The Cookie Thief
By:  T'Lina
Sa/Am, Sp

Rating: PG

Summary: Amanda solves a mystery.

Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em; don’t profit.

Acknowledgement: Many thanks to T'Ashalik for her excellent beta and for requesting the story in the first place.

Amanda hummed contentedly as she pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven and set it on the cooling stone resting on the kitchen counter, completely unaware of a blur of movement from the breakfast area behind her to her right. After she had spent an hour and a half mixing and baking peanut butter cookies from scratch, the whole house had filled with the delicious smell of freshly baked cookies.

When she had placed the next batch of cookies into the oven to bake, Amanda turned to scrape the cooling batch of freshly baked cookies onto the blue and white Wedgewood cake plate she had brought with her from Earth. It had been a wedding gift from her mother, a family heirloom that had been passed down from Grayson mothers to their daughters as a wedding gift for six generations. She never saw a blurred movement from the dining room behind her to her left.

When Amanda looked at her cookie platter, she frowned, hands on her hips, gazing in dismay at the surprisingly dwindling pile of cookies on the platter. “What is going on here?” she thought. “There should be twice as many cookies on that platter. I’ve only eaten one or two the whole time I’ve been baking, and those cookies certainly didn’t grow legs and walk off the platter by themselves.”

After scraping the cooled cookies onto her cookie platter, she washed her hands and dusted loose flour off her midnight blue “Kiss the Cook” apron before walking from the kitchen to the living room, seeking clues to the mystery of the disappearing cookies.

There she found her beloved husband and her adorable four-year-old son, apparently engrossed in a game of tri-dimensional chess. Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned against the living room doorway and cleared her throat. Two expressionless Vulcan faces lifted to meet her suspicious gaze.

“A word with you gentlemen, if you please,” she said. “I’ve been baking peanut butter cookies all afternoon, and when I went to scrape the latest batch of cookies onto my cookie platter, I discovered that there were only ten cookies left. There should be twice as many cookies on that platter, and I’ve only eaten one or two since I started baking. Would either of you like to offer a hypothesis as to what may have happened to the missing cookies?”

Two left eyebrows rose at the exact same moment, as her two Vulcans turned to face each other. “Sa-fu,” Sarek said sternly, “what light can you shed on this mystery of the disappearing cookies?”

Spock replied gazing back at his mother with round eyes, “Ko-mekh, I have been here playing chess with Sa-mekh this afternoon.”

“Spock is correct, Amanda,” Sarek said, turning to face his wife. “He and I have been here in the living room playing chess."

“Hmmm,” she said suspiciously. “How convenient, that the two of you are providing alibis for each other. Well, you can’t blame this caper on I-Chaya. The flaw in your logic is that he’s at the animal hospital having his fangs cleaned today. So that leaves two prime suspects. Would one of you like to confess to the crime? It’ll go a lot easier for the guilty party, or parties, if a confession is forthcoming. Otherwise, the penalty will be much more severe for both perpetrators.”

Two heads shook in unison. “Well, okay, then. I’m going back into the kitchen now to finish baking my cookies. There had better not be any additional cookie disappearances,” she continued, pointing a finger at the suspects. With that, she turned and marched back into her kitchen.

Thirty minutes later, she placed her last batch of cookies into the oven to bake. Glancing at her cookie platter, she noted with satisfaction that there did not appear to have been any additional cookie disappearances since her foray into the living room.

When the kitchen timer sounded indicating that her last batch of cookies was done, she removed the cookie sheet from the oven and set it on the cooling stone. She completely failed to notice blurred motion from both the left and the right behind her. When she turned her gaze once again to her cookie platter, she was shocked to find that at least eight more cookies had disappeared.

This is unbelievable, she thought. Despite my previous warning, the cookie gang has struck again. Amanda marched once again into the living room, where she found her two prime suspects, the picture of innocence, apparently engaged in a game of backgammon.

Folding her arms, she leaned against the doorway into the living room and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, gentlemen. A further word with you, please. I believe that I made it very clear earlier that someone would be in big trouble if any more cookies disappeared from my cookie platter. Well, I just discovered that at least eight more cookies have disappeared. Any one prepared to make a full confession?”

Two pairs of wide eyes gazed innocently back at her, but no confession was forthcoming. “I see,” she commented. “Well, I’m tired after all that time standing in the kitchen baking cookies, and I am not in the mood to cook dinner. After I clean up the cookie sheets and hide what’s left of the cookies, I’m going to go to my office and work on lesson plans for my classes tomorrow. If anyone wants end meal, which I doubt, they can take care of themselves.”

With that, she turned and marched back to her kitchen. After thirty minutes of scrubbing cookie sheets, mixing bowls, and wooden spoons, she finished her kitchen clean-up and turned off the kitchen lights. She was just about to take off her apron and leave the kitchen to head for her office when two strong, warm arms wrapped around her waist from behind. A spicy, woodsy scent that could only belong to one person tickled her senses. Smiling lazily, she relaxed back against her kitchen intruder. “Who is it?” she asked.

With a puff of hot breath against the base of her neck, a husky baritone voice whispered, “It is I, the Cookie Thief,” before planting a trail of nibbling kisses from the base of her neck to her ear.

Shivering with pleasure, she asked, “Why have you returned to my kitchen, Cookie Thief? You and your young accomplice have already eaten most of the cookies. Have you come to steal the rest?”

“No,” the mystery voice replied. “I have consumed a sufficient number of cookies for one evening. I am here for a far more interesting purpose.”

“Oh, really?” she replied. “And where is your young accomplice?”

“He has retired for the evening,” the voice replied, drawing her closer against him.

“You’re quite certain of that?” Amanda replied, turning in the circle of her captor’s arms.

“I am,” he replied. “I had to read seven books to him before he dropped peacefully off to sleep.”

“Then I ask again, for what purpose have you come into my kitchen?”

“I have come to comply with the legend on your apron,” the voice replied. “I have come to kiss the cook.” With that, he lowered his head to touch his lips softly to hers. Withdrawing just enough to slant his head, he lowered his mouth to kiss her again, parting her lips to deepen the kiss as he tightened his arms around her. She sighed with pleasure and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. For some minutes the only noises to be heard in the kitchen were soft sounds and murmurs.

In the shadowed kitchen doorway, unseen and unheard, a small figure with a shining cap of black hair and wide brown eyes peered around the corner, observing with amazement this most peculiar behavior on the part of his parents. When he saw his father cup his hands under his mother’s bottom to lift her closer, he hurriedly withdrew from the doorway and hastened back to his own room. “My parents are most illogical at times,” he thought as he climbed back into his own warm bed and wrapped his arms around his stuffed sehlat.

As he lay there, Spock’s thoughts drifted back to a family visit two weeks ago, when he had asked Cousin Sepek if he had ever observed his parents, Silek and T’Para, touching mouths together as a gesture of spousal affection. Sepek had stared back at him as though he had grown a second head. “My parents touch fingers in the oz’hesta. That is the only logical way for bond-mates to show affection.”

“Perhaps,” Spock thought just before sleep overcame him, “this touching together of mouths is some Terran custom between bond-mates, and my father is merely complying with the custom in order to please my mother. There is no other logical explanation for his behavior.” Satisfied with that conclusion, he rolled over and drifted contentedly off to sleep.