A/N - I got nothing. This is just some slapstick comedy and if I'm honest, which, normally I am, I would LOVE to see this on film...

Disclaimer - Break glass in case of emergency

"Shawshank!" Fat Amy exclaimed, shoving open the kitchen door. "What are you doing!"

Beca, with her back to the door, jumped at the sound of Amy's shout, the bag of cake mix in her fingers ripping open in her surprise. Chocolate cake powder billowed into the air in a giant brown cloud then began falling lightly to the floor like a wildly demented snowfall.

"Amy! Jesus, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" Beca spun around, a fine dusting of brown covering her face and hands. "Look at what you made me do!"

Amy tried mightily to control her laughter but couldn't. "Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"Yes," Fat Amy replied, a hand to her mouth. "I am, seriously." Then, she snorted.

"Oh, bite me!" Beca exclaimed, hitting the blonde woman square in the face with a handful of cake mix.

Amy huffed, brown powder pluming out from her lips. "Oh, no, you didn't!" she shouted.

Beca reared back with the rapidly emptying bag. "Oh, yes, I did! You want another round?"

Glancing around the kitchen, Amy suddenly grabbed an egg, pulling her hand back in imitation of Beca's threatening pose. "You really want to go there?"

"Don't you throw that egg at me!"

"Why not?" Amy asked. "Then I could just add a little milk and stick your head in an oven for an hour."

"An hour?!" Beca exclaimed. She lowered the bag and straightened. "You'd over-bake me?" she responded softly.

"Well, I don't know!" Amy snapped, lowering her egg. "How long does it take to bake a cake?"

"Well, the box says 35 to 45 minutes…"

Suddenly, Amy shook her head, dislodging more cake mix. "Wait a minute, why are you baking a cake anyway? You're not exactly Julia Childs."

"It's Julia Child, you idiot."

"How the hell would I know, I'm not Julia Child, either!"

Beca sighed and tossed the remaining mix into the sink, raising up another brown plume of dust. "I thought I'd make a cake for Chloe's birthday since she's been working so hard and everything," she explained. "You know, for fun."

Amy snorted. "Huh, Beca, you and a kitchen do not equal fun. Fireball explosions maybe, but not fun."

"Then help me."

"What?!" Amy recoiled in horror. "Are you kidding?! No way, just because I'm the best chef in Tasmania, I quit when all those Aboriginals claimed they got food poisoning…"

Beca turned back towards the counter. "Yeah, right, whatever…" Beca suddenly spun around and advanced on the best singer in Tasmania. "You know something? Fine, I don't need your help!"

"Fine!" Amy turned to storm out of the kitchen.

"Wait!" the brunette shouted. "Come on, Amy, give me a hand."

Amy looked at Beca for a long moment then sighed in resignation. She picked up the cake mix box, pretending to read the instructions. "So, how do you pre-heat an oven?"

Beca sighed. "I guess it doesn't really matter now anyway, the cake mix is all over me… and you… and the kitchen."

Fat Amy scoffed at her friend. "Come on, Shawshank, you know Chloe has a cookbook around here somewhere. I'll bet there are a dozen cake recipes in it."

The brunette thought about it for a moment. "Okay!" she finally agreed with a remarkable amount of enthusiasm for the usually reserved DJ.

They studiously went about their mission, hoping to surprise Chloe by the time she arrived home in just a few hours. Digging through one of the drawers, Amy found two aprons and quickly donned one before tying the other around Beca's waist, much to Beca's dismay. A round of slappy-hands followed but Amy prevailed, stepping back to admire her accomplishment. Once that task was completed items were retrieved from cabinets, utensils from drawers and the oven, after much debate, was finally set to pre-heat.

"Is that the sifter?" the blonde asked.

Beca held up the odd-looking contraption with a screen on its bottom and a crank handle on the side like her old jack-in-the-box. "I don't know, I think so."

"What do you do with it?"

You sift the flour, you dork."

