For Laughs


by WhiteJazz

Rating: G

Category: Humor

Series: Instructions for Life

Warnings: Blink-and-you-miss-it allusion to an early ep, but nothing major.

Notes: "Instructions for Life" is a new series of stories based an email forward I received by the same name. I (or rather my Muses) thought that most of them fit TS to a tee and would make great stories. Each will be based on a different instruction.


~*~*~*~*~*~


Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.


~*~*~*~*~*~

"You're going to get into so much trouble."

"C'mon, Jim. You worry too much." Blair snatched up the masking tape and a scrap of cheesecloth. "Don't forget that other screwdriver."

"Simon's gonna be pissed."

The door closed gently behind them. "He's never gonna know it was us."

"What if he dusts for prints?"

A groan. "Do you know how many people touch this knob daily?"

Blair's hand reached toward the concentrating Sentinel. //Smack//

"It was a rhetorical question, Jim. Don't analyze it."

"He could pull your credentials, Chief."

//Sigh// "How many times has Simon threatened to do that?"

"You want the condensed list?"

"Ha ha. And how many times has he actually done it?"

"Once."

"Once and that was over a year ago. Lighten up, Jim. You told me that for the last six years no one has gotten Simon on April Fool's Day. Isn't it time to break that record?"

A conspiratorial glint appeared in Jim's eyes. "Definitely."


*****The Next Morning*****

The wolf watched his prey with glinting eyes.

Simon Banks strode into the bullpen, briefcase in hand. His brown eyes danced about warily, as if expecting an attack from all sides. After a cursory glance around the bullpen, the black man strode towards his office. A lean hand reached for the doorknob.

The wolf's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, Captain!"

The hand stopped. Simon's head turned, watching Henri Brown approach. Grinning widely, Brown held three pink-wrapped cigars under the captain's nose.

"My sister just had her baby," Henri announced.

"Congratulations, *Uncle* Henri," Simon said cheerfully, plucking one of the cigars from his detective's fingers.

"Need a light?"

The captain smiled and slipped the cigar into his breast pocket. "I'm saving it for later, but thanks."

The wolf snickered. His prey already had a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his dark features.

Simon turned back to his door, once again stopped mid-reach by a beckon.

"Captain?"

"What is it, Rhonda?" Banks asked, shifting to face his assistant.

She tucked a blonde strand behind her ear, the telephone receiver cupped in one hand. "Captain Neeson from Robbery is on line one."

Simon groaned. He reached for the knob, stopped and took a step towards the secretary's desk.

"Aw, hell," he muttered, walking to Rhonda's desk. The young woman handed her boss the phone. "Captain....yes....one moment." Simon covered the mouthpiece with one hand and looked at Rhonda. "Can you get the Oberman file off my desk?"

"Sure thing," the secretary replied. Rhonda approached the captain's door.

The wolf twitched.

A thin hand turned the knob, letting the door swing open. She hesitated only an instant before entering the office. Rhonda exited moments later file in hand. She paused to close the door, giving the curly-haired man across the room a sideways glance before handing the file over to Simon.

"Thanks, Rhonda," Banks said, accepting the offering.

Swallowing his impatience, the wolf waited. Several minutes later, his prey lowered the phone and proceeded into his office. The tap-tap-tap of Jim's keyboard ceased.


**********

Simon took two steps into his office and stopped. He dropped his briefcase onto an empty chair and strode over to the wall behind his desk. The captain stared at the settings on the air conditioning controls, scratching his head and fanning himself with a scrap of paper. Frowning, he took two steps to the left and put his hand against the air vent set high on the wall.

Very little air was making it through the slatted vents. Try as he might, the shaft was too dark to see what the problem was. Feeling one hand along the top, Simon found the small release latch. He gripped it between two fingers and pulled, letting the grate fall open.


**********

The captain's shout was mixed with a strange sound. Heads snapped up in time to see the black man surrounded by a whirlwind of white, something reminiscent of large snowflakes. A renegade piece of white fluttered around and skittered out the door--a packing peanut. A square of cheesecloth fluttered in the open vent, several peanuts stuck in its gauze.

Failing miserably at keeping straight faces, Jim and Blair exchanged a discreet high-five. The bullpen filled with soft laughter and a quick round of applause. Detectives glanced around the room, trying to decide who had finally "gotten" Simon Banks. They didn't have to wait long.

Simon appeared in his office door, a lone packing peanut stuck to his jacket collar. Hands on hips, he yelled, "Sandburg! Ellison! My office!" and stalked back inside.

Blue eyes met blue and the partners stood. Egged on by the continued laughter and jibes of their co-workers, Jim and Blair prepared themselves to enter the lion's den.

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