"Why do you look so suspicious?" she demands.

John doesn't answer. He turns the cookie over in his hand, sniffing it carefully. It smells warm and chocolaty, like a normal cookie should.

"I didn't poison it, if that's what you're thinking!" she snaps.

"Ah, but that's exactly what a poisoner would say, Milly," he counters. "I've been here for three years, and you've never brought me a gift. Now, I get a basket of cookies?"

Amelia rolls her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Dawlish. I baked cookies for everyone," she says. "Couldn't sleep last night."

John grins. "I have a cure for your sleeplessness," he says coyly.

Amelia throws her hands in the air in exasperation. "Have a nice day, Dawlish."

When she's gone, John chuckles to himself and takes a bite of the cookie. It's possibly the best he's ever eaten.

Years later, the warm smell of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven turns bitter as smoke seeps out. But John and Amelia are too caught up in their passion, their lips heavy on one another's skin, their hands restlessly exploring one another's bodies, and they don't even notice.