Originally posted for storydivagirl's stocking in the LJ community fandom_stocking.


White(ish) Christmas

As a fine mist of flour hung in the air around him and began settling onto all surfaces throughout his kitchen, Leonard reflected that introducing his bright and impressionable young daughter to the hurricane known as James T. Kirk was perhaps not his best idea.

Joanna stood with eyes wide and both hands clapped over her mouth, her shaking shoulders make it clear that she was valiantly attempting to hold back laughter.

Jim didn't even bother to try. He was, in fact, bent nearly double and clutching his stomach as he roared in laughter. Seeing Jim's display, within seconds Joanna lost her battle to hide her amusement and her giggles joined his to fill Leonard's baking-warm kitchen.

Waiting for them to pull themselves together, Leonard crossed his arms over his chest and blew out a breath, causing a small puff of flour to launch itself off his clothing in a cloud. Jim snorted loudly at the sight, which, of course, set Joanna off once again.

"Flour fights are definitely not part of the recipe for chocolate chip cookies." Leonard told them, glaring as he spoke.

Joanna sobered somewhat, though she couldn't completely stifle her grin. "Yes, Daddy."

Jim had no such restraint. "Aww, come on, Bones. It was definitely a holiday tradition back home. And we didn't even have the excuse of lacking the snow to have a real snowball fight the way you Georgians with your bizarrely warm weather do." Jim threw his arm over Leonard's shoulders, creating another flour fog to rise up around them. "Besides, you shouldn't have walked into the engagement zone unarmed."

Bones glowered and shrugged Jim's arm off, moving towards a cabinet. "You two start cleaning the up the mess you've made. I'm going to have a drink and try to clear my throat of some of the flour that's no doubt attempting to clog up my airway. Then I'm going to have to take another shower and this stuff'll probably turn to paste in my hair."

"Oh, Bones, so dramatic." Jim rolled his eyes but dutifully went in search of a dustpan and broom.

As Leonard filled his glass with ice, his eyes ran over Jim, pausing on the gap between Jim's collar and his neck. He grinned as an idea struck and popped out a few extra cubes of ice. Jim sounded like he missed the snow and ice of his Iowa Christmases past, and Leonard could do his part to help him feel a little more at home.

And someone once said, after all, that revenge is a dish best served cold.