Title: Advent Calendar (December 3): Gingerbread
Author: stellaluna_
Rating: PG for language
Pairing: Danny/Don
Summary: A Saturday afternoon in Flack's kitchen.
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.

***

"My life has officially gone to hell," Danny says.

Flack keeps his eyes on the level of flour in the sifter. "What happened this time?"

"What do you mean, what happened? Take a look around you." Flack starts sifting the flour into a bowl. The smell of the ginger and nutmeg he's mixed into it, along with the cloves and cinnamon, hits his nose as he does, and it's perfect. He looks up in time to see Danny gesture emphatically. "I'm spending my Saturday afternoon baking cookies. I've officially sunk to a new low."

"Okay," Flack says. "Number one, don't worry. I'm sure there are depths to which you haven't yet sunk. Number two -- "

"Oh, that's very nice, Don."

"Number two, you're not baking. You're complaining. Number three, no one's forcing you to be here. And number four -- "

"Wait, wait." Danny holds up his hands. "Before you get to number four, can I say one thing?"

Flack cracks an egg into the bowl with the sugar. "Go ahead."

"I was led here under false pretenses. All you said was, 'Hey, wanna hang out Saturday?' I was thinking hockey, beer, ESPN...maybe a little something-something. Not sitting here and watching you play Julia Child." Danny leans back in his chair and folds his arms.

"You did that to yourself, Messer," Flack says. "I never said what I had in mind. You assumed, and you know what happens when you assume. You -- "

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that aphorism as often as you have, thanks."

Flack stops mixing. "Mac doesn't pull that shit, does he?"

"No," Danny says. "But sometimes I swear I can see him thinking it."

"Good," Flack says. "Point being, I never lied to you. If you made an assumptive leap, that's all on your damn head."

"Whatever. What's number four?"

"Number four?"

"You were starting to list off a fourth reason I should shut up when I interrupted," Danny says. "What's number four?"

"Oh, right." Flack goes back to mixing the dough. "Number four, this is for little kids. How can you say no to baking gingerbread people for all those innocent little munchkins I coach?"

Danny pauses. "There's no way I can answer that without sounding like an asshole."

"Nope," Flack says, not even trying to hide his good cheer.

"You could at least let me drink."

"Messer." Flack upends the bowl of dough onto a sheet of waxed paper, pleased when it falls out neatly. "I told you, drinking when you bake is just wrong. We get hammered and fuck something up, we have to start all over again. Besides, you don't treat good food like that. You're supposed to respect the dough."

"And tame the cookie?" Danny asks. Flack picks up a rolling pin, and Danny shrinks back in his chair. "Sorry, sorry."

Flack shakes his head and starts to roll out the dough. "Think you can handle decorating these after I cut 'em out?"

"What, am I a caveman now? Do I only have three usable fingers?" Danny reaches for the decorations. "Sure I can handle it."

"Two eyes each," Flack says warningly. "Maybe a smile and some buttons down their fronts. Nothing creative. Remember, these are for kids."

"I know."

Flack keeps an eye on him at first, but after Danny does a good job on the first half-dozen or so, he relaxes, and they get into a nice routine of getting the cookies ready to go into the oven.

"Hey, Flack?" Danny says after awhile, when the kitchen is filled with the smell of gingerbread and Flack is actually starting to feel peaceful about the whole day.

"Yeah."

"I really do think this is a nice thing you're doing," Danny says. "Not just the cookies, but all the work you do for those kids...you're good people."

Flack concentrates on cutting out another row of gingerbread. "It's no big thing," he says. "Lots of people do way more."

"Not the point," Danny says. "Not everyone would go to all this trouble, and you know it."

"They're kids," Flack says. His face feels hot. "They don't have a lot. It's Christmas, and they deserve a little something."

"Good thing you're there, then, huh?" Danny stands up and puts a hand on Flack's shoulder. The palm of his hand is very warm. "I think these are ready for the oven."

When Danny comes back to the table, Flack watches him sort through the little tubes of icing for a moment, then goes over to him. "Hey," he says, and slides his arms around Danny's waist from behind.

"Hey there, Don," Danny says. His tone is casual.

"What was that you were saying earlier about a little something-something?" He leans against Danny's back, nuzzling a little at the back of his neck.

Danny clears his throat. "Wouldn't that fall under the heading of not respecting the dough?" he asks.

Flack smiles. "Not if we wait until after the last batch is done." He kisses Danny's cheek, and Danny leans back into him, sliding his hand over Flack's. "Think of it as your reward for helping."

"Yeah, whatever," Danny says. "Now get off me, you clown. You're getting flour all over my sweater." He takes his time about disengaging from Flack's arms. "Then again, I suppose there are worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon."

"You never had it so good and you know it," Flack says.

"Oh, please." Danny shakes his head, but Flack can hear him whistling as he starts to decorate another cookie.

***