Standard Disclaimer applies.  I do not own any of the characters.
Please send commentary to Elise.  ejdeal@sga.quik.com.
This little piece of fluff is the result of a combination of events.  First, my 
dear list mothers, (Yo, Nay! Teri!) demanded some fiction in which Nick was NOT 
the main character.  Most importantly, though, it was inspired by the penance 
done by poor, misunderstood Portia, whose penance (imho) was far too harsh. :)
Sister Mary Portia bears no resemblance to anyone living or dead. 

The Painting
By Elise
  
     "We really do appreciate your generosity, Detective Knight," Sister Mary 
Portia gushed.  The petite sister grabbed Nick Knight's hand and pumped it up 
and down enthusiastically.  "I'm sure the paintings you're donating will help 
the church earn the money we need to repair our heating unit."
     The vampire detective was pleased by the nun's statement, and he knew that 
the church would, indeed, earn the money it needed.  He had arranged for an 
anonymous donation to be made to the church sale fund that would more than pay 
for the defunct heating system.  "I'm happy to help out the Church, Sister."
     Unlike most of the other nuns at St. Theresa's, Sister Mary Portia chose to 
wear the more traditional habit.  Nothing could be seen of her except her round, 
happy face behi8nd her old-fashioned granny glasses.  "Detective Schanke tells 
me that you're an aspiring artist."
     Nick smiled weakly.  She was very nice, but because he was a vampire, he 
still felt uncomfortable around her.  It was as if someone had thrown itching 
powder on him.  "It's a hobby," he answered with a shrug.
     "Aw, c'mon, Knight," Detective Don Schanke put in.  "You're pretty good, 
and you know it.  I'll bet the church could sell one of your paintings for a 
couple hundred bucks."  Proudly, he swatted his partner on the back.
     "Uh, I don't know about that, Schank, but I do hope you're able to make 
something from the sale."  Knight quickly moved away from his partner and the 
nun.  He scratched his arm and looked at his watch.  "I really need to leave 
now," he told them.  "I'm late as it is."  He scratched his nose; the urge to 
sneeze was growing.
      "That's right," Schanke laughed.  "Be sure you get all the paperwork on 
the Thompson case finished tonight, too, will ya?"  He turned to include Sister 
Mary Portia in the conversation.  "Since I took the night off to help with 
setting up for social hall for tomorrow's sale," he explained, "old Nicky will 
just have to make do without me."
     Nick shook his head and grinned at his partner.  "I'll do my best," he 
mouthed sarcastically, causing Schanke and the Sister to laugh.  "The paintings 
are stacked on the table."  Nick gestured to the ten canvases.  "Be sure to lock 
up when you leave, Schanke," he reminded his partner, as he headed out the door.  
     "You know, I used to teach art," Sister Mary Portia said.
     Schanke snorted.  "You did?"
     The little nun smiled happily.  "Oh, yes, but that was forty years ago at 
St. Brigid's School for Girls."  She looked around the loft.  "So this is what a 
real artist's studio looks like."  She walked towards an easel whereon sat 
Nick's latest project.  With the tips of her fingers, Sister Mary Portia pulled 
up the cloth covering the canvas to sneak a peek at the work beneath.  The 
painting was only half finished but seemed to be a nighttime sky-line view of 
Toronto.    
     The nun hummed along with curiosity as she pointed to some other canvases 
standing upright against the wall behind the piano.  "Hmmmm.  I've always wanted 
to flip through an artist's canvases," she cheerfully told Detective Schanke.  
"You don't suppose your partner would mind if we glanced through them, do you?"  
She ambled happily towards the piano and answered her own question.  "I'm sure 
he wouldn't.  Most artists like to have their work seen."
     The first painting was a portrait of two women dressed in medieval garb.  
An older woman and a younger, both with golden hair and blue eyes, smiled 
serenely at the artist.  "Hmmmm," she muttered. "Nice, nice."
