194 Al Dente Sunnyd_lite "Ghosts and Pasta" The Sentinel G 1/1

[sunnyd-lite.livejournal.com]

Title: Ghosts and Pasta
Author: Sunnyd_lite
Fandom: The Sentinel, Post series
Word count: 850
Prompt: Al Dente (& ghost)
A/N: Been a bit since I wrote these two. All feedback welcomed. Written for fluterbev

Sandburg sat across from Jim holding up a forkful of floppy farfalle. "It's an Italian restaurant. There are such things as standards. Who expects to specify al dente at an Italian place, especially one with the original name of Al Dente although that might have been a tip-off. What do you think Jim?"

"That you should have stuck with the spaghetti." He twirled another mouthful, although now that Sandburg had mentioned it, it did seem a little soft. Not that he'd paid full attention to Sandburg's grousing. It was a useful barometer. A steady stream of factoids and cultural studies meant a contented and relaxed Blair. If it sped up and added more science, that read as nervous and he'd found himself more wary. A slower or worse no babble called for immediate actions.

This? He savoured the last bit of his lightly herbed Bolognese as his partner started up again. This was perfect.

When Sandburg took another bite, Jim asked, "So any ideas for the weekend?" He reviewed his own mental list of chores that had been gathering, and a weekend off after a month of cases gave him time. There was the standard cleaning but also a new bookshelf to be stained and put together. Sandburg might have left academia but the books still piled on every flat surface as if they followed him home like puppies. Some wood working sounded like just the thing he needed. Maybe even introduce the concept of home-made to his partner. The guy might be able to cook dozens of ethnic dishes from scratch, but it was like he'd only heard of prefab or cast off furnishings. A bit of sanding might re-focus that energy from an aural component to a productive one.


"You're not listening -- or rather you're not hearing me. I can always tell. And don't give me an eye-roll, Naomi gave me this huge lecture when I was like five on the difference between listening and hearing. Then repeated it every time I ignored her until I went to Rainier. I can go over it verbatim with cleansing sage and everything if you don't answer soon."

"Just wondering if you were going to pause on your own or not." Which was a bit true. He hadn't heard the normal lull that required his input.

"Professor Sandburg?"

There was a new waiter at the table, not theirs with the secondi course. Or the bus boy to take away the dirty dishes cluttering the small table. Sandburg froze a moment which was all the signal Jim needed to feel himself expanding like a pissed off cat.

"It is you! How have you been? " The waiter was shuffling his weight between his feet. "Did I ever tell you that Anthro was one of the best classes I took? Not that I'm using my degree." Here he waved to encompass the Tuscan coloured walls of the restaurant. "Wow, it's great to see you!"

Jim relaxed his posture, letting his spine touch the back of the chair. As threats went, it was mild, but one that was bound to happen if they stayed in Cascade. He hated what it did to Blair. It was his job to protect him. He'd faced death itself, but this wasn't a harm he could stop.

"Vinnie wasn't it? Three years ago?"

Jim had to refrain from shaking his head. It's what made Blair invaluable; not only could he remember everything, he cared to try.

"You're paper was late, but surprisingly through."

That caused the waiter to blush, and odd look on the six foot lanky frame. "I'd meant, but then it got really interesting and to do it justice I -- wait I got an A on that!"

A shrug and Jim could almost see the bobbing long hair that had been sheared for expediency over a year ago. "It was worth it. There was independent thought supported by a variety of sources. I was sorry you didn't continue."

"Have you tried the pistachio cannoli here? It's way better than their tiramisu. Let me comp it for you -- that was like my only A." The waiter bustled off, their own waiter still AWOL as was their meat course but that was Sandburg for you. He couldn't go anywhere without running into acquaintances – or in this case, ghosts.

Jim sat watching Blair push the pasta around his plate. He wasn't going to ask. After the first few months he could lip sync Blair's "when a door closes a window opens" statement. It had started with a level of enthusiasm which grew staler with each repetition. "Practical application of theoretical knowledge...get away from the carousel." Sometimes it was obfuscation, sometimes though it was true.

His partner hadn't broken under the pressure, nor had he folded limply as many had expected. Many, but never Jim. Blair was able to bend to absorb the change, but remain firm to his core. Al dente? No matter what he did, Blair touched those he came into contact with. "You're right Chief; it's all about standards."

And luckily Jim seemed to live up to Blair's.