Title: Advent Calendar (December 18): Crime Scene Cookies
Author: stellaluna_
Rating: PG for language
Pairing: Danny/Don
Summary: They've got a minor problem here.
Disclaimer: None of these are mine. Characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer Television, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis.
Notes: This is my attempt at a fic version of an Advent calendar. There will be 25 of these.

***

The kitchen is warm and smells good, like gingerbread and sugar and molasses, but Flack has been over the numbers three times now, and he's just not seeing that they work. This is, he decides, going to take a little confab.

"Messer, we have a problem." Flack sets the baking sheet down on the sink with a thump. "And you need to tell me what to do about it before we end up with an even bigger one."

A look of deep suspicion crosses Danny's face. "All I was doing was decorating," he says. "And I followed directions to the letter. If we got a problem, then it's on your head. I am not taking responsibility, no way."

"Settle down, will you?" Flack says. "No one's accusing you of anything. You got a guilty conscience."

"You want to tell me what the problem is, or you want to keep picking on me?"

Flack smiles. "Don't see why I can't do both." Danny heaves a gusty sigh. "Okay, okay. You got no sense of humor sometimes, you know that? The problem is that we got some leftover dough here. There's enough to do a small batch, but it's not gonna be enough for everyone on the team."

"So?" Danny says. "You have a few leftovers. Isn't that the way it usually goes with cookies?"

"Yeah," Flack says, "but I don't want to go to them with uneven amounts of cookies. It wouldn't be fair if some kids got more than others."

"Oh," Danny says, nodding, and for once he sounds sincere. "Got it, no, that makes sense. You want them all to have the same."

"So you see the problem."

"Well, not exactly. You don't want to bring them to the kids, just cook 'em up and keep 'em for yourself." Danny shrugs. "Not like you're not gonna eat them."

"I don't know," Flack says.

"What, you're watching your figure?" Danny asks. He leans in confidentially. "Little tip, Don, from me to you: this is a terrible time of year to start any kind of diet. You should wait 'till after the New Year."

Flack gives him a shove. "I'm not on a diet, asshole. I know I could eat 'em myself, and I would, too, because these are damn good cookies. I'm just not sure that's what I want to do."

"You could give them to me," Danny says. "I promise I'll appreciate them."

"Well, that's one possibility," Flack says. "And not far off from what I was thinking."

Danny folds his arms. "Sounds like you got a solution to your problem."

"I might."

"You want to fill me in?"

"I was just thinking that, in the spirit of the season, we could maybe give them to our esteemed colleagues instead. Little cookie party in the lab, maybe."

Danny looks suddenly thoughtful. "We could do that," he says. "And if we did, just maybe we could be a little more...creative, shall we say, too?"

"Now you're talking," Flack says. "I was thinking maybe we could get a little them going with this last batch."

"Like, say, a police work theme?" Danny asks. "A crime scene theme?"

"Now that would be very wrong at this season."

"It would."

Flack nods.

"You got any red icing?" Danny asks.

"No, but I can make some."

"I'll rinse off the cookie cutter."

-

-

-

"This is incredibly wrong," Flack says, peering down at the cookie sheets. He points at one gingerbread person who's been slashed in half on the diagonal. Red icing is splattered across both halves of the body. "What happened to this one?"

"Industrial accident."

"Uh huh. And this one?"

"Slashed throat."

"And this one with the side of his head all screwed up?"

"Gangland slaying?"

"Is that why his feet are all smashed together?"

"Best I could do for concrete boots."

"So wrong," Flack says again.

"We are sick, sick bastards," Danny says. He sounds pleased with himself.

"I like that you made two with little blue hats and jackets, though."

"Hey, NYPD is gonna have to come in eventually and clean up. If we'd had more of these leftovers, I could've done our whole CSI team."

"Maybe next year," Flack says. He picks up the sheets and puts them into the oven. "If we don't get sent for psych evals after this. Or if we don't offend the holy hell out of everyone."

"Don, get real," Danny says. "These sick bastards we work with? They're gonna love this."

Flack laughs. "Yeah, they are," he says.

Danny looks inordinately happy as he wraps his arms around Flack's waist and backs him up against the counter. "I gotta tell you," he says, "I'm beginning to get the appeal of this whole do unto others routine. It's a real kick."

"See what I've been saying?" Flack says. "We're gonna make a lot of people very happy, both my team and our co-workers. It's good stuff, Messer."

"It is," Danny says. "And speaking of do unto others..."

"Oh, please."

"What happened to that little something-something you promised me earlier?" Danny snuggles in close, pressing a light kiss to the side of Flack's jaw.

"After the cookies are done, Messer," Flack says. "And not a minute before."

-

-

-

Flack dozes with his head against the back of Danny's shoulder; the good, warm baking smells follow him down into dreams.

***