Cookies and other Disasters
Cain woke up to a disgustingly sweet smell. The second sun was just about to rise. He turned on his left side and was surprised to find Ambrose's side of the bed empty. That was strange. Usually, he had to use every trick he had up his sleeve to get the headcase out of bed at all. After all those years he'd spent left to himself as Glitch, sleeping whenever and wherever he wanted, it was near impossible to wake him. Now he was up before sunrise. And his sheets and pillow had grown cold which meant he had to be for quite a while already. He rubbed his eyes blearily, wondering what was going on.
Clattering could be heard from the kitchen, followed by a scream. Within a second, Cain was out of bed and in the kitchen, the gun that always rested on his nightstand at the ready. "What happened?" he panted.
Ambrose was standing in the kitchen, tears glistening in his eyes, and nursed his left hand. A backing sheet lay at his feet. Cookies were strewn all over the kitchen floor. "I burned my hand," he sobbed, holding out his injured hand.
Cain had come out of his shock state and now had to laugh about the mess presented to him. The countertops and floor were covered in wheat and sugar and sticky dough. Bowls and spoons cluttered the sink. Cookies had been spread out on the dining table, both the cookies and the tabletop painted with rainbow-colored sugarcoating. And in the middle of it all stood Ambrose. He had the goggles, he normally only used in his lab, pushed up into his hair. His curls, shirt, and pants were dusted with wheat. A smear of dough stuck to his right cheek. And he still held out his hand for Cain to examine, sobbing. He looked like a mix of a mad scientist and a four annual old caught with his hands in the cookie jar – actually, he looked more like Glitch then ever since he got his brain back.
His paternal instincts got the better of him and Cain climbed over the piles of cookies and the sheet to get to Ambrose, careful not to touch any of the sticky surfaces. "Here, let me see." He took the hand presented to him and carefully examined it. There was a dark red streak across the palm. It hadn't blistered though, meaning the burn wasn't too serious. Ambrose flinched anyway. "Aww, come on, Glitchy. It's not that bad. We'll just cool it a little and by the day after tomorrow, it'll be all healed."
Ambrose only looked at him disbelieving, the tears still welling up. "Liar!" he sniffled.
"Don't act like a baby!" Cain teased, smiling. He cleared the sink and turned on the faucet. Then he gently guided Ambrose's hand under the cool running water. "That better?"
"No!" Ambrose moped now in his best Glitch-manner.
Cain sighed. He hadn't had to deal with anything like this since he had to nurse little Jeb's scraped knees. He went to the ice box and rummaged for some ice cubes, wrapping them in what he hoped was a clean towel. The package he tied around Ambrose's ailing hand. "How about that? Better now?"
Ambrose only shook his head, the tears actually running down his cheeks now. Cain took pity in him. "Poor baby." He took his face in his hands and kissed away the tears, stroking his messy curls.
Cain pulled out a chair and sat down, drawing Ambrose into his lap. He undid the bandage and gently blew on the brunt skin, kissing it tenderly.
"What are you doing?" Ambrose asked confused, his tears stilled for the moment.
The Tin Man laughed, "I'm kissing it better, silly. Is it working?"
Ambrose nodded and rested his head on Cain's shoulder. Who kissed his forehead and stroked a hand through his hair, sending a cloud of wheat into the air. "What were you doing here anyway? It's not even time for you to be up yet."
The advisor looked around the kitchen – or what was left of it – and smiled sheepishly. "D.G. told me about the Christmas cookies. So I decided when we're having a Christmas party we also need cookies. I was up all night, studying the recipes. And then I was so excited I couldn't sleep. So I thought I might as well get started. But this is harder than it looks…"
Upon closer examination, Cain saw that quite a few of the cookies were slightly burnt. The charred edges were hidden under thick layers of icing. Ambrose picked one that looked fine and put it in Cain's mouth. "Try this!"
The usually tough Tin Man chewed, swallowed and grimaced. The sweetness was overwhelming, the texture dry as dust. He coughed. "Mmh. They're really good," he tried to cover up the slip of his expression.
"Liar! They taste horrible!" Ambrose got excited, cuffing Cain lightly in the chest.
"And here I thought you were a scientist and knew how to mix chemicals," Cain teased.
"Not funny!" the advisor chided. He buried his face, still hot from the tears, in Cain's neck.
"Aww, it's not that bad. Look, no one knows anything about Christmas and cookies anyway. We'll just tell the others they're supposed to taste like this." Cain rubbed his back, comforting him.
Ambrose just threw him an annoyed look. "D.G. knows!" he complained.
"Then maybe you should ask her to help you…," Cain suggested.
"But the Christmas party is supposed to be a surprise for her!" Ambrose insisted.
Cain sighed. He hadn't even had his morning coffee yet. He was too tired for this kind of conversation. He thought for a moment, then said, "Listen, why don't you go and take a bath. You look like a cookie yourself. In the meantime, I'll clean up this battlefield. And then we'll have breakfast and see what we can do about this cookie crisis."
Observing the mess, Ambrose shrank in his lap embarrassed. "I-I couldn't ask that of you! All this chaos!" he stuttered, then added more quietly, "Maybe we should just burn the whole place down."
But Cain just laughed, "Get out!" He pushed the bundle off his lap and slapped Ambrose on his behind. The advisor scurried out of the kitchen.
Cain set to work. He picked up the fallen sheet and swept up the cookies scattered across the floor. They smelled wonderfully. So he picked one up and tried it. It tasted wonderful as well. "Maybe not all of his work was in vain," he thought to himself and searched for a clean bowl to store them, hiding the broken ones at the bottom. No one had to know they had already been lying on the floor.
He took a heart and tried the other kinds too. Maybe more of them were edible. Unfortunately, most were burnt. And in one kind, that actually looked good, Ambrose had used salt instead of sugar. Cain got the trash can and swept everything off the table. He washed the bowls, cleaned the countertops and swept the floor.
When Ambrose returned from the bathroom – it had taken forever to remove the sticky cookie dough that had been entangled in his curls – Cain had cleaned the kitchen and prepared breakfast. He sat at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands. In front of him stood the bowl of cookies. He pointed at it, "The ones you dropped were actually pretty good."
"Oh, Wyatt, we can't possibly serve these!" he scolded.
"Why not? No one will know the difference," Cain shrugged.
Ambrose wanted to protest, but decided against it. He just threw his hands up defeated, "Fine, whatever!"
After breakfast, Ambrose got up to clear the table and discovered the bowls with the remaining icings. "What do we do with these?"
"I already have an idea!" Cain returned playfully, raising a suggestive eyebrow. He pulled him into his lap, the bowl still in Ambrose's hand. Cain dipped his finger in, then smeared it over the advisor's lips. Then he licked the sugar off, before drawing him in for a passionate kiss that left him breathless. "I think you owe me for cleaning up this little mess you created," he whispered into his ear, sucking kisses along his jaw line and sending shivers down his spine.
"I'm at your mercy," Ambrose chuckled, taking Cain's hand and sucking the finger, still covered in sugarcoating, into his mouth.
