Touche Clicheby Captain Outrageous
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Title: Touche Cliche
Warnings: Extreme Silliness and Reckless Endangerment of Characters
Jim leaned back, letting his weight settle into soft sofa cushions. He smiled as he listened to the soft crunch of a knife slicing through a crisp onion, the sizzle of beef browning in the pan, and the soft cursing of his partner, Blair Sandburg. Letting his eyes wander, he attention was caught by the reflection on the blank screen of the TV. The rest of the room faded away, as he zoomed in, watching as Blair alternately cut through the juicy onion, wave his right hand in the air in distress, and wipe his streaming eyes on his T-shirt. Jim let his sight fade back to normal. He thought carefully before opening his mouth. "Blair, you could always use a pair of those disposable gloves I wear for collecting evidence. And there's a pair of safety goggles in the closet." Jim heard Blair snort. "Thanks alot Jim. This is the last time that I let you do the shopping. You had to get the juiciest onion, and the fattiest meat. And of course, I'm the one who has to cut this stuff up. My eyes are tearing up so bad that I can hardly see! And this onion juice stings when it gets in these paper cuts, which I got, thankyouverymuch, by doing YOUR paperwork." "You wouldn't have to cut it up if you hadn't lost that bet about getting a date with Jones in Records. And you won't get any sympathy from me over those paper cuts. You don't have to do the paperwork." "Yeah, I do, and I wouldn't have bet if I had known that she had just run into an old boyfriend of hers. It's the pits, you know. Women just can't resist the one that got away. And don't tell me you didn't know that she had run into him. I saw that gleam in your eye right before you sent me off to get those records. You knew she was going to turn me down!" Blair's voice crackled with outrage. Jim leaned back farther in the cushions, careful to keep an ear out for the younger man. Blair did, after all, have a knife in his hand. "Fine, I won't tell you that I knew. By the way, that meat smells done." Jim let his face relax into a grin again as he heard Blair slam the knife down and bang the pots around. There's nothing like homemade chili. And Blair wasn't allowed to use any of those weird herbs. Just meat, tomatoes, beans, a little bay leaf and easy on the chili powder. Jim frowned as the banging quieted a little. Sneaking a quick peek, he watched in horror as Blair measured out a heaping tablespoon of chili powder over the drained meat. "Sandburg! If you dare put that much chili powder in there, you'll be cleaning the bathroom floor with your toothbrush for a week!" Blair jumped, some of the powder spilling onto the meat. Blair glared at Jim, his clear blue eyes snapping in defiance. Jim stared back at him. Blair held out for three long seconds before throwing the rest of the hot powder into the sink, the spoon clanging. Marching over to the refrigerator, Blair pulled out a large bottle of water. Wrenching off the cap, he poured the water over the meat in the large pot. Jim stared at his partner's before shrugging. He had won, fair and square. He hadn't overheard the meeting using his Sentinel senses, he had just happened to be in the hallway when Jones had drifted by, her eyes aglow with that special light. He knew she had met someone. So later, when the conversation had turned towards women, and Sandburg had been bragging, the whole thing had just fallen into place. And Sandburg had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. Jim was startled by a knock on the door. Reluctantly standing up, he took a couple steps towards the door, only to stop as Blair stomped over to the door, knife in hand, and opened it. "Whoa Blair, it's me, Simon. No need to bring out the heavy metal!" Jim frowned at the deep voice of his captain trying to calm down the ruffled feathers of his roommate. The captain was early for dinner. I guess his meeting with the commissioner had ended sooner then expected. "Oh, hi Simon. Sorry about that. I'm chopping onions. I couldn't see you there for the tears in my eyes." Jim felt a little twinge of annoyance at Blair's cheery greeting. What was he, chopped liver? Just because Blair couldn't take defeat like a man, instead of whining like a sissy. He even looks like a sissy, with that long hair of his. Suddenly, the door swung open with a bang and Megan Connor walked in. "Enough! I can't stand it any more. Will you guys just quit it?" Simon, who had just closed the door, was knocked over like a feather. Blair stood over him, knife in hand, looking ready to defend Simon with he life, a marshal gleam in his eye. Jim just stood there, dumbfounded at this intrusion. Jim didn't think he could feel any more surprised, but he felt his jaw drop as he watch Connor's form morphed into Joel Taggart. "Megan! Joel!" Blair was the first one to recover, taking a couple of steps back, even as he stuttered out the names of the person, people, before him. Simon scrambled backwards, trying to put some distance between him, and whatever that was at the door. Jim was just stood there, frozen like a statue. "Now that I have your attention, gentlemen, would you please step back into character!" The figure morphed again into Rhonda, and then Lee Brackett. Curiosity evidently getting the best of him, Simon stood up. "Who are you?", asked Simon quietly. "I am The WRITER! And I say, you are not acting like you are supposed to!" Steam shot from the being's ears as it morphed again into the likeness of Incacha and then Naomi Sandburg. Blair spoke up. "How are we supposed to act?" Henri Brown glared balefully at Blair, darts shooting from his eyes, slamming into Blair's chest. Blair crumpled into the ground, twitching. The WRITER loomed over him. "You are not supposed to try and poison Jim. You are supposed to take his ribbing and like it. You are supposed to turn those puppy dog eyes on him while trying to get out of chopping the onions. And you are NEVER supposed to get mad when you don't get the girl!" Jim saw Simon take a small step toward the twitching younger man. The WRITER turned towards Simon, morphing again into the form of Daryl Banks, Simon's son. "And you! You are supposed to wait at that door until Jim opens it for you! And act surprised, even though he's done it a hundred times. You are supposed to act tough around Blair, and always call him Sandburg, except under extreme duress. And where are your cigars?" The police captain stared back at his son's doppelganger. "I quit. They're bad for you and they don't taste good. And I don't need to act like a tough captain all the time, shouting and slamming doors. It hurts my throat, which is bad enough from the cigar smoke. And I can act friendly towards Blair, if I want, because I like him!" Jim watched in horror as the WRITER breathed in, it's chest swelling to grotesque proportions. Its eyes glowed with an eerie light as it blasted the captain with jet of blue flame from his/her mouth. Ouch, now that's what you called getting flamed! Jim could feel the outrage building inside him. No one else got to abuse Sandburg but him. And Simon was his friend and his boss. He was the only one allowed to erupt over Simon, and he didn't relish the thought of breaking in a new boss. The last time Simon was in the hospital, they had that pain in the ass replacement captain, and she almost got rid of his whipping bo.. er, partner. "Hey, why don't you pick on someone your own size." The floor rumbled as the WRITER turned towards him, morphing into a huge black jaguar. "And YOU! You are not supposed to take advantage of your superior abilities to humiliate Blair! You are supposed to take care of him, worry about him, ooh and ah over every little bruise and cut. Not torture him with juicy onions and force him to cook unhealthy NORMAL food. You are supposed to be indulgent with him, not give him ridiculous punishments. You are to zone on his heartbeat when falling asleep. Do you understand me! And another thing, where is that Cascade PD sweatshirt of yours? I think he should be wearing it." "What Cascade PD sweatshirt? I don't have one. Now, look here, WRITER ..." "That's The WRITER, to you!" It snarled as it took the form of a silver wolf. "Okay, The WRITER, why don't you take you skinny shapechanging butt out of here? You are charring up my floors, killing off my friends, and Sandburg managed to embarrass himself all over the floor right before he expired." "How dare you talk to me like this! Don't you know who I am? I am The WRITER! I control every aspect of you life, every tear, every smile. Every time you get shot, or make love, or get involved in a high-speed car chase, that's my work. Bow before me now, or suffer the consequences!" The wolf stretched upward to become the Peru jungle warrior version of Jim. "NO, never! I'll see you in hell first!" With that, Jim leaped at himself, his strong hands wrapping around his strong throat. The other Jim struggled to get his hands off himself. In the distance he could hear Blair's voice calling to him, cutting through the red haze. "Jim, Jim, you're choking me!" Jim blinked, the brightly-lit living room becoming his starlit bedroom. Looking above him, he saw his hands wrapped around the throat of his best friend. Letting go, he gently caught the younger man as he collapsed on Jim, gasping for breath. The Sentinel clutched at his partner, horrified at what had almost happened. He was startled by a hoarse chuckle. "Man, that must have been some dream. I heard you all the way from downstairs. You okay?" Jim rolled Blair off of him before sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. His heart was pounding so hard, it felt like it would punch through his chest. It had felt so real. The bed shifted as Blair sat next to him. Jim stared blankly at the floor. He could have killed Blair. He did kill Blair, in his dream. No, he hadn't killed him, The WRITER had. But Jim hadn't cared. Was that how he really felt about Blair, that he was his whipping boy? Someone to cook for him, do his paperwork, and make fun of? No, he wasn't like that. It was just a dream. Jim flinched as Blair echoed his thought. "It was just a dream, Jim. Let it go." "It wasn't just a dream, Blair, it was a nightmare. No one was what they were supposed to be. You were annoying, I was callous and Simon didn't yell, didn't smoke, and was really nice to you." "Jim, sometimes you have to see what things aren't before you can appreciate what they are. I'm glad you think that I'm not annoying. And you aren't callous, just a little cautious about expressing you're feelings. You shut me out sometimes, but I value our friendship and I know you do too. You don't talk about it much, but it shows in the little things. You share your space with me, you take care of me when I'm sick or hurt, you put up with my messiness and you always include me in things." Jim took a deep breath. Just hearing Blair's calm measured voice helped him. No, he didn't think Blair was annoying. Blair was his friend, not his stooge. "It's too bad though." Jim could hear the grin in Blair's voice. "What is, Blair?" "I could get used to a Simon who doesn't yell, doesn't smoke, and is nice to me."
The End.
I am a delicate flower of creativity, and I'll re-write anyone who
says otherwise. On the other hand, I do like to hear what people think of my insanity. Email me at wildeskind@surfree.com.
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