Title: Baskin Robbins, Number Four Thirty-Two
By: archilymn
Pairing: Reid/Morgan
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Summary: Pastries, apparently, were not Spencer's strong point.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but wouldn't it be lovely?
A/N: Just a cute lil shmoop-ball fic for asian_jelly 's early birthday.

***

 "Honey, I'm home!" Derek called, carefully closing the door behind him. Apparently being SAC meant more than just a fancy new office, and Derek was suddenly well aware of why Hotch pulled so many all-nighters; it was eleven forty-five at night, and Spencer had gone home already, leaving Derek alone with stacks upon stacks of reports and other various and sundry items of paperwork.

 He paused, awaiting Spencer's snippy and clever reply to his entrance. When none was forthcoming, Derek frowned. Usually Spencer would jump at the chance to, at the very least, lecture Derek on traditional gender roles and the complete lack of them in their relationship, before hurrying off to reheat the dinner he had prepared whilst Derek was at work.

 Derek rounded the corner into the kitchen, instinctively reaching for his gun.

 A bomb had gone off, or so it seemed. The walls were painted with white and large dollops of something brown and sticky; there was a long sporadic line of pastel blue goop arching across the ceiling, and drops of it were slowly gathering and falling onto the floor, which was covered in all of the same. It looked like a nursery school parody of a crimescene. In the center of the chaos stood Spencer, his back was to Derek, shoulders slumped.

 "Spencer?" Derek tried, hesitant. He took a step forward, unsure if he should try to make physical contact.

 Spencer's head whipped around, his face was white as well, his hair looked as though he had stuck his finger into an electrical socket. "Derek, I'm so sorry," he said, his face expressing pure regret. Derek was concerned, and he moved closer, but Spencer shuffled away, his gaze locked onto the floor.

 "I-I thought it was all proportional," he explained, attempting to tuck some of his flyaway hair back behind his ear, but only succeeding in smearing, what appeared to be, that same blue goop through it. "I thought, since the serving size should have been doubled, all I had to do was double the ingredients used. It's all chemistry, I'm good at chemistry." It made very little sense to Derek, who was eying Spencer's hand-- it was very, very blue.

 "What is all this?" Derek asked, waving his hand at the kitchen in general.

 Spencer blushed. "Cake," he said.

 Suddenly it all made sense, and Derek couldn't help but laugh, prompting a sharp look from Spencer.

 "It's not funny," he said, defensive. Then, quieter, "I've ruined everything." Spencer turned away, and Derek shook his head. He gathered Spencer into his arms, wrinkling his nose at the sticky mess pressing against and seeping into the fibres of his expensive dress shirt.

 "Now what would make you say some fool thing like that?"

 "I volunteered for this, I thought-- I thought the least I could do was make a cake for him. For his birthday." The no one ever made one for me went unspoken, but Derek heard it loud and clear. He attempted to sift his fingers through Spencer's hair, but they kept getting tangled in clumps of sugar and flour, so he quickly gave up, opting instead for laying gentle kisses on Spencer's eyelids.

 "Listen, Henry's turning one, he's not gonna care whether there's cake or not. All that matters to him is that you're gonna be there." Though, quite honestly, Derek wasn't really sure what Henry was going to care about, but it seemed to cheer Spencer up, as he finally looked up and met Derek's eyes.
 
 "Plus," Derek continued, making sure Spencer was watching his every move. "You look delicious." He leaned forward slightly, licking a streak of icing off of Spencer's cheek.

-----

 As expected, Henry's party had been a raging success. JJ had pulled out all the stops; hired a clown, rented a bouncy castle, and asked Penelope to program an electronic dog to respond to Henry's coos and shrieks.

 The highlight of the day, however, had been the cake: three tiers tall, slathered in vibrant blue icing and little pink and green rosettes all along the outside, and the words 'Happy Birthday Henry' written in bright yellow, with a large candle in the shape of the number one in the center. It had contained enough sugar to put a small elephant into a coma, much to Aaron's chagrin, as for the remainder of the party he had been hounded by a decidedly hyperactive Jack, who had been persistently asking him "why Uncle Dave had licked icing off of Aunt Emily's mouth, and would daddy like Jack to do that to him?"

 Thankfully, a few hours later Jack had crashed, allowing Aaron to bundle him into his carseat and take off. The remainder of the guests were lounging around the living room, listening serenely to the sounds of Henry sleeping through his baby monitor, when JJ approached Spencer.

 "That cake was amazing," she said, her smile playful. "What's your secret?"

 Spencer smiled enigmatically. "Baskin Robbins, number four thirty-two."

***