Summary: There is a small incident in Guildhall involving Jones and fire…

Note: In which I shamelessly use Killian as a comedy vehicle. Again. Be warned, this chapter is not too kind to him. Dedicated to my lovely Miran and inspired by the following quote from Iron Man 3:

"You should have pressed the panic button!"

"Well, I panicked, but then I handled it."

I know we've been steering away from Rumbelle these past couple of chapters but fear not, they're back with a vengeance next time. I think I've finished all the chapters about other characters now. :-)

Tarte Tatin (En Flambé)

Killian would always maintain that it was not his fault. It was the microwave's fault. He would admit that he had not perhaps handled the situation quite as well as he could have done, but he had panicked, and no-one ever thought straight when they were panicking.

Dawn had been baking, which was always a good thing. This particular week she had brought in a rather lovely caramelised apple tart, which Killian had very much been looking forward to eating the last piece of.

The office that he and Dawn shared on the top floor was a sort of dumping ground for everything that did not fit into the main offices below, including the microwave, since the building did not boast a separate kitchen. The microwave was a rather old and battered thing, but Killian was very glad of it, especially given his ability to forget about his cups of tea on a regular basis and only remember once they had gone stone cold. On this particular day, Killian was alone in the office with the last piece of apple tart, and he decided that warming it up would be a good idea. Since it was the last piece, he did not see the point in transferring it to a smaller plate.

It was categorically not Killian's fault that he had not realised the plate upon which the innocent apple tart was sitting was decorated with metallic paint.

By the time he had realised, the microwave was emitting a rather worrying sound and was filling up with smoke. The apple tart had burst into flames and was burning away quite happily.

Killian did the first thing that any sensible young man with a good head on his shoulders would do in his situation.

He panicked.

He managed to stop himself from screaming and alerting the attention of everyone else in the building, but only just, and after taking a fortifying swig of tea, he calmed down.

Killian understood that the first thing to do was stop the microwave from frying itself any further, and to this end he yanked the plug out of the socket. So far, so good, there were no longer any alarming crackling sounds coming from inside.

The next thing to do was to do something about the fire. As things stood, the fire was currently confined within the microwave, and it would make sense to try and keep it that way lest it consume the entire building with flames. The problem was, Killian was not quite sure how to put the fire out with it still being within the microwave, and the worry that the appliance itself would catch alight was becoming ever stronger.

He briefly considered throwing it out of the window, but quickly dismissed this as probably doing more harm than good. Since he was a lawyer, he knew being sued for damages having accidentally knocked out a passer-by with a burning microwave would not be a good idea.

He was going to have to get the burning tart out of the microwave. Killian looked around for something to use as an oven mitt. Oven mitts were not things that one normally expected to use in a solicitor's office, so naturally there were none available, and he didn't want to leave the miniature conflagration unattended to run downstairs to the toilets to grab a handful of paper towel.

His jacket sleeves would have to suffice.

Killian opened the microwave door and waved away the flood of smoke. Immediately, the shrill and piercing scream of the smoke alarm started, and Killian began to panic afresh, the sound of the alarm renewing his sense of urgency. He quickly pulled the tart - now reduced to a blackened cinder flickering with a weak flame - out of the appliance, but his jacket sleeves proved not to be as heatproof as he had hoped and he gave a yelp of pain, dropping the tart onto his desk before he rushed over to open the window to try and get the smoke to dissipate. It registered somewhere in the back of his frazzled mind that he probably ought to let his colleagues know that the building was not in imminent danger of burning down and the fire brigade did not need to be called, but he was slightly too concerned with the immediate present. Somewhere else in the back of his mind, he was very glad that Dawn was not in the office today or it would have taken them about a month to get her out from under her desk.

Below him, Killian could hear movement in the other offices, and he wondered how many of his colleagues were now wondering whether there was actually a fire and whether they ought to evacuate their clients. He heard a door open, then another, and then a voice from the stairwell that he had been dreading, a familiar Scotch growl.

"Jones, if you're burned your damn toast again…"

Killian looked at the smoking tart; it was beginning to char the papers beneath it.

"No," he called back. "I haven't burned my toast. No need to panic. Everything's under control."

Killian could forgive Gold the misappreciation. His office also played host to the toaster and Killian did not have the best track record when it came to making toast. It would not be the first time that he had set the smoke alarm off in a morning whilst trying to make a late breakfast before his first appointment.

"Then for the love of the almighty will you turn that blasted racket off!" Gold yelled up the stairs.

Killian frantically looked around for the mop handle that was kept in the office for the sole purpose of switching off the smoke alarm. Kathryn had installed it after Killian's third toast misadventure in one week. The tart had luckily stopped burning and was now simply smoking, along with a stack of Killian's paperwork that was turning a lovely shade of charcoal. Something had to be done, and quickly, but before he could concentrate on a battle plan he first needed to get rid of the infernal noise, because he had got to the stage of thinking that his eardrums were bleeding.

"Killian…"

It was Kathryn's voice, in the doorway. Killian turned to look at her and found himself blasted by a highly powerful jet of water. Once he was no longer being assaulted by a veritable cyclone, Killian was able to see that Kathryn was standing in the doorway with a fire extinguisher, Gold behind her. Killian was also able to see that the flambéd tarte tatin was no longer smoking and his papers were soaked through.

Killian himself was not all that dryer.

"Better safe than sorry," Kathryn said with a shrug, putting the fire extinguisher down.

Killian got the distinct impression that she had done it for no reason other than her own enjoyment, but he kept his mouth shut. At least she had solved the smoke problem. Gold came into the office, clambered a little awkwardly onto Killian's desk and hit the smoke alarm with his cane, bringing blessed silence to the room.

The receptionist and the two lawyers looked at each other for a minute, Killian categorically not wanting to tell them precisely what had happened and Kathryn and Gold visibly debating whether or not they wanted to ask.

They were saved the trouble by Dawn's voice coming up the stairs, chattering happily on her phone to Philip. She entered the office, took in the tableau, and blinked.

"Would it be too much to ask why Killian is soaked to the skin, why Gold is standing on the desk and why Kathryn has a fire extinguisher?" she said faintly?

Kathryn and Gold both looked to Killian to provide the explanation. He'd been afraid that they'd do that.

"Well," he began, wishing that he could just teleport back home and get some dry trousers. "I didn't burn my toast…"