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Garcia strolls through the bunker whistling a Christmas tune. It’s late, and he’s hoping to steal a snack before he returns to his book. He rounds the corner and stops, jaw hitting the floor. “Lucy?”
Lucy turns and stares at him sheepishly. “Oh, hello.”
“What are you doing?”
She shrugs. “Making cookies.”
Garcia cocks an eyebrow and surveys the kitchen. "I’m hardly an expert, but I do believe the flour needs to be in the bowl."
Lucy glares at him. "Can you kill someone with a whisk?"
He nods. "It's not my ideal weapon, but I could manage."
"You've been warned," she growls holding her whisk to his face.
Garcia chuckles softly. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be,” Lucy grumbles and turns back to her mixing bowl. She shoots him what he assumes is her puppy dog look, and he can’t suppress a fond smile.
“Would you like me to help?” he asks sliding up behind her.
Lucy whimpers. “Yes!”
Garcia grabs the whisk and motions to the counter. “Let’s start with cleaning this mess up.”
“Fine,” Lucy pouts. She walks over to the cabinet pulling towels from the drawers and turns back to Garcia. Lucy’s only halfway across the room when she steps on a broken egg and slides right into Garcia's arms.
“And you wonder why I said we have to clean first,” Garcia smirks.
Lucy stands and straightens her blouse. “Yes, well, I had a little trouble with the mixer.”
“Mhmm,” Garcia answers lightly taking the towel and mopping up the egg. “Perhaps you can start with the counter? It might be safer.”
Lucy rolls her eyes but obliges. Garcia sinks to the floor and wipes at the mess his wife has managed to create. It takes longer than desired, but soon enough, the duo are standing over a new and clean mixing bowl.
"Now, what cookie are we making?" Garcia looks at her with just a hint of a smirk.
"I was thinking snickerdoodle."
Garcia makes a face. "Really?"
Lucy's hands land on her hips. "And what's wrong with snickerdoodle cookies?"
"One, they're Wyatt's favorite, and I'm not making Wyatt cookies," he watches Lucy's face flash confusion at his knowledge of this, but he ignores it. "Two, I'm really not a fan. Why can't we just make traditional sugar cookies and use those sprinkles you insisted I buy?"
Lucy rolls her eyes. "Well, if it's your favorite." And he winks at that.
They take to selecting and measuring ingredients. Garcia mixes the dough while Lucy reads off the directions. When he accidently knocks flour on the counter, Lucy doesn't miss the opportunity to rib him.
"Well, now all we have to do is let the dough rest," Lucy announces as they, mostly him, finishes mixing. "Why don't we pick out some cookie cutters while we wait?"
"Lead the way," he waves her on.
She pulls out the large container shifting through turkeys, bells, eggs, and the like. Lucy smirks at him when she passes him a tree, and he can't help but laugh at her for it. By the time they've successfully (he means Lucy) created a mess with the cookie cutters, and they (mostly him, again) cleans it up, the dough is ready for cutting.
"Do you trust me to cut out shapes?" Lucy eyes him as he passes a ball of dough.
"No," he smirks. "But it seems worth the risk."
Lucy sticks out her tongue. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." and he can only laugh.
"Your cookies are quite thick," Garcia comments as he looks over at her tray of cookies.
"Are you really criticizing the thickness of my cookies, Garcia?"
"I am not, but that will be quite a bite when they're fully baked."
Lucy crosses her arms. "Perfect for your big mouth then."
"Fair enough," he answers but plants just a bit of dough on her nose for good measure.
"Garcia Flynn, I swear-"
"Hey!" he interrupts. "It's Christmas. Good tidings to all men, right?"
Lucy narrows her eyes. "I'm fairly certain they weren't thinking of you when they wrote that."
"You never know," Garcia smirks. "We have been to many different pasts."
Lucy shakes her head with mock annoyance and leads them to the oven. When the cookies are finally cooked and cooled, they gather around the table decorating each one. Garcia smiles fondly as Lucy slides two gingerbread people that look distinctively familiar across the table, and his smile grows to a burst of laughter when he bites "his" head off.
"I don't think I can eat another cookie," Lucy announces as she collapses into their bed.
Garcia nudges her so he can crawl in beside her. "I suspect come morning you will prove otherwise."
She giggles. "You're probably right. I expect one with my coffee, mister."
He nods. "Noted."
Lucy sighs and pulls the covers closer. "Thank you for helping bake cookies tonight. I had a wonderful time."
Garcia reaches down and presses a kiss into her lips. "Me too, Lucy." He pauses then grins. "But mine were better. You can admit that, right?" And he can't control his laughter as a pillow flies into his face.