     Schanke stepped forward to help the diminutive lady.  He held the first 
canvas for so they could look at the next one.  It was another landscape, a 
winter landscape.  A lone tree, bowed with the weight of the ice coating its 
bare limbs, was bent near to the ground.  The poor tree seemed ready to shatter 
into a million pieces.  Bleak and desolate, the scene depicted Mother Nature at 
her harshest.  Schanke shivered.
     "Very nice, nice," the little old nun murmured, nodding her head.  She 
flipped to the next canvas.
     "What is that supposed to be?" grumbled Schanke.  An abstract this time, 
the work was a conglomeration of fluid swirls in black, gray, and red.  It 
looked angry and sad simultaneously.  
     Sister Mary Portia frowned in concentration.  "I'm not sure, but it makes 
me feel terribly unhappy."  She stepped back a pace and cocked her head.  "Ahh!" 
she cried.  "Look here, Detective."  She pointed to the edges of the canvas 
where a thin, wavering yellow line floundered.  At some places on the painting, 
the yellow seemed to almost vanish into the black.  At others it grew unevenly 
to nearly a half inch in width.  "There seems to be a thin ray of hope shining 
in this gloom."
     With a quick jerk of his head, Schanke grunted in agreement.  He shifted 
his weight onto his left foot and pulled the next canvas forward.  
     This one was another seeming abstract.  Smallish patches of paint were 
grouped together, forming a sort of mosaic effect.  The colors were muted, dark, 
and blurry.  
     Schanke squinted as he tilted his head at an almost impossible angle.  It 
had a vaguely familiar look to it, but it was still an indecipherable mish-mash 
to him.  He wanted to go back to the landscape.  It may have been cold and 
harsh, but at least it was recognizable.
     Sister Mary Portia sighed.  "Oh, that's nice.  You must be flattered." 
     "Huh?"  Schanke's forehead wrinkled in confusion.  
     Turning mischievous blue eyes on the detective, the Sister grinned at him.  
"Why, Detective Schanke, can't you tell?  This is an impressionistic view of 
you," she told him.
     Don Schanke snorted.  He wasn't sure whether or not this little nun was 
trying to insult him, or what he should do about it if she were.  "I don't get 
it," he growled as politely as possible.
     A joyful laugh was her first response.  "Detective," Sister Mary Portia 
scolded mockingly, "let me hold the paintings.  You back up across the room ten 
or twenty feet.  Then you'll see what I'm talking about."  Her eyes were dancing 
merrily in her lined face.
     Schanke grunted again and twisted his mouth up in disbelief.  "All right, 
Sister, if you say so," he told her.  First, he rotated the other paintings out 
of the way.  Then, making sure she had a firm hold on the other canvases, 
Schanke walked back across the room until he was beside the kitchen table.   
When he turned to face the canvas, his jaw dropped in utter amazement.  
     From a distance, he could tell that what he once thought were merely 
splotches of paint was a careful depiction of himself.  It seemed as if he were 
surrounded by a thick fog and standing far away from the artist.  The engulfing 
fog swirled about him, obscuring parts of his body at times, but the smiling 
face was his.  There was no doubt about it.
     Schanke grinned, a mirror of the smile staring out at him from the canvas.  
Bouncing up and down on his toes, the detective nodded enthusiastically.  "Yeah, 
now I see what you're talking about.  It is nice."  Although the painted Schanke 
seemed removed from the artist in some strange way, it made Schanke feel happy 
to know that Nick had thought enough of him to paint him. 
     He strolled back across the room and took the heavy canvases from Sister 
Mary Portia and  eagerly pulled his portrait forward to view the one beneath.  
"Whoa!" shouted Detective Donald G. Schanke.  "I wonder if Nat posed for that 
one!"
     "Saints preserve us!" murmured the now shocked nun.  Sister Mary Portia 
clutched her crucifix in her left palm and quickly crossed herself with the 
right.
     With one last, lingering gaze at the scandalous painting, a red-faced 
Schanke gently lowered the other canvases back in place.  "Uh," he stuttered 
nervously, " I, uh, guess we shouldn't have nosed around over here, huh?"  Being 
very careful not to face the little nun, he shuffled nervously back towards the 
dining room table.  
