The two of them looked over the neatly laid out counter with more than a small measure of satisfaction. It just looked *perfect*. Setting out kitchen utensils and ingredients was not where Tony ever expected fancy table-setting skills would be directed but here he was. And the setup for their little cookie bonanza looked perfect. Perfectly perfect, in fact. So perfect that Tony almost didn't want to start baking. Almost.

"Do not forget the cookie cutters," Ziva said as she looked up and down all of their supplies. "I know we do not need them right now, but we will, and I would rather have them ready to go."

Tony scrabbled around on the counter for a minute or two before holding his hand aloft triumphantly. All of the cookie cutters she had were in his hand.

"Got them," he said unnecessarily.

"Pick a shape, and let's get started," said Ziva.

She absentmindedly reached for one, but Tony blocked her hand.

"Tony!"

"You can't just randomly choose one," he said indignantly.

"Excuse me?"

"You have to put some *thought* into your cookie shape decision."

"And why is that?" Ziva asked him in a long-suffering tone.

He grinned at her, happy she asked.

"Some shapes just taste better."

"That makes no sense," she scoffed. "You are using the same mixture, so the cookies will all taste the same."

"Hey, I'm just telling you what it is. Some shapes taste better than others. It's a fact."

She just stared at him. What was so difficult to understand? He was telling the truth. Some shapes simply didn't taste as good, and that was that.

"That cannot be true," she finally said, shaking her head.

"It is! Ask anyone!"

She still didn't look like she believed him, so he huffed. She looked suspiciously at the array of cookie cutters on the counter and then back at him questioningly. He just smiled brightly, and now it was her turn to huff.

"So, what shape are you using then?" She asked, rolling her eyes.

Tony didn't even have to think about it. He already knew the perfect shape for a Christmas cookie.

"Stars are obviously the superior shape," Tony informed her, brandishing said-shaped cookie cutter.

And yes, he had been holding onto it this whole time. Because it was his. Ziva made a scoffing noise at him.

"It is obviously the bell or the gingerbread man ones," she said, waving her hands at her choices.

"The bell cookies always end up as blobs, and that gingerbread man cutter should be nowhere near cookie dough unless it's gingerbread," he argued.

"You can make little men shaped cookies," she retorted. "Not everyone likes gingerbread."

"Which is a sin in on itself," Tony said vehemently, having strong opinions on these sorts of things.

"I do like gingerbread," Ziva mused. "We should have got ingredients for that as well."

"Maybe some other time," Tony said hurriedly.

He didn't like gingerbread nearly as much as he liked cookies, and he would rather they got a move on with the cookie making. As if she knew what he was thinking, Ziva gave him an amused look.

"I will have to hunt out a recipe," she said, and thankfully, that was the last she said on the subject. "Shall we begin?"

"Please."

And off they went, mixing up a storm. Of course, first they had to do the traditional Christmas decoration cookies, thats what they were using the cookie cutters for. They were just basic sugar cookies, nothing special about them, but that's where the decorating would come into play. Tony fancied himself to be quite superior at cookie decorating.

There was something incredibly satisfying about working your way through ingredients. With each tray of cookies that they made, the number of ingredients on the counter went down. There went the eggs. And whoops, there was no sugar left. Thankfully, there had been enough for the cookies. The bag was scrunched up and thrown away. Same with the egg carton (though that went to the recycling bin). Surprisingly, there was milk left. Which was good because they would need that for hot chocolate later. And neither of them were the type of heathen to make hot chocolate without milk. Everything else needed to be wiped down, washed, or put away. Some needed a combination of all three.

Unfortunately, Ziva was not the type of person to put the washing up off to the last minute. She insisted that they do so before the cookies were turned on.

"They do not take long, and we will be able to enjoy them more of we do not have a big pile of washing waiting for us."

Begrudgingly, he admitted that she had a point. So they wiped, and they scrubbed - why did flour get everywhere? They hadn't been anywhere near the cupboard where the plates were kept. Things were put away in the proper places.

"I have the flour," he said, grabbing the side of the bag.

"No, Tony, be careful," she warned, but it was too late.

Tony hadn't realised that she had not folded the top of the bag of flour down properly and completely misjudged where he could grip it. Which meant that it slipped out of his hands and fell to the floor, almost in slow motion. Ziva lunged for it, but she wasn't fast enough, and it hit the floor with a 'thud', spraying a cloud of flour into the air. And, of course, since she was basically leaning over the bag, this meant that she got a face full of the white stuff.

Tony froze as soon as it happened, eyes widening. That did not just happen, did it? He looked to Zivas completely shocked face, bits of flour clinging to it. Appartly. Yep. It did happen. Oh boy. He will not laugh. He will not laugh. He rather liked being alive and all that. Which meant he was not going to laugh at Ziva David.

And then the left corner of his mouth twitched. And then it was both sides. And then a snort escaped him. Which meant he couldn't control it anymore, he was laughing. Properly laughing. And he couldn't stop.