"How?"

Conjuring up a memory, any memory, of watching her mother baking in the kitchen, Beca dumped half a bag of flour into the sifter and held it up. "There."

"That's it?"

"Well, yeah, I think so."

Amy shook her head. "Well, I don't. Give me that." She reached for the sifter. "Give it."

Beca yanked the utensil out of reach, spewing flour across the floor. "No!"

"Come on, you midget!" Amy snapped, lunging for Beca's arm. "That's not right!"

"I've got it, Amy!"

"Give it here, Beca!"

As they fought, flour was tossed around the room like yet another delicate fall of snow, this one pristine and whilte, dusting everything it touched. The bickering got louder as they fought over the item like two toddlers squabbling over the last cookie before naptime.

"Amy! Let go!"

"You're not doing it right!"

"How do you know?"

"Well, why does it have that handle thingy on the side?"

"For easy clean-up!"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Oh, please!" She snatched the sifter from Beca's hand. "Ha!"

"Now what, genius?"

"Turn the handle, you hobbit." As she did so, sifted flour fell out of the bottom. "Ha ha! See! I was right!"

Aubrey opened the kitchen door, seeking a bottle of water from the fridge before settling down to work on her Civil Torts paper, and skidded on the floured tile floor. Catching herself, she looked at the mess of a kitchen then saw Beca and Fat Amy playing with a flour sifter, amazed at the feat the little contraption was capable of performing. An inscrutable expression on her face, she simply turned and walked out.

xoxoxo

"I think you did that wrong."

"You think I did everything wrong."

"Well, yeah."

"Do you even know what 'fold in two eggs' means?"

"No. Do you?"

"That is not the point."

"Actually, I think it was my point."

xoxoxo

"You're over-mixing it."

"I'm what?"

"You're over-mixing it. You know, there is such a thing as mixing the batter too much."

"Oh, you're just making that up because I wouldn't let you lick the spoon."

"Okay, fine. But when that cake comes out looking like it has an ant-farm of tunnels in it, don't blame it on me."

"Fine. I'll stop now. Happy?"

"Yes. Give me the spoon."

xoxoxo

"Okay, just pour the batter into the cake pan."

"Get your arm out of my way."

"My arm? I'm not in your way, you twig." Glop. "What the hell was that for?"

"Your arm was in the way! I told you to move it!"

"I'm holding the pan still!"

"It's a cake pan! Where's it going to go?"

"Just finish what you're doing… and get this batter off my arm!"

"There, done."

"Okay, now we just put it in the oven and bake at 450 for 45 minutes. Set the timer."

"The what?"

"The timer- oh, forget it."

"Are you sure it should be set at 450 degrees?"

"Why?"

"Are you trying to bake it or cure it?"

"What do the instructions say in the stupid cookbook?"

"You idiot, it says 35 minutes at 350 degrees!"

"Hmm… well, okay, it's already a 100 degrees hotter than it should be, so if we bake it for about 20 minutes at 450 degrees, that should be the same as 35 minutes at 350 degrees, right?"

"Yeah, that sounds right."

"Good. Set the timer."

"The what?"

xoxoxo

It was almost time for Chloe to arrive home from the hospital where she was interning and Beca was anxious to get the cake out of the oven so it could be frosted. She rushed across the kitchen with Amy on her heels, ready to pull the cake pan out of the appliance before them.

Her self-satisfied grin slowly crumbled as she pulled what looked to be a chocolate rock out of the oven.

"What did you do?" Fat Amy accused.

"Me?! What did you do?"

"Beca, it's hard as a rock! I think you've hit on a new way to make bricks!"

Beca was reading over the directions in the cookbook. "Flour."

"Check," Amy replied, wiping at a streak of white powder on her cheek.

"Eggs."

Cracked egg shells in the sink. "Check."

"Vegetable oil, butter…"

"Check, check."

"Baking powder."

"Che- what?"

