"Why does the house smell like its burning?" Was the first thing McGee said to them as he walked through the door, reflexively taking a deep sniff.
They had decided to invite him and everyone else over this evening for the serious business of cookie eating. Mainly because after their taste test they came to the conclusion that the cookies might not make it into work tomorrow. McGee was the only one who could come; Abby was bowling with her nuns, Gibbs and Jenny were away at a conference today, Ducky was hosting bridge night for his mother and Palmer had been oddly secretive about what he had been up to. Something to look into tomorrow.
"Hello to you too, McRude," Tony grumbled, shutting the door behind him.
"Hi, Tony. You two didn't set her kitchen on fire or anything, did you?" He asked suspiciously, peering around like he expected flames to be jumping out at him.
"You do realise that Ziva and I can actually cook, you know?" Tony pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "Better than you, actually."
Well, Ziva definitely could cook better than McGee, that much Tony did know. Now, whether he was truly better than McGee was not something he was going to think about. He was Italian, so he was obviously better. Yeah. That's right.
His gaze was met with a raised eyebrow of his own from McGee.
"Yet I can still smell burning."
Dammit, he knew they should have used a fan as well as the open window to air the place but Ziva had to be from the freaking desert and not want to add to the cold air in the apartment unless she absolutely had to. She had said an open window was enough. Well, obviously, it wasn't. That still didn't mean he was going to admit anything to McGee, *especially* the fact that they had burnt something.
The two men stared at each other, neither one of them wanting to back down and admit defeat.
But eventually, Tony did because you really couldn't deny the rather acrid smell that was still lingering in the air, despite rathe heavy-handed airing out measures. There was only so much you could do.
"We had a little...mishap," he admitted relunctantly.
Stupid burnt smell. Why did it have to linger so much?
"Messed up the recipes?" McGee said knowingly, but Tony denied that with a shake of his head.
As if he and Ziva, well more Ziva, would mess up a recipe. This confused McGee, and Tony let a grin spread across his face.
"It was more of the...distractions that made us lose track of time," Tony said slyly.
He knew exactly what effect that would have, and, sure enough, he was right as McGee groaned and shook his head in exasperation. Hey, he said the truth. They had gotten distracted. McGee didn't have to make assumptions about the type. It was his own fault.
"I don't want to know," he decided.
"Sure you do."
"I really don't."
"Do not listen to him, McGee," Ziva said to him, shooting Tony a look of exasperation who just gave her an innocent look in return. "We managed to make a mess and forgot about the cookies in the oven while we fixed that."
Hmpf. The truth wasn't as fun didn't Ziva understand that?
McGee looked like he didn't really believe them, but he couldn't do anything about it, so he just sighed and moved on like the good little Probie he was. He had learned by now not to ask questions.
"Such a waste of cookies," Tony said dolefully at the bin where the cookies had been banished to.
"It was only one tray," Ziva said sympathetically, patting him on the shoulder.
"Exactly! Such a waste!"
He was unwilling to admit that it could have been worse, all the shelves in the oven could have been in use at the time. So, yes, in this case, losing one tray of cookies was not such a bad thing. But still! It was still a waste of cookies.
"Do not worry, McGee, we still have cookies," Ziva reassured him while rolling her eyes at Tony's dramatics.
"I wasn't worrying," McGee said with a shrug. "Are you sure Tony is okay though?"
"Is he ever?"
"Hey!"
Ziva and McGee laughed at his outraged face.
"Yep, definitely not okay," McGee said. "Do you want to hold a funeral for them, Tony?"
"Shut up and eat a cookie, McGee," Tony grumbled, shoving a plate at him.
"Um, why does this one have two inches of icing on it?" McGee asked, holding up Tony's red-iced cookie.
"Better question is, why are you so judgey today?" Tony asked, snatching the cookie off him and holding it close to his chest defensively.
There was nothing wrong with that cookie. It was perfectly normal and fine. Perfect, even. Yes, it was the perfect cookie. It wasn't his or the cookie's fault that McGee couldn't see that.
"I'm not judgey."
"Yes, you are."
"I just asked a question!"
"In a very judgemental tone!"
McGee sighed in exasperation and threw his hands in the air.
"Fine then! It's amazing! Are you happy now."
"Very," Tony told him, shoving it in his mouth. "Was that really so hard?"
McGee gave him a disgusted looked as Tony accidentally sprayed crumbs due to coughing. It turned out that cramming a whole cookie into your mouth and barely chewing before swallowing was a very bad idea.
"Do not choke to death in my kitchen," Ziva told him.
"It was McGee's fault!"
"Unless he force-fed you a cookie, I highly doubt that."
"I didn't."
"I did not think that you would. Have you tried one yet?"
"He doesn't deserve one," Tony pouted.
Ziva raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"
"He was being judgemental."
"Over our cookies?" Her eyes narrowed and McGee started backing away.
Tony nodded solemnly. "He was."
"I wasn't! I was just asking about Tony's icing decisions."
Ziva's fave relaxed and she gave him a knowing look. "The red one."
"The red one."
"That one did need further work."
Tony did not like how the tables had turned.
"It was a perfectly good cookie."
"I believe McGee would prefer a more conservatively iced cookie," she said, handing over a plate of those she had been responsible for decorating.
"I would," McGee agreed, picking one. "Oh, a snowman."
"Traitor," Tony hissed.
McGee grinned at him around a mouthful of cookie. "Tastes delicious."