     Not that he had a problem with Nick painting something so, so impure, but 
why did he have to view it next to a nun.  Truth be told, Schanke had often 
wondered about Nick and Nat and their claims of being "just friends."  Now he 
was certain that tale was a crock.  A slow, smug grin smeared itself across his 
features, and he hid his face in his hand.
     A very red faced Sister Mary Portia stepped briskly towards the safety of 
the dining room table and the more godly paintings Detective Knight had chosen 
to send with them.  She shook her head and mused silently on the shameful fact 
that such a nice looking young man was so perverted.  "Yes, Detective Schanke," 
she stated quietly.  "I think we should take the paintings your partner left for 
us and go."
      Ducking his head in a half-nod meant to conceal his grin, Detective 
Schanke hefted the ten water-color landscapes and followed the tiny lady out.
*     *     *
      Dr. Natalie Lambert and Detective Nick Knight had just settled down 
together on the couch to watch a movie.  It had been a wonderful morning, 
thought Nick.  If only he were mortal, it would prove to be a much more 
wonderful afternoon.  
    Natalie snuggled up against him as the opening credits rolled.  He pulled 
her against him and kissed the top of her head.  Oh, how he wished he were 
mortal!  The soft, romantic atmosphere was shattered when the door buzzer began 
sounded "Shave and a Hair-Cut, Two Bits!"  
     Natalie dropped her chin on her chest.  "I just don't believe it.  Every 
time we get a few minutes alone together..."     She didn't finish her sentence.  
She didn't need to.
      Heaving a mighty sigh, Nick removed his arm from around her shoulders and 
forced himself to answer the door.
     "Hey, good buddy!" Schanke shouted through the intercom.  "Lemme up, would 
ya?  Got some big, big news."
     "Okay, Schank," Nick answered as politely as possible.  He held out his 
hand towards Nat, lifted his shoulders, and gave her a "What could I do?" 
expression.
     Natalie mirrored his gesture and shook her head in resignation.  She 
clicked off the television and flipped on the lights as Schanke bounded into the 
room like a Lab puppy.
     "Man, oh, man, have I got news for you!" he cried enthusiastically.  "Your 
paintings were the hit of the White Elephant sale.  Not only did all of them 
sell, but they also brought in more than twenty five hundred dollars.  You could 
really make a mint if you started painting full time."
     "That's what I keep telling him," Natalie agreed.
     Whipping around, Schanke jumped and clutched at his chest.  His face 
darkened to an unflattering shade of burgundy.  "Geez, Nat, I didn't realize you 
were here," he stammered.  "I mean, I saw your car, but, uh, I don't know."  The 
longer he stared at her, wondering if she really had posed for that portrait, 
the deeper shade of burgundy he became.
     "Schanke," Natalie asked hesitantly, "are you feeling all right?  You're 
really red."  Slowly, she walked around the couch towards where he and Nick were 
standing.  Her doctor's instinct was sounding an alarm that something wasn't 
right.
     Clearing his throat, Schanke managed to recover some of his composure.  
Geez, but he'd never be able to look at the doctor the same way again.  "Oh, uh, 
yeah, I'm fine."  He grinned and rubbed his hands together.  "Well, I guess I'll 
leave you two love birds alone."  He grinned when Natalie blushed, and he 
hastened his departure.  "Oh, Father Lanigan said that he'd be more than happy 
to officiate at your wedding."
     Nick sighed loudly.  Natalie was becoming embarrassed, and Nick would not 
allow anyone to make her feel uncomfortable.  "We've told you, Schanke," Nick 
said in clipped tones, "we're just friends."
     Schanke grabbed the door knob, pulled it open, and squinted up his eyes.  
"Yeah, right," he retorted sarcastically.  "Like I'm going to believe that after 
seeing that cute little portrait of Natalie.  You know, the one you have half 
hidden behind the piano over there."  He threw a casual gesture towards the 
corner.  "From the looks of it, you guys have already had the honeymoon.  
Toodles!"   And he was gone, the door slamming behind him.
      Nick froze in place.  He wanted to chase Schanke out into the sunlight and 
throttle him.
     "What painting?" Natalie demanded. 

The end.