CM FIC :: "Alternatives - Chapter 1" [Emily/JJ, Dace/Catherine, Monica/Dana, PG-13]
PLEASE SEE INDEX PAGE [DW || LJ] FOR DISCLAIMERS & OTHER CHAPTERS
Chapter 1 - The Last Word
++ Agent Emily Prentiss ++
(11-15-06)
Standing outside Agent Hotchner's office, my heart is racing in my chest. Finally, after so many attempts, I am part of the BAU team. This is more than a dream come true. And my mother didn't do anything to pave the way, either. That, more than anything else, makes this opportunity all the sweeter.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I knock on the door and step in when he answers. The confusion on his face gives me pause, but I set my box aside and barrel on anyway. Maybe my name will help trigger his memory.
"I'm Agent Emily Prentiss."
"How do you do?" he asks, stretching his hand out toward me. And then I see recognition dawning in his dark eyes. "Oh! You're, uh, Ambassador Prentiss' daughter. I did security clearance for your mother's staff. Uh, it was one of my first commands. Yeah, I believe you were off to Brown at the time."
Smiling at his error, I politely correct him. "Actually, it was Yale."
"Ah."
He's still not completely with the program yet. Damn!
"I've been in the Bureau for almost ten years now."
That makes him grin ruefully. "Don't tell me that. Has it been that long?"
"Apparently, sir," I reply, grinning at his discomfort at the passing of time. "But I worked mostly in the Midwest, St. Louis, Chicago…"
"Good, good." I read it on his face when decorum sets in. "Your parents well?"
"Ah, yeah, they're great."
"Excellent. What can I do for you?"
He still doesn't get it? I thought he was the lead on this team. "Uh, well, I -- I guess I was hoping you could tell me where to put my stuff."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm supposed to start here today at the BAU," I say, handing him my file.
He scans the file and his face hardens at my words. "There's been a mistake."
"I don't think so, sir."
"There's definitely been a mistake," he continues, as if I haven't spoken at all.
A knock at the door puts an effective pause on our conversation. "Oh, excuse me," comes a woman's voice as I turn to see who it is interrupting us. My breath catches in my throat as I look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. It takes just a second or two before her name comes to mind: Jennifer Jareau, the communications liaison. "We're getting started."
"Thank you," Agent Hotchner replies, breaking the spell I seem to have fallen under in those few seconds. "I'll be right there." He pauses only long enough for Jareau to walk away, then returns his gaze to me. "I didn't approve this transfer, Agent Prentiss. I'm sorry for the confusion, but you were misinformed." He steps around his desk. "Excuse me. Uh, it's very good to see you again."
"Uh…"
And he's gone before I can say anything else. I grab my box and step out into the hallway to… I'm not sure what I intended to do as I started following him out of his office. I can't help but stare at Agent Hotchner as he walks away, clutching my box of belongings to my body. How can he just blithely turn down my request, when the transfer's already been approved?
He pauses to speak with another man walking out of an office further down the hall. This time, recognition is easier. This would be Agent Jason Gideon, one of the first and best profilers in the FBI. I start feeling more than a little self-conscious as they keep turning back to stare at me while they talk.
My temporary paralysis is lifted when they step into the conference room at the opposite end of the hall. The finality of the door clicking shut sounds as sharp as a gunshot, even at this distance. I did not work this hard for this long just to be blithely turned down like that. I earned this transfer, and I intend to make Agent Aaron Hotchner realize that, no matter what it takes.
+++++
I have been sitting in Agent Hotchner's office all day, waiting for him to come back and let me make another attempt at getting him to understand that there was no mistake about my transfer. But he hasn't materializes. It's well past the end of business hours, and none of the team -- my new team -- have made any sort of appearance either. Clearly they've left on a case. That's fine. I can wait him out.
"Oh my god!"
The sound of a startled voice brings me out of my thoughts to stare at the woman standing just inside the doorway. Medium height, slightly heavyset -- zaftig is the word, I think? -- with bottle blonde hair tied up in little anime buns on her head, and sporting clothes in a set of bright colors that nearly make my eyes ache.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?"
I don't bother to stand. Better to keep her feeling as safe as possible against my potential threat. "I'm Agent Emily Prentiss. I was assigned to the BAU and was supposed to start today."
Confusion wrinkles her forehead as she stares at me. "I never heard anything about a transfer to the team. I'll have to check on that," she says softly, then shakes her head and smiles as she sticks out her hand to me. "Penelope Garcia, technical goddess extraordinaire. Welcome to the team."
