Chocolate Baby Hortas.

By Sealie

"Oh, yeah!" Jim inhaled appreciatively.

Simon, in the middle of closing the truck door, paused. They were going to have dinner at the loft; who knew what Jim’s roommate had concocted for the meal. Witchetty grubs with mayonnaise would probably be on the menu.

"What is it?" He didn’t even bother sniffing, he was far to far away to smell anything from the loft – unlike the Sentinel.

The Sentinel looked up at the loft. "Blair’s baking."

"Blair’s baking?" Simon echoed incredulously.

"Yeah...." Jim darted ahead, allowing Simon finish locking up the vehicle. "If we’re good he might let us clean out the bowl."

Banks eventually caught up with his top detective who was poised outside the loft’s front door. He was about to speak when Jim widened his eyes and raised his finger to his lips. Cautiously, the Captain reached for his weapon. Jim shook his head, exasperated. Realising that devilry was in the works - Simon stepped back.

Silently, Jim unlocked the door and then kicked it open.

"What do we have here!"

Blair leaped out of his skin. He backed into the kitchen counter upsetting pans, which clattered noisily to the floor.

"Jesus, man, give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you!" He clutched his chest dramatically.

Simon poked his head further around the door.

"My God," Simon whispered, appalled. Every surface in the kitchen was strewn with pots and pans. The sink was full of dirty dishes, some of which had migrated onto the draining board. A bag of flour was tipped on its side. Cocoa powder dusted the end of Blair’s snub nose. And to top it all off, the delicious smell of chocolate filled the loft.

Jim slinked over to the student with all the grace of a hunting panther.

"What’s this, Sandburg?" He ran his finger around the lip of the cookie dough bowl and daintily licked the tip.

"It doesn’t count, man." The grad student pointed his finger accusingly at the detective. "You said that you weren’t going to be back from the conference until supper. I would have had it cleaned up by then."

"There was a bomb threat and the afternoon sessions were cancelled. Looks like the bomb went off here."

Jim stalked past the student, absentmindedly sneaking a warm cookie off the cooling rack. "What’s with the mess, Sandburg?" He mock growled.

Blair brushed futilely at his nose. "Cindy sent me the recipe for peanut butter cookies. I kinda got the quantities muddled up, and I started off with too small a bowl. And then I needed another bowl to beat the eggs and sugar together. And then when I had to beat the cocoa and flour into the eggs and sugar so I had to find another bigger bowl. Which we don’t have. So I ended up splitting the mixture between two other bowls. The cocoa kinda went everywhere."

Grinning evilly, Jim took a bit from the cookie. Blair was too hyper to notice. Simon, making his own poor imitation of a panther, stalked up behind the hapless student - snagging a cookie for himself.

"Could you have *made* anymore mess?" Simon asked, he managed to hide the grin that threatened to escape. He looked down at the misshapen mound in his hand. "What happened to this?"

Blair spun on his heel. "Bu... bu... bu.... put that back!"

Jim grinned at Simon over Blair’s shoulder and took a bite of his own warm cookie before hiding it behind his back.

"It’s a bit weird looking?" Simon viewed his cookie and then took another bite.

Blair snatched it from his fingers before he could get another mouthful. "Cindy told me that they should be about two inches or so across. I put a dollop of dough on the cookie sheet - but they kind of grew."

They both regarded the large, lumpy, bumpy, uneven mass.

"They look like chocolate baby Hortas," Jim said, naming the cave monster from Classic ‘Star Trek.’

Blair’s attention jerked to his Sentinel. Then he growled, "There’s a chocolate crumb on your lip,"

The pink tip of a Sentinel’s tongue peeked out, caught the crumb and darted back inside.

"Tasty Hortas," Jim said irrepressibly.

Simon took the opportunity to ‘acquire’ another cookie. "These are really good, Blair," he said around a mouthful of chocolate and peanut butter chips. "I’m surprised, though. How many billions of calories are in these things?"

Blair pretended to glower at the unrepentant pair, both of whom had yet another cookie, each.

"That’s why," he said theatrically, "the main course is ... “

“Is what?” Jim sniffed. He could smell chocolate cookies, then he heard it: the pressure cooker was beginning to rock ominously on the stove. It wasn’t quite ready to let off steam, hence the lack of smell.

“Winter-warming soup,” Blair said, with a glint in his eye.

“No,” Jim said, shaking his head.

“Healthy soup,” Blair said with the voice of the Prophet of Doom.

“No.no.no.” Jim moved around his evil Guide and backed into the confused Captain. “Make your escape now, sir, I’ll cover your retreat.”

“What is it?” Simon demanded craning his head around Jim’s shoulder.

“Brussel Sprout and Chestnut Broth!"

Fin