Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Author's notes: Based on a true story.

Story notes: For the purpose of this story, we are going to pretend that Jim and Blair have an electric stove, not a gas one.

Rating: G

Summary: Blair has a kitchen crisis.

Comments welcome and appreciated!

Blair glanced at the clock. Jim would be home any minute now. It was his night to cook, but things had run later than he'd planned at the university. Coming home, he'd grabbed the hamburger from the refrigerator and quickly put together a meatloaf, which was now baking in the oven. The meaty aroma wafted around the kitchen, making his stomach rumble.

All that was left was to make the mashed potatoes. Jim appreciated it when Blair went to the trouble of peeling and preparing the fresh potatoes, instead of reconstituting the boxed flakes. Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a heavy, old aluminum pot that they had both used on many occasions. Filling it with water, he set it on the stove to boil while he quickly peeled and sectioned the potatoes.

Once the water was boiling, Blair turned the heat down to medium and left the cooking potatoes while he made a quick trip to the bathroom.

~oO0Oo~

Jim heaved a sigh as he got into the elevator and made his way up to the loft apartment. It was good to be home, where things were peaceful, if not always quiet. His day had consisted of a car chase, followed by a foot chase, followed by a takedown that had resulted in various bumps and bruises as well as a tear in his new slacks. He was ready to sit back and take life easy. Putting the key in the lock, he turned the knob and opened the door just as....

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTTTT!!!!

The loud noise had the Sentinel covering his ears. He watched in shock as a shower of white-hot sparks flew across the kitchen from the stove, nearly reaching the sink.

Blair had come pounding out of the bathroom at the sound, reaching the stove just as Jim did. He grabbed the pot of boiling potatoes and carried it to the sink while Jim shut off the burner.

"You're leaking there, Chief," Jim pointed out, as Blair settled the ruined pot in the sink. "What the heck happened here?"

Blair surveyed the trail of water he'd left from the stove to the sink and carefully lifted the pot to examine the bottom. "There's a hole!" he exclaimed, both perplexed and amazed. "How could there be a hole in the pot? The stove was set on 'medium'. On medium, Jim, not high."

"It was an old pot," Jim said with a sigh. "Maybe there was a weak spot on the bottom."

Blair shook his head in dismay and put the pot back in the sink, joining Jim over at the stove. "Ohhhh...."

"Looks like we need a new burner," Jim commented dryly, surveying the scorched and melted remains. The drip pan of the stove was filled with a quarter inch of dirty water. "I'll get some towels to mop this up. You see what you can do about salvaging dinner."

As Jim was cleaning up the mess, Blair drained the remaining water from the cooked potatoes and dumped them in a bowl. As he began to mash, he noticed small bits of metal embedded in some of the pieces. Carefully, he picked them out, keeping a close eye on the potatoes for more of the fragments.

"What ya got there?" Jim asked, finished with his task and curious about the meticulous care Blair was giving to his mashed potatoes. "Shrapnel in the spuds?" He chuckled.

"You can laugh," Blair mumbled. "But I was hoping for this to be a nice, relaxing dinner. This kind of thing could only happen to me." He let out a sigh.

Jim rested a hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed. "This isn't your fault, Chief."

Mollified for the time being, Blair finished the preparations and served dinner.

"This is delicious," Jim commented, savoring the meatloaf. He eyed the mashed potatoes with just a bit of hesitation before digging in. "Mmmm..." He looked up from his meal to smile at his friend. "For shrapnel potatoes, these are pretty good."

Blair threw his napkin across the table, hitting the laughing Sentinel square in the face.

~finis~

**On Easter Sunday, April 11, 2004, I was preparing a full turkey dinner for the family. I had taken my favorite old heavy aluminum pot out of the cupboard to boil the potatoes to mash for the kids. The stove was set on medium, and the potatoes were boiling nicely. I left the room for a few minutes. I heard a loud "bzzzt," and the lights in the house dimmed momentarily. Our daughter let out a yelp, later explaining that white-hot sparks had shot clear across the kitchen. The bottom of the pot had melted for some reason, leaking water onto the electric burner, which then shorted out. The burner and the pot were ruined, but the potatoes were salvageable. Our son dubbed them the "shrapnel potatoes" because of the bits of metal I had to pick out before mashing. Only to me... this could only happen to me (and Blair). {grin}

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