"Thank you, Penelope," I say, standing to shake her hand.
"Nope, call me Garcia. Everybody does. Well, except for Morgan, but that's different." There's the slightest blush to her cheeks at the mention of Agent Derek Morgan's name. Interesting. "So if you're supposed to be on the team, why are you sitting here in the dark in Hotch's office? Shouldn't you be out working the case with them?"
Here we go… "Apparently, Agent Hotchner said the transfer was a mistake and not approved. I'm waiting for him to come back so I can take another stab at convincing him that this wasn't a mistake at all."
She nods slowly and chews at her lower lip for a few seconds, then grabs my hand again. "Come with me," she says as she starts heading out of the office.
I'm helpless to do anything but follow in her wake as she navigates the corridors to what appears to be her own office. The tech support has her own office? Fascinating. Garcia settles into her chair in front of a bank of monitors and keyboards, pointing imperiously at a second chair. I sink down into the chair as she begins to type, windows popping up on the screens in front of her, and mutters to herself. At one point, I will swear I see my own picture flash across her screen, but it's gone so quickly that I can't verify my supposition.
After several moments of this silence, I clear my throat. "Um, Garcia? I should go back up to Hotch's office. What if he comes back?"
"Oh, they won't be back until the case is resolved," she says, not stopping what she's doing.
"But my stuff?"
"If it's in Hotch's office, it's safe. And if they lock up his office, we can get it opened again to get your stuff. Trust me, you're totally fine." She turns at this point and grins broadly at me. "Besides, I like you, and if the Goddess likes you, you're all good."
I don't bother to hide my laughter, and she soon joins me as she returns to her rapid typing. After several moments of trying, and failing, to read all of the information streaming across her monitors, I just sit back and soak in the atmosphere of the room. I've seen rooms decorated with all of the owner's favorite things like this before, but usually college dorm rooms, not an office in one of the FBI's departments. But it's pretty clear that this Garcia is not your typical FBI employee, either.
I listen in as she fields a call from the team and begins to do her technical magic, as she calls it. The woman is certainly brilliant at what she does. It takes everything in me not to laugh out loud at her reactions to Agent Morgan calling her 'baby girl' once or twice. Another piece of the fascinating new puzzle that is Penelope Garcia falls into place.
+++++
(11-16-06)
I'm not even sure why I'm back here today. Garcia's already said that the team won't be back until the case is resolved and promised she'd give me a head's up when they do come back, which she hasn't done yet. But she asked me to come back, so I have. Then again, I'm supposed to be working and it's not like there's anything else I can do here without Agent Hotchner's approval of my transfer, so I'll spend more time with her, help where I can.
"So you need to make sure that you never let Hotch see you hesitate."
Quirking a brow, I stare at her for a moment. "Are you serious?"
"Okay, let me rephrase that. Don't ever let him see you paralyzed with fear. That's also good advice for some of the unsubs they hunt down."
"Well, at least that makes sense. I wouldn't let the unsubs see any fear anyway. They don't need the power."
"Yeah, you have no idea how happy I am that I never have to go out in the field with you guys. It's bad enough having to process information about the unsubs and the victims here. I don't know how any of you do it out in the field."
I shrug, pointedly ignoring the images of Ian Doyle popping up in my mind. "You just do what you have to do, I guess. I went up against some really crazy situations when I was in the Midwest, but I don't know that it's anything like what this team does. I guess I'll find out how I react in the field if I'm ever actually in the field with them."
"You will be," she says with a grin. "Have faith, Emily. I do."
There's such a sense of inevitability in her cheerful voice, it makes me smile. Positive thinking's always been a better motivator than negative thinking. How many times did my mother drill that into me when discussing some of her diplomatic crises and triumphs? And I'm nothing if not my mother's daughter. When Doyle's voice starts to whisper in my head again, I ruthlessly shove that back through the door it's supposed to be locked behind. That's my past. My present is a bit mutable, but the BAU is my future. I know it.
++ Penelope Garcia ++
(11-18-06)
Humming happily to myself, I do my wizardry, my technomancer juju that makes me such a badass. There's a reason the FBI leaves me the hell alone to do my thing, understanding that a very loose rein makes me far more valuable than trying to control me. And because they give me that, I am loyal and hardworking.
Besides, I get the coolest toys!
Having an audience always helps, making my customarily lonely stage far grander. The new girl is an enigma, which I like. Not only would someone too open get eaten alive by this job, it makes for a boring companion. She's whip smart, alert as a raptor -- bird or dinosaur, take your pick -- and a hell of a good conversationalist.
