Legal Disclaimer: I do not own the Night Court characters, I just like to make happy thoughts with them :)

Chapter 1: That Dried Up, Tired Piece of Flotsam

The hustle and bustle of the Christmas holiday had given way to the excitement of the coming of New Year, which put the Manhattan courthouse in a festive spirit. Judge Harry T. Stone leaned up against the front of his office desk before session, talking animatedly to his easy-going court clerk, Mac Robinson, about—and with—the rubber chicken signed by Mel Tormé that he had gotten for Christmas, while Mac took the usual peculiarity of the judge in stride, congratulating him on his most recently acquired treasure, and covertly shifting his attention to Bull Shannon who had just entered. The bailiff looked like an overgrown child as he hyperventilated at his new toy.

"I can't believe how fun this thing is, sir! Thanks again for the...what do you call it?" asked Bull.

"A pinwheel, Bull," smiled Harry. "And you're very welcome! It had your name written all over it."

Bull stopped blowing and furrowed his brows as he carefully inspected the spindly toy. "Ah, nuts. Someone must have rubbed them off," he said, looking a little crestfallen.

The Assistant D. A., Dan Fielding, then sauntered in with a smirk on his face—the one everyone was familiar with and sick of—the one that said "I have a date with D-cups", not to be confused with the more understated grin of the C-cup date.

"Dan, I see you've gotten a date for new years," noted Harry, carefully perching his rubber chicken on top of the mini fridge. "Who's the lucky lady? Or would I have to arrest you if I found out?"

Dan's smirk soured a little in his direction. "For your information, her name is Loretta, and I've been trying to land this account, if you will, for a week. But come the time that ball drops in Times Square, boy..."

"Gee, Dan, that's great," Mac chimed in, "I'll be sure to get you some Champaign for the occasion—but maybe you should give it all to your date, she's gonna need every last drop."

"Go fluff your sweater," Dan shot daggers at Mac.

Just then Christine Sullivan, the goody Public Defender, heel-clicked into the populating office while poring over an open file and, simultaneously, Dan bounded to the door frame in two giant leaps, frozen there next to the pretty, blonde lawyer, and bent down to her level with a pucker waiting upon his lips. Without looking up from her file she walked past Dan who was still poised for a smooch.

"Not at Christmas, not every day since then, not in a million years, Dan," Christine said just as Roz entered in behind her.

Roz stopped in the doorway and turned to stare at Dan. "Kiss me and die." She continued on into the cozy office.

Christine dropped her file to her side and looked imploringly at Harry. "Sir, would you please remove that dried up, tired piece of flotsam from the doorway?"

"You heard the lady, Dan," Harry advised.

"Ha-ha," Dan said as he straightened up and smoothed his tie into his three-piece suit.

"You know I meant the mistletoe, sir," Christine corrected Harry.

"Aw, but it's been so fun watching Dan try to make it work on you," he disputed.

"Maybe it's broken?" offered Bull, innocently.

"Oh, great, now you got the dunderhead making wisecracks without even knowing it," Dan flung a hand out at the massive bailiff. "But I'll have you know I could have any lady I want plant one on these lips," He turned his outstretched hand into a balled fist with an index finger jutting out and pointing to his own face.

"Any lady under thirty—a 30 I.Q. count, that is!" Christine laughed at her triumphant one-liner. Dan had now become provoked enough to make an effort to save face and ego.

"Alright, Miss I'm-Too-Good-To-Abide-By-The-Laws-Of-Mistletoe, I'll bet you'll kiss me—and like it—by the time the clock strikes twelve on New Year!" declared Dan.

"Ha!" Christine replied simply, arms folded across her chest. Dan saw that she wasn't taking the bait.

"Think it's funny? You'll be salivating all over me before the next," he looked at his watch, "thirty-two hours are up."

"Oh, Dan—"

"And that's exactly what you'll be whispering in my ear!" He cut her off, giving her a smoldering glare.

"Alright, alright," Christine tossed down the file in a chair while everyone's heads were ping ponging back and forth between the two. "I'll bet you won't be able to not kiss me before New Year!" Dan considered this for a moment and decided to plow ahead.

"Ooh—even better," Dan wore a mischievous grin, "Winner gets...loser pays winner...one thousand dollars!" he pulled out of the sky.

"Fine. And one week of servitude!" added Christine.

"Fine! I've got a sweet little French maid number that would be perfect, too," Dan relished the thought.

"Good, you can wear it while you're dusting my twenty-eight tea sets and clipping my cat's nails!" she said, picking up her folder and walking right up to him. She got a strange gleam in her eye, one that Dan usually only saw in his dreams, and pulled his designer tie down to force him to her eye level, their noses just touching. "I hope you...enjoy it," she purred. Dan's resolve fell off his face as she dropped his tie and left him hunched over as she made her exit. She could have whispered a pancake recipe to him like that and he wouldn't be able to walk straight for a week.

"Well, that was fun." said Roz matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, Dan, you're in it now. What about your New Year date?" Mac pointed out, just beginning to gather the files for the session about to start.

"Oh, damn—Loretta! Well, she's just going to have to take a back seat," said Dan, re-ordering his priorities.

"I'll bet she was heading there, anyway," Roz pointed out to no one in particular.

"Alright, kids, this has been swell, but we got a busy night ahead of us," Harry reminded his small but mighty crew. " It's Friday and we're closing out for the year so let's get 'er done!" They all milled out, Dan being the last one, still straightening his tie and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in his suit. He had a foreboding feeling about the night ahead.