Title: The Invasion

Author: Scribe

Fandom: The Sentinel

Pairing: NA

Rating: R

Summary: Things are on the loose in Major Crimes.

Archive: Sure. Tell me where.

Status: Finished

Sequel/Series:

Disclaimer: I did not create the characters here, I don't own them. I derive no profit from this effort. I mean nothing but respect for the creators, owners, and the actors and actresses who portray them.

Warnings: Rampant silliness, and some cussing.

Notes: Blame Jane for this one. She DOES insist on tormenting Jim.

The Invasion
By Scribe

The eyes glaring up at Jim Ellison were golden, and slashed by a vertical slit of pupil. They were surrounded by gray-green, rough skin, and were set in a long, narrow, ugly head. The mouth that gaped was lined with needle sharp teeth. The creature hissed, then voice its terrible cry.

*peep*

"Shit," Jim muttered from his perch on a filing cabinet. He was the biggest and could jump the highest--that's why he had the highest perch. Rafe and Megan were up on desks. Each desk was surrounded by several other creatures exactly like the one that was glaring up at Jim.

"What I want to know," said Jim angrily, "Is how the hell we got into this situation."

"We caught those guys trying to smuggle them in, remember?" said Rafe.

Jim sighed. "I know, Rafe. Those guys sure aren't the brightest bulbs on the Christmas tree, thinking they could raise alligators in Washington."

"All they were thinking of was how much the skins are worth."

"Okay, we caught the smugglers. Why didn't Animal Control take charge of these damn critters?"

"They're too busy," said Megan. "Today they're busting a dog fighting ring and trying to dislodge about a hundred cats from two separate cat ladies' houses. Not to mention having to watch over the Chihuahua races to be sure no one drugs the competitors." Jim and Rafe stared at her. "What? The annual race is a big media draw--lots of money changes hands on betting."

"We were just supposed to keep them for a couple of hours," said Rafe, mournfully examining a ragged trouser cuff. "While you went to lunch, we had 'em in that big metal washtub in the closet, with a screen over it. I thought I had it weighted pretty good."

"I know the rest."

Jim had returned from lunch. The closet had sounded like an incubator the day after hatching had started. *peep* *chirp* *peep* *hiss* Okay, maybe not the hiss part. Then there'd been a thump, and a clang, and Rafe had op! ened the door to investigate...

BIG mistake. A horde of baby alligators, none much longer than Jim's forearm, but half of that seemed to be mouth, had poured out. Two seconds later Jim, Rafe, and Megan--the only ones present in Major Crimes at that moment, were as far from the ground as they could manage. That was several minutes ago. The little alligators were swarming between the desks, snapping and hissing.

Rafe said, "Megan, I don't understand why YOU'RE scared. I mean, you're from Australia--land of the crocodile hunter."

Megan snorted. "Rafe, Dundee is fictional, and Corwin is a bleeding lunatic. No one with half a brain gets close to those reptiles if they can help it."

"I thought they were amphibians," said Jim.

"They can be fucking alien life forms for all I care," snapped Megan. "In fact, they just might be. We need some help up here."

"Well, if you and Rafe hadn't kicked the phones off when you jumped up..."

"That does it! I'm getting out of here, and then I'm going for a drink to soothe my nerves. Ellison, you can get your own arse out of this crack."

"You can't get out without getting down on the floor, Megan."

"Watch me."

*leapleapleap* *thud* *slam*

There were several more thuds, then hisses of anger, as a number of alligators slammed into the now closed Major Crimes door, after having chased Megan.

"Damn," said Rafe mildly. "Megan must've took track and field in high school. I never would have believed she could jump from desk to desk, then out into the hallway, without hitting the Bullpen floor."

"Impressive," Jim agreed. "I wish she wouldn't have left a heel print in the middle of that report on my desk, but thank goodness she had the decency to shut the door, or we'd be hunting the critters down for months."

"NOW what do we do?"

"I don't know, but I hope this is resolved soon. I drank three glasses of tea at lunch, and I'm going to need to pee soon."

The alligators returned to prowl around Rafe's desk and Jim's cabinet. The door opened, and H. stepped in. "Rafe, have you seen the file on..."

*patterpatterpatter* *hisssssss* "WHOOP!" *slam* *thud* *clang*

"Nice going, H." drawled Jim. "You shut the door after yourself, but kick the phone off your desk, too."

"Shut up."

Jim cocked his head alertly. "I hear Blair coming!"