Even better, she also knows when to shut up. This has enabled me to enjoy her company, but to also get done what I have to get done. And, amusingly, the team has no clue she's even here.
Having just gotten off the phone with Hotch, I'm a little surprised when my phone icon honey-bee dances in the corner of my main screen. A caress of my beloved keys whips up a rapid-fire blast of info and I am delighted to recognize the information. A few more effortless keystrokes open a window that leaps to the screen at my left and blows up near life-size. After a moment for electrons to communicate over 2500 miles, it flickers to life.
"Well hey there, pussycat."
Wearily, my fave wild animal smiles, crinkling up the corners of her feral blue eyes. "Hey, hey, sex-ay," she sing-songs and makes me laugh. Dace is always a riot, a mix of warm humor, affection and danger. Honestly, it's nice to talk to and about someone who's dangerous, but not a danger. Not something I get a whole lot of in this business.
"You looked wiped, Bogart."
Snorting in a very unladylike fashion, Dace scrubs both hands over her face and through that fine, white-blonde hair. I swear she gets more and more bleached out by the harsh Mohave sun every time I speak with her.
"Well yeah! This real job stuff sucks."
Our laughter mingles, crystal clear through my kickin' speakers. "So, your highness" -- the tease about her title earns a dry look -- "what can I do for you? Not that I'm trying to get rid of you, 'cause the boss is out and I can indulge in some rest and relaxation for a bit."
Dace is lost in thought for a moment and I flash a wicked grin at a very curious Emily. Not a peep, mind you, but she radiates wanting to know. But not yet. Let her form her own opinions. Suddenly leaping to her feet, jarring the camera, Dace stretches hugely, an enticing sight even if she's totally not my type.
"R and R is a good idea, PG. Do you mind if I blow some steam off while we chat?"
"Oh, c'mon, big daddy, I’ve got company and that's just kinky."
Heh, don't think I’ve ever gotten that faintly startled look before from this competent woman. "I thought you said your team was out?"
"They are. I've got the new girl in my web. Mwahahahaha, she cannot escape. Say hi, Emily."
With a quick twist of the monitor, I face the camera to my new pal, who gamely waves, doing her best to cover her discomfort. "Hi, Emily," she says readily and I crack up.
"Love ya, toots. So, get steamy all ya want, oh, kingly one."
Rolling her eyes tolerantly, Dace has stripped off her dark jacket and is rolling up the sleeves of her customary blood-red dress shirt. I know the stylized suit is her usual work drag and it bears no comment. But I watch Emily's dark eyes take in the spectacle of my Las Vegas pal, from the striking coloring, to the lithe, feline way she moves, to the carpet of exquisite ink over her scarred right arm that makes me want to meet her face to face just so that I can touch it!
"Nice to meet you, Emily. Any friend of the goddess."
"Likewise."
Padded, martial-arts style gloves are not what I expected Dace to don, but she does and steps across her pleasantly cluttered, classy office. Well, I’ll be a monkey's uncle, there's a workout bag back there! So, she dances around the thing, giving it accurate and practiced hits while she talks.
Real damn shame she's not my type.
++ Emily Prentiss ++
While I’m entirely unsurprised that Garcia has unusual friends, this one is certainly unique. There's something extraordinary about her that has nothing to do with the snappy lingo or the tapestry of ink in her skin. I fully admit to curiosity, but hide my emotions behind a pleasant expression.
Curiosity that deepens when her rich voice begins speaking again.
"I went over that file Hotch sent to Mon and I have to say I don't think he's one of mine. Too slick, not enough feral. Unfortunately, I think y'all are dealing with just plain charisma. Which means that I wouldn't be of unusual help for this one. If you get any hard evidence I can scent on, perhaps. In the meantime, the notes your sexy PR made seem accurate enough, but I can't imagine that I could come up with anything your experts wouldn't."
Half of that was gibberish, but the rest of it has me ready to go over and start quizzing the stranger.
"The original is winging its way to ya via courier," she continues and Garcia suddenly jumps in.
"The usual."
"Exactly. But, since your company is clearly chomping at the bit, I’ll zap off a digital as well."
I don't like that. I don't like that at all. No stranger should be able to read me so easily. This Dace walks briskly to her desk, leaning close to the camera, and I hear her tapping at keys. Even over a digital connection, I can see that the bright blue eyes are calculating and far too observant.
