December 6th - If You Can't Take the Heat... Get Out of the Kitchen

"JJ and Garcia are probably seriously pissed..." Emily broke the silence of the car ride following their cookie felony, "But mostly JJ."

"Yeah," Morgan agreed simply, still grinning over the incident. They might be pissed, but he nonetheless found it a source of great hilarity. "Maybe we should do something to make it up to them..."

"I think our best bet right now would be to seek sanctuary, maybe leave the country, go into hiding..." Emily said seriously, "A year or two should be about right."

Morgan chuckled, "That's a little melodramatic, don't you think? I'm pretty sure we can come up with something that doesn't involve us going on the lam."

Clearly, Emily begged to differ. But she humored him anyway, "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"I think replacing the cookies we ruined should be payment enough... Maybe then they'll spare us our souls," he joked.

She laughed for a moment or two, until she fully absorbed what he was proposing. "You're not seriously suggesting we bake? Us? By ourselves?"

This time, he broke into full-on laughter at her incredulity. "Hey, give me some credit, I know a thing or two about baking. I did grow up with three women, after all."

"It wasn't your skills I was doubting," she grumbled quietly. "Although," she added, "I'm surprised you're willing to admit that, not very...macho..."

"I'm man enough to admit that I make a mean tiramisu and a kick-ass chocolate chip cookie," he smiled.

Sighing dramatically, she relented, "Fine. You're on." Honestly, she was intrigued by the prospect of Morgan in the kitchen, especially baking. Such a domestic thing seemed such a sharp contrast from the door-kicking, unsub-tackling man she knew. The idea thrilled her a little.

******

"Now, I don't have any aprons," he warned, "So don't spil anything."

"No promises," she replied, "In fact, if the rest of the day is anything to go on, you practically have a guarantee to the opposite."

He didn't seem to hear though, currently having disappeared to the depths of the pantry. "We'll keep it simple for now," he called over the clattering of bowls and the rattling of various food-stuffs, "Chocolate chip cookies."

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up at that statement. "Let me guess... Chocolate chip is your favorite?"

"You bet," he nodded vociferously. "My one weakness." Apart from you...

Shaking the thought from his head, he slid the recipe book across the counter for her to read. "I had to learn how to bake them for myself when I left home. Not quite as good as Mom used to make... But she refuses to give me her recipe..."

Emily raised a brow at that. From what she knew about his mother, that didn't sound like something she'd do, "Why?"

He chuckled to himself. "I think she thinks that if I can do everything for myself, then I'll have no reason to settle down with a 'nice girl'... She says the recipe will be her wedding gift to me." Allowing himself only mere moments to indulge in those thoughts, he quickly changed the subject. "Now, I know you say you're a terrible cook, but I refuse to believe you're that bad. In any case, though, we'll take it slow..."

She hadn't noticed when he moved around the little island until he was directly behind her. He leaned in close until his breath tickled her ear as he said breathily, "I promise I'll be gentle..."

Swallowing the lump that had risen to her throat, she turned to face him, her back up against the counter; they were seperated by mere milimeters. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked with more composure than she felt.

He shrugged, taking a step back from her. "I think you know..."

She rolled her eyes. "Now who's being melodramatic? And to think, we almost had a moment back there..."

"Enough chatter," he silenced her, wanting to cover the sudden awkward vulnerability, realizing she had felt it too, "Those apology cookies aren't going to bake themselves."

******

"I don't know what JJ was talking about," Morgan said, shaking his head as he looked at the excellent batch of cookies they had managed to produce, "I think you did just fine."

Emily smiled unconsciously at his praise. "I think there's a bit of a learning curve," she explained, "And you're a much better teacher."

"You're selling yourself short," he insisted.

She shook her head vehemently, "If I were attempting to bake on my own, the fire department would be here in droves."

A smile flitted across his face. "Been there..."

That prompted a raised eyebrow on her part. "Oh, really? Do tell..."

"That's a story my sisters love telling, maybe I should save it for when you meet them...again."

Ignoring the implications of that statement, she pouted and gave a lamenting whimper. "I want to hear it now... You can't tell me that much and just leave me hanging..."

Never one to deny her, he gave in. "One year, I wanted to surprise my mom by baking her a birthday cake... This was back before I was the culinary genius you see before you. Things were going pretty well, at least, until the oven came into play. I forgot to set the timer and obviously forgot about the cake in the oven, only remembering when my mom started panicking, ushering us out of the house as large amounts of thick grey smoke billowed out of the kitchen... Of course, the fire department showed up and I had to explain the whole embarrassing situation to them. I could tell they were trying not to laugh the whole time; my teenaged ego was a little bruised. After that, my mom promptly started giving me cooking lessons." He was silent for a moment, reflecting. "The fire department still sends us a card every year," he added.

Emily was trying very hard to hold back her laughter, not wanting to bruise his ego any further, but that was easier said than done. He shot her a mirthful glance and said, "It's okay to laugh... Just so long as this stays between us."

"Deal."

Slowly, another silence settled over them. At length, Emily broke it saying softly, sadly, "Today was the first time I've ever actually done any baking..."

For a moment, he was about to make an exclamation of surprise, until he remembered her history. Her mother had obviously never taken the mother-daughter bonding opportunity that learning to cook presents. Perhaps, she didn't even know how to bake herself. And, considering that Emily had never thereafter felt Christmas a thing to celebrate, she had never had any motivation to learn. "Well," he said with a genuine smile, "I think you did very well for your first time."

"Really?" she asked, slightly bashfully.

"Really. You're a master chef in the making." He pulled her into a hug, smiling. "Now, Julia Child, why don't I drive you home; who knows what Garcia has in store for us tomorrow..."