H. and Rafe exchanged glances. "How do you know it's Blair? Maybe it's Simon," said H.

"Last I checked Simon doesn't smell like herbal tea." Jim raised his voice. "Blair! Don't come in--just go get help. Get Animal Control, or maybe SWAT." One of the gators hissed, managing to rise on its hind legs and scrabble at the cabinet. "Make that the National Guard."

"Big Guy, have you been smelling the evidence from the Drug Division again?" The door started to open.

"BLAIR, NO! THERE ARE FEROCIOUS, HIDEOUS ANIMALS..."

*creak* *patterpatterpatter* *hissssss*

"Awwwwww, aren't they CUTE?" *slam*

Blair shut the door, reached down, and picked up the alligatorette that was climbing up his sneaker, trying to get in a position for a leap at his throat. Jim, Rafe, and H. stared as he flipped the beastie over in his hand and started to rub its belly. "Who's a big, bad ol' natural predator?" he crooned.

The gator had been thrashing his legs frantically, hissing and snapping at the fingers across its neck. But gradually the thrashing died down, and the golden eyes glazed. Soon it lay still, the only sign of life the minute rise and fall of its narrow chest.

The other three men blinked. "Okay," said H. "How did you do that?"

"I thought everyone knew that rubbing their bellies sort of hypnotized them." He eyed t! he other baby gators, who were shuffling toward him. "What gives?"

"Long story," said Jim. "Do you think you could round them up and put them back in the closet?"

"Sure, no problem." He stepped nimbly around the other creeping animals and deposited the first one gently in the closet, then went after another. He followed the same procedure with each one--pacifying it, then stowing it. That was he did the same--till he came to the last one.

He couldn't resist. He held it up against his chest and said, "Hey, Jim, remember this? Izod!" The gator snapped. "YOW!" The gator went flying.

*SNARL!*

Jim went flying. His size twelves were aimed for the skittering gator, and it would have been exotic pate if Blair hadn't landed a tackle on him. "Jim, no! Those are under federal protection! Anyway, I'm okay. My hair is now lopsided, but I'm okay."

Jim was breathing hard. "I thought you said you had him hypnotized!"

Blair shrugged. "There's a tough one in every crowd."

Jim, shaken out of his initial squeamishness, clamped a hand down on the back of the neck of the last baby gator, then threw it into the closet and shut the door. Apparently the lively one woke up his siblings, and a chorus of chirping, peeping, and hissing emanated from the closet.

"Thank God THAT'S over with," grumbled Jim. "By the way, Rafe, H., Blair--if one word about me on the filing cabinet ever gets out..."

"Lips are sealed, man," said Blair. Jim gave him a 'look'. "About the filing cabinet, doofus."

"It's not like I want anyone to hear about me being run up on a desk by an overgrown lizard," said H. Rafe nodded agreement.

"Good. Now, then, nature calls."

"You just can't handle your tea," said Blair.

"Well, yeah--and then there's that burrito." Jim left the squad room.

Blair shook his head. "Oh, damn, I hope he didn't get into the jalapenos. When he does, they burn his..."

"YOWL!"

The yell, reminiscent of a panther scream, echoed down the hallway from the men's room. All the men flinched. Blair's expression was worried. "That sounds like more than the pepper poops."

"EEEEE-YOUCH!"

"LOTS worse!"

"Blair," said Rafe, "how many of those gators did you pick up?"

"An even two dozen."

"Uh-oh. We confiscated fifteen."

"Crap!" Blair pelted out of the room.

Rafe started to follow, but H. held him back. "He'll call if he needs reinforcements, and I have a feeling that Jim won't take too kindly to witnesses." They listened. There were a few more yelps (lower volume), and some very creative curses. A few minutes later Blair came back in, carrying a squirming baby gator. He pitched it into the closet, fending off escape attempts with his foot, and shut the door. Then he picked a phone up off the floor and checked for a dial tone. "911?" H. asked.

"Nope. Just calling Simon to tell him Jim and I need the rest of the day off. Then I'm going to have a doctor friend of Jim's meet us at the loft. No paramedics, no emergency room. He doesn't want to become an urban legend."

"I'm afraid to ask," said Rafe, "and I fully expect to have nightmares for some time to come after I get the answer, but--where?"

"Well," said Blair. "You know that gators are amphibious, right?" They nodded. "Those poor beasties were pretty dry, so the escapee went looking for a body of water, and the men's room is just down the hall. Jim was in a bit of a hurry and didn't check... Um, well, most people DON'T think to check the bowl, and..." Both Rafe and H. looked horrified. "Actually, considering what Jim had just done to him, I can hardly blame the gator." Blair started to dial. "It's nothing life threatening, or mutilating." Blair chuckled. "But maybe now I can talk Jim into that ass tattoo to cover up the scar."