The computer clicks and makes a chime I haven't heard yet, Garcia quickly bringing up a file before she reaches for a digital tablet stashed between two monitors. "Have at, o curious one," she grins at me, handing the thing over. While Dace and Garcia banter somewhat flirtatiously, I skim the file, separating out fact and trend and erroneous information.
Damned if the tattooed blonde isn't dead on.
Glancing up, I take a good, hard look at the office she inhabits, automatically categorizing and learning about my target. The furnishings are heavy and expensive, though low-key. The base décor matches that, carefully upholstered walls, wood trim, what looks like real paintings on at least two walls. Layered over that is the personality I've met in this video call, playful and colorful, disorganized and yet everything has a place. There's something very deliberate to the organization, like it's not natural to her, but a learned skill. I am perversely reminded of the Dewey Decimal system and it makes me quirk a small smile.
Even that subtle movement catches the strange woman's eye.
"What did you mean, hard evidence you can scent on?"
Did I just blurt that out?
Even the irrepressible Garcia looks mildly nonplussed by the outburst and I force myself not to clap my hands over my mouth like some recalcitrant toddler. But far more interesting is the stranger's reaction.
I have met monsters in human skin before. They may appear like the rest of us, but they are a breed of their own. But I have never seen that otherworldly energy in someone not amoral and insane.
Until now.
It only lasts a split second, before being shuttered away behind clear blue eyes, but I saw it. And she knows that I saw it. It was like having a dangerous wild animal rush the bars of its cage. No matter that you know that you are safe, you feel that rush of adrenaline and fear nonetheless. For a moment, Dace stares at me, the effect of her strong personality shining even over the video link. Then, it's gone. Like a light switch, she's suddenly quite normal, a sly smile on her pretty face.
"I have enhanced senses, similar to many animals. My sense of smell has been particularly helpful in tracking down sneaky perps. There's a reason the FBI keeps me on the payroll. Sort of, anyway." Before I can ask any questions, Dace glances at her watch and her eyes widen. "Crap! Is that the time? Sorry, gals, but I was killing some time before a meeting and now I'll be lucky to make it on time. Gotta go!"
"Later, Big Cat!" Garcia crows. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"Unlikely, technomancer, It's been a pleasure, Emily."
To my surprise, my answer is honest and warm. "You too, Dace."
I have a strange feeling it won't be the last time I encounter her.
++ Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner ++
(11-19-06)
Drop off the files and go the hell home. That's my entire agenda for the night. Anything else can wait until the morning. This has been an exhausting case, and I just need to spend some time with Haley and Jack.
Stepping into my office, I can feel the difference in the air despite my exhaustion. It takes just a split second to recognize it and, turning to face her in the dimly lit room, I say, "Please tell me you haven't been there for the last four days."
She's sitting there on my couch, box of possessions next to her. "I heard you were flying back tonight."
"Heard? How -- how could you have heard a thing like that?" Even as I ask the question, I already have the answer: Garcia. Who else would break the news to Agent Prentiss? I wonder what else they've been doing together while we were gone, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow to be dealt with.
"This was dropped off today," she says, standing to hand me a case folder.
A quick glance at the file supports my theory that it's one of the cases that Agents Reyes and Bogart were looking at for me. My eyes narrow slightly at the idea of Agent Prentiss having read it. That project connection is still too damned new for us to be sharing it with every department and agent within the FBI.
"I appreciate your interest, agent, but profiling is a specialty. We can't just let anyone who wants to give it a whirl."
"The IAD Killer?" she asks and I can see something in her expression that chases away some of my exhaustion. "Coeds in Indiana?"
"Yes," I reply, curious as to where she's going with this, and begin to flip through the folder. Doesn't matter that this is a different case than we're discussing. I've multitasked on cases before. "I read it on the plane."
"They aren't blitz attacks. This guy's organized. He's a white male, early thirties, and a smooth talker because, even after eleven victims, he can still convince educated women who know there's a predator out there to get into his car."
Pretty much what Gideon and I discussed on the plane on the way back. I wonder how long it took her to come up with this profile. But now it's time to see if she's really got what it takes, or if she just got lucky this time.
"How would you advise the police?"
There's a light that fills Gideon's eyes when he's really into the meat of a profile. Agent Prentiss has that same light right now.
"I would stake out the Ranch House, a nightclub in Gary. They have a popular ladies' night on Thursdays. If you look closely, you'll see that eight out of the eleven victims went missing on Friday mornings, so something gets this creep's motor running on Thursdays." She pauses, and I can see some of the nervous tension building in the set of her shoulders. "This isn't a whirl, Agent Hotchner. I don't know how the paperwork got screwed up, or maybe you believe my parents pulled some strings, which they didn't, by the way. I belong in this unit, and all I'm asking you for is the chance to show you that."
