Disclaimer: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount, and The SciFi Channel
Much appreciation goes to Shallan for her beta work and to TAE for her helpful suggestions... thank you!
Carole
"This looks great!" Blair enthused, his mouth watering in anticipation as his chicken sandwich platter was delivered to the table. Nodding his thanks to the teen-aged server, he unfolded his napkin, removing the silverware before laying it in his lap.
Surveying his meal with equal delight, Jim inhaled deeply, savoring the delicious smell of the double decker hamburger being set in front of him. He popped a stray french fry into his mouth as he reached for the ketchup bottle at the end of the table.
Straw inserted in his soft drink, Blair took a sip, and then another, before noticing the troubled look on Jim's face. "What's wrong?"
Jim glanced around the restaurant. "I hear something."
Blair sat up straight in his seat. "You mean like a bomb or something?" he inquired nervously.
"No," Jim answered slowly. "It's..." He shook his head in frustration. "I don't know what it is."
"Focus your hearing."
Jim exhaled loudly. "Sandburg..."
"You can do it," Blair encouraged. "Just filter out all the other sounds until you're left with just that one."
Closing his eyes, Jim focused his hearing, seeking out each sound, one at a time. The soft murmur of voices. The rattling of dishes. The hum of ceiling fans. The crinkling of plastic menu covers. Each sound was identified and then discarded as inconsequential.
"Jim?"
"Shhh!" Jim held up one hand. Refocusing, he tipped his head, listening to a sound that seemed to be coming from nearby. His gaze following his hearing, he stared at the ceramic plate in front of his partner.
"It's coming from there."
Blair's face scrunched in confusion. "It's coming from my plate?"
"Yeah."
Studying his meal, Blair failed to see anything out of the ordinary. "Is the pickle doing something it shouldn't be doing?" he asked with a small chuckle.
Jim didn't even blink. "No. It's more like..." Eyes narrowing, he zeroed in on a small black speck peeking out from between two large french fries.
Blair leaned forward. "What do you see?"
Reaching over with a deliberately exaggerated cautious motion, Jim moved several french fries away from the lettuce and tomato topped chicken sandwich. "That!"
"That what?" Twisting to get a full view of the other side of his plate, Blair spotted the small black fly, its tiny appendages still faintly wiggling. "Yuck. Nothing like ruining a good lunch. That's gross."
"That it is," Jim agreed.
Blair exhaled regretfully, staring at the bug. "Guess I should... hey!"
"What?"
"You could actually hear that bug." Blair shook his head, fascinated anew by Jim's extraordinary auditory abilities. "Wow."
Jim grinned. "Yep."
"Maybe it's time for a career change."
Bewildered by the apparent non sequitur, Jim asked, "A career change? What do you mean?"
"You could be a bug man." At Jim's perplexed look, Blair continued, "Think about it, man. The bugs wouldn't have a chance."
Jim rolled his eyes. "Cute, Chief. Real cute."
With a cheeky grin, Blair returned his attention to the table. "Is there, uh, anything else hiding in there?"
Making a dramatic production out of the procedure, Jim cocked his head, listening intently before proclaiming, "Nope. And that bug is dead now."
Blair pursed his lips, thinking. "You know, Jim, we really should test..."
"Sandburg," Jim broke in hastily. "No tests." Settling back into his seat, he lifted his burger to his mouth. "You can eat now."
Aghast, Blair's mouth dropped open. "I am not eating anything off that plate."
"Are you telling me that, in all your travels, your cuisine never included bugs?"
Blair hedged his response. "Well, no. But they were always part of the meal, not a... a decoration."
Jim shrugged. "More protein. You're lucky they're not charging you extra."
"You are so gross, man. Hey, you want more protein, you eat it." With that, Blair shoved his plate across the table.
"I've already got something to eat," Jim protested, gesturing toward his own meal. "That's your lunch."
Stretching his arm across the booth, Blair raised the fly-ridden plate, holding it under Jim's nose. "Are you sure?"
"Sandburg, get that dead bug out of my face."
Blair burst out laughing. "I thought you liked protein."
Jim snorted in amusement. "I do, but not..."
"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" When there was no response from the two men, the restaurant manager repeated, "Gentlemen?"
Looking up to find himself the subject of close scrutiny, Blair pointed at the dead fly on his plate. With a gleam of mischief in his eyes and a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, he asked, "Do I have to pay extra for him?"
~end~
May 2001