Beca turned and gave Amy a withering look. "Baking. Powder," she enunciated precisely, biting off each word for further comprehension.

"Um, isn't that the same thing as flour?"

"No, Amy, it is not the same thing as flour. Baking powder is what makes a cake rise!"

"Well, how the hell should I know?! The closest I've ever been to baking is when my boyfriends buy my cookie bouquets and cupcakes!"

Suddenly, they heard the front door open, melodious laughter filling the apartment.

"Crap!" Beca exclaimed. "She's home! Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!"

"Beca! That cake isn't even frosted!"

"Thanks for the newsflash, Amy!"

Amy snatched the cake pan out of the brunette's hands. "Ow, shit!" She threw the pan on the counter then smacked Beca on the shoulder. "Thanks for telling me it was still hot!"

"You saw me take it out of the oven!"

"Okay, genius, now what?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking!"

Amy rolled her eyes. "I don't think you have that much time, Shawshank."

xoxoxo

Chloe dropped her bag on the floor in the entry hall as Aubrey glanced over her shoulder at her best friend. The inscrutable look on her face had Chloe's eyebrows knitting in curiosity.

"Hey, Bree," she called. "Good day?"

"Um, yeah," Aubrey replied hesitantly. "You could say that… I guess…"

Chloe cocked her head. "Aubrey. What's going on-." she stopped suddenly, an odd smell in the apartment finally tickling her senses. "What's that?" she asked.

Aubrey gave her a look. "What's what- oh, that smell?"

They both sniffed at the air. "It's like charcoal ash…," Chloe murmured.

"Yes, with hints of chocolate…"

"It's coming from the kitchen- Oh, my God, they're cooking!" Chloe exclaimed, hurrying across the living room to the closed kitchen door.

"Chloe!" Aubrey called, jumping off the sofa and racing after the redhead. "Wait!"

Chloe shoved open the kitchen door and skidded on the flour coated floor, reaching out a hand to the countertop to stop herself from falling. "Holy crap!" she blurted.

Beca and Amy both jumped, startled by the commotion behind them. They spun around, identical looks of guilt gracing both faces.

"Oh, my God…" Chloe murmured in shock, getting a look at the war zone the kitchen had become. "What on earth is going on here?" she demanded, looking down at the unknown substance coating her hands before seeing some of it dripping off her fingers.

"Hey, Ranga!" Amy stammered then grabbed the cake pan and shoved the rockhard monstrosity toward the redhead. "Happy birthday, Chloe!"

"What the hell is that?" Chloe asked, pulling her hands back as if in surrender and eying the brown lump warily.

"Shawshank here made you a brick for your birthday," Amy replied before Beca could open her mouth.

"Beca!" Chloe exclaimed.

"What?!" Beca replied. "I wanted to make you a cake for your birthday! Is that wrong?!"

"Look at what they did to my kitchen!" she moaned to Aubrey.

"And they'll clean it up," Aubrey assured the redhead. Then she gave the duo a particularly hairy eyeball. "Won't you?" she growled.

"Um, yeah!" Beca gulped.

"See?" Amy added, grabbing a towel and rubbing at the counter. "Cleaning up!"

Chloe sighed.

"So," Amy drawled. "How was work?"

"Shut it, Fat Patricia," Aubrey admonished.

"Yeah, shut it, Patricia," Beca muttered through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, but since when did either of you think you could be the next Betty Crocker?" Chloe asked. "Let me guess, you two were deprived of an Easy-Bake Oven as children."

"Heh, maybe Amy was," Beca cracked.

"Hey!" Pregnant pause. "What's an Easy-Bake Oven?"

"Clean up this kitchen!" Chloe shouted. Spinning around, she slipped on more flour and once again nearly upended herself. Quickly regaining her balance, she managed a rather dignified exit.

"So…" Amy mused, glancing over the where Beca was wiping down the countertop, a smear of cake batter across her forehead and down one cheek. She grinned at the little brunette. "You think she liked the cake?"