By the time she's done, she's got her hands clasped in front of her. That tension is still in her shoulders, but it's changed somehow. Would any of my other agents -- any agents who want on this team, for that matter -- have staked a claim on my couch to wait for me like this? She's got tenacity and determination, and she's come up with a valid profile for this particular case. Maybe…
"I still need to look into this. I'm not promising anything."
"Understood," she says, and I can see that she's fighting a grin.
"We brief new cases every morning at ten a.m. You can see Facilities Management about a desk."
"You won't be sorry."
She grabs her box, that grin now spread across her face, and heads out of my office. I stand there for a moment, staring after her, folder all but forgotten in my hands.
"Something wrong, Hotch?" Morgan's voice startles me.
"No," I reply quickly, turning to sit at my desk. "Just lost in thought, I guess."
"We're all pretty beat. Go home and get some rest. You deserve it as much as the rest of us do," he says with a grin and leaves after I nod.
Turning on my computer, I check my email, then pick up the phone to make a call. It rings once, twice, a third time before being picked up.
"Reyes."
"Agent Reyes, this is Aaron Hotchner."
"Good evening, Agent Hotchner. What can I do for you?"
Glancing at Agent Prentiss' personnel file, I smile. "Actually, this time I think it's something I may be able to do for you. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
"Um, give me a minute first," she says, then the phone is slightly muffled, but I can hear her giving instructions to someone else for a moment or two. "Okay, thanks for waiting. Dana's still working in town, so I'm on William duty until she gets home."
"This can wait until the morning if you'd rather."
"Oh no! Looney Tunes and fruit roll-ups go a long way with mi hijo. We've got at least an hour before he'll get restless again."
I grin at her explanation, knowing that Haley has done similar with Jack and Thomas the Tank Engine before. The boys must be similar in age, if memory serves correctly.
"This shouldn't take that long." I pause a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "There is a distinct possibility I may have found the agent you've been looking for."
"Oh? You've definitely got my attention now."
"An agent was apparently transferred into the BAU this last week without my knowledge. I'm looking into the situation, but… Agent Reyes, she stayed here for the last four days while my team and I were off on a case, waiting for me to return to continue to argue her case."
"Really? You sure you want to give her up then?"
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm not sure. I used to work for her mother on one of my first commands, so I have vague recollections of her, but I'm usually very strict about who joins my team."
She chuckles at that. "Yeah, Mulder's still chomping at the bit to join your team, isn't he?"
"Unfortunately," I reply. "Though I think he's finally gotten the point after that debacle concerning your assistance in January." She snorts at that. "Anyway, this agent has an innate sense of profiling. She's better at it than Mulder, that's for sure. When I came back here, she hit me with a profile and advisory plan for local law enforcement that was nearly letter perfect to what Agent Gideon and I came up with on the plane home."
"Seriously? Then why are you debating letting her go?"
I pause then, trying to formulate the answer to that question. "Because she could, in fact, have the right personality and drive to be a proper liaison between our two teams. And I think this one may actually pass Agent Bogart's strict personality requirements."
"That would be quite a coup for both of us, wouldn't it?"
"I believe so, yes. So, if you're interested, I'll have Garcia send her personnel file to you in the morning."
"Definitely! I'll talk to Dace once I've looked over her file. The sooner we can work together to see how many of your unsubs are actually rogue Sentinels, the sooner we can figure out what to do to help them."
"Wonderful. I'll give you a call in the next few days to see what you think of her. Have a good evening with your son, Agent Reyes."
"You, too, whenever you get home to your family."
Call concluded, I tidy up my desk, do one last look at my email, then shut down my computer for the night. Grabbing my ready bag and briefcase, I head out of my office toward Garcia's lair. I know she won't leave until her team is all safely returned and headed home themselves. Knocking on her door, I wait for her reply to enter.
"Hotch! What are you doing here?" she asks, turning to face me as I walk in.
"I'm on my way home, as you should be," I reply with a stern look.
"Just finishing up a couple of things before I go."
"Good. When you come in tomorrow morning, I'd like you to send a copy of the personnel file for Agent Emily Prentiss to Agent Reyes."
Her eyes widen slightly at the mention of Agent Prentiss' name. It would seem my earlier supposition was correct. "Oh, okay. Sure, I can do that in the morning. First thing, in fact."
"Thank you." I turn as if to leave, then pause in the doorway