Jim ran his hand through his hair. He had not realized that his plea for assistance had been so misinterpreted. "Yes, sir. A good reason. That's just what I... don't have."
"Ellison!" Banks began. He felt himself count to ten, okay maybe twenty. "Jim..." Simon rubbed his temples. "Why the urgent call?" He finally asked somewhat calmer than he was really feeling.
Jim made a motion indicating the three should enter the loft as he started his explanation. "Latkes."
Rafe shook his head. "Tell me that we did not rush over here for the 'great latke caper.'
"Tonight's the first night of Chanukah," Jim continued. "I wanted to do something really special for Blair." He removed a folded paper from the apron pocket. "Michelle gave me the recipe. It's only three ingredients. It shouldn't be too much hassle. But I just don't have the time to peel and grate all those potatoes."
Henri glanced to Rafe then to Jim. "All what potatoes?"
Jim canted his head toward the table. There rested a ten pound bag of Idaho Russets and a five pound bag of onions.
Simon shook his head. "Uh uh. I don't pull that KP duty any more."
Jim looked to H and Rafe. "Come on. This is something I really want to do for Sandburg."
Henri glanced to the mesh bags on the table. "The key word there, Jim is 'I'. That is 'you' want to do this for hair boy..."
Simon was quick with another solution. "Why don't you just get your girlfriend to help you. You said she gave you the recipe."
Jim folded his arms. "She's not my girlfriend. And I said I have to do this for him."
Rafe stepped closer. "Then what are WE doing here?"
Henri laughed. "I guess it's no good if someone who knows what they're doing is here."
Jim held up his hands. "Okay, okay. I owe each one of you a holiday favor. Anything you say."
"Anything?" That was Simon.
Already envisioning that Simon was going to have him dress as an elf for the Christmas program Jim sighed. "Anything."
Henri and Rafe soon found themselves at the table with peels flying. Simon was on onion duty. Jim was struggling with an orange and green box. "Press here to open," he muttered as he pushed unsuccessfully at the perforations near the lid. It was an exercise in futility as he only managed to dent the box and crack his thumb nail. Giving up on the 'easy open' directions Jim plunged a steak knife into the tab and sawed off the top of the box.
As the work progressed Jim presented Simon with a manual vegetable chopper and took up a metal object that resembled a mini carpet beater. The three stared as Jim used the carpet beater to grate potatoes into a bowl.
"Wouldn't your food processor be easier, babe?" H asked.
"Michelle says I have to use this thing to obtain the right texture." He turned to Simon. "Start chopping."
Simon unscrewed the lid to the chopper. 'Oh, yeah. Green tights, bells on pointed shoes...'
The four continued in silence for some time. Then Rafe peered into the bowl. The grated mush had taken on a pink tinge. "Jim, did you grate your finger?"
Jim stopped his motions. "No. Why?"
Rafe nodded toward the bowl. "Looks like you bled into it. Sure you didn't grate yourself?"
Jim was irritated. "Are you saying I wouldn't know if I grated myself?" He hadn't felt anything and certainly did not smell blood.
Simon looked up from the chopping. "Well, is it suppose to be pink?"
Jim shrugged. There was a pause. "Fine. I'll dump it out... just to be sure." He rose from the table with the bowl. Turning back to Henri and Rafe he said, "Keep peeling."
Oxidation. It was oxidation. So they were cops, not cordon bleu chefs. Who would have thought potatoes got rusty? The call to Michelle explained the color changes to the second batch. And now Jim could get down to the business of frying.
Having combined the potatoes and onions with matzo meal Jim spooned the mixture into the large pan on the stove. The latkes sizzled. Jim slid the spatula under one and tried to flip it. It fell apart. The others in the pan were stuck like they had been crazy glued. Jim swore under his breath as he removed the pan and started over with another.
"Ellison," Simon began again. "Why don't you get your girlfriend over here to help you with this?"
Jim poured oil into a fresh pan. "She's not my girlfriend. And I told you..."
"You have to do this yourself," the other three chorused.
"So what are WE doing here?" Rafe repeated.
Jim slammed a cabinet door. "Damn."
"What now?" Simon sounded tired. "I need more oil. I knew I forgot something."
Simon headed for the door. "I'll go. This is one task I won't mind."
Jim started four latkes frying in what oil he had left. Soon he was attempting to turn them. Falling apart with pieces sticking Jim grunted. "H, come here. Maybe you can figure out what I'm doing wrong."
Henri stood and walked to where Jim was cooking not noticing that a lot of oil had spattered on the floor. His feet started to go out from under him and he braced himself by grabbing for the counter knocking the bowl and sending the contents spewing across the kitchen floor.
"You okay," Jim asked.
"Sorry, babe. I'll clean it up." Balancing himself he added, "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Don't have time." Jim was usually fussier about cleaning a mess. "Just start peeling."
An hour later Simon returned with the oil... and Michelle. "Try not to laugh," Simon warned her as they entered the loft.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it." And it was true. What she saw before her was no laughing matter.
"Ellison, I brought your girlfriend," Banks announced.
"She's not my girlfriend."
Michelle surveyed the situation. "What happened here?"
"It's a surprise for Sandburg," Rafe answered matter-of-factly.
Michelle stifled a chuckle. "Oh, he'll be surprised all right."
"We were following your recipe," Jim told her.
Her eyes sweeping the kitchen floor Michelle said, "Jim, I know it wasn't in the instructions, but you were supposed to mix the ingredients in a bowl."
Swallowing a chortle Rafe explained, "We had a little mishap... a few to be exact."
"So seeing as it IS your recipe," Simon implored. "Would you make the dang things?"
"No!" Jim protested. "This is something I have to do for Blair."
"Then what are WE doing here?" Simon asked.
Ignoring his captain Jim continued, "Chelle, you understand... I told you..." His look was pleading.
"I know," she relented. She turned to Simon. "You chop." To Rafe. "You grate" To Henri. "You clean before this becomes a permanent fixture in the loft." Jim opened his mouth but Michelle held up her hand. "You'll fry them. I'll just stand by and try to see where you went wrong."
Michelle's observations indicated that Jim was trying to turn the latkes too soon. Patience was definitely a virtue in preparing the Chanukah treat. And she assured all that the trouble gone through would be well worth it.
Blair did not need Jim's sentinel sense of smell to detect the fragrance of frying potatoes and onions that greeted him. And with the pleasing aroma was the welcome sight of his friends.
"Man, this is great!" he told Jim. "I didn't think you remembered it was Chanukah. Doc, what are you doing here," he addressed Michelle.
"It's a long story," she told Blair.
Blair glanced at all his friends. "I'm just glad you're here. I thought I'd be lighting candles alone."
"Never alone, Chief," Jim said patting Blair's face. Jim looked to everyone gathered. "You are staying right."
Nods came from the members of Major Crimes.
Jim steered Blair to the table which had been cleaned of onion skins and potato peels. "I have something for you."
"Man, we should do the candles first."
Jim grinned. "I think you should see this first." He retrieved a box from under the table and handed it to his roommate.
Setting it on the table Blair eased it open. Inside cocooned in tissue paper was a menorah in a replica of the Western Wall. Carefully Blair lifted it from the box. "It's beautiful." He placed it on the table as Jim handed him a box of candles. Blair placed one in the holder for the Shamash and one for the first night. Then he accepted the offered book of matches but as he went to strike the match Jim's hand stopped him.
"Before you do that. I have another surprise for you." He paused and inhaled. "Michelle has been working with me... and ...well, she taught me the blessings so I can say them with you... if that's okay."
Blair's heart swelled. "It's more than okay." He struck the match and lit the shamash. When he went to lift it Jim's hand joined his and the candle for the first night was kindled by them together and the shamash returned. Jim draped an arm across Blair's shoulders. Blair's arm went around Jim's waist.
Behind them Michelle silently invited the joining of hands taking hold of Simon's and Rafe's, Rafe in turn taking Henri's.
In the spirit of family and friendship Blair and Jim recited the ancient blessings in celebration of the miracle of the oil that burned for eights days and nights when it was thought there was only enough for one day and one night.
Jim dropped a kiss on Blair's head, "Happy Chanukah, Chief." And it was.
THE END