humanity. By masquerading as myth and insinuating himself into Christmas traditions, he's slowly succeeding." Sara caught a quick glimpse of a wrinkled head in a green hat poking around the edge of the table before Nottingham shot at it. "With the Witchblade, he could speed that process up." Before she could answer, Sara felt something tugging at her sleeve. She turned to find a small creature with disfigured features, sharp little teeth, and dead-looking skin trying to drag her from the cover of the table. Without thinking, she slashed out with her right arm, the Witchblade becoming a sword just in time to send the thing's head rolling across the kitchen. "Ugh." Sara shuddered. "Elf," Nottingham said shortly. "Be careful - their teeth are poisonous." "Oh, this just gets better by the second." Sara held the Witchblade's gauntlet in front of her. "But I'm not going to get the shit kicked out of me by Santa Claus." Sara stood and was momentarily stunned by the site before her. The hulking creature was wearing a red suit, but it was nothing like what she had seen her entire life in the malls and Christmas cards. This suit was red from what looked like fresh blood, and while the thing was big, he surely wasn't fat - he was just unnaturally huge. Add to the fact that his skin was gray like the elves' and his eyes glowed as red as his suit, and Sara was finally willing to believe what Nottingham had been telling her. She didn't have a chance to tell him that, though, because after a stunned moment, Santa howled and lunged for her, easily clearing the table and knocking her to the floor. She saw Nottingham bowled down by a pile of elves, but couldn't help with Santa pressing her to the floor. Santa's fist was coming straight for her face when she looked back. She quickly pulled her head to the side and the fist only hit the kitchen linoleum, cracking it. "Hey, that's going to come out of my deposit!" Sara yelled and reared back her own fist. With the help of the Witchblade, her punch landed hard enough to push Santa Claus back - far enough for her to stand up. She aimed her gun and emptied her clip into him, the force of the bullets pushing him back a little more, but he didn't go down. An elf flew in front of her, and she spared a glance at Nottingham to find him wrenching the neck of an elf with a sickening crunch. In her moment of distraction, Santa covered the distance between them. He grabbed the Witchblade, trying to jerk the gauntlet off her wrist, but Sara urged it to change shape and the point of the Blade plunged into Santa's red chest. The creature's face contorted, but whether in pain or anger, Sara couldn't tell. He leaned his head back and let out a screeching howl, and Sara jerked the Blade out in surprise. Santa took a step toward her, then hissed and wheeled around. He ran across the room and jumped out the window, followed by one remaining elf. After a second, Sara picked her way across the wreckage of the room and peered out the window just in time to see a blur of red across the sky. When she was sure they were gone, she let the Witchblade retract and turned back around to survey the damage. Toys were scattered all over, and Nottingham was gathering them up and shoving them in a garbage bag he must have found under the sink. With a sigh, Sara righted the overturned coffee table and then picked up the clock that had been on it. As she put it on the table, she saw the time and let out a bark of a laugh. "It's Christmas." She collapsed on the shredded remains of her couch. "It used to be my favorite day of the year. I don't think I'll ever feel the same way about the holiday." Nottingham tied the top of the garbage bag together and came to stand in front of her, a sad expression visible through his tousled hair. "Don't let him ruin it for you. If you do, he wins. And we can't let him win." He inclined his head toward the window. "I'll call someone to have that repaired for you." A brief smile crossed his lips. "Merry Christmas, Sara." He left, toting the garbage bag along with him. She stared at the door for a long time after he closed it behind him, until a small smile quirked a corner of her mouth. "Merry Christmas, Ian." With a sigh, she pushed herself off the couch. She'd better get moving if she wanted the place to be presentable by the time the glass-repair guy showed up. She didn't want to have to explain that Santa Claus had attacked. ***** Happy Witchblade Holidays!
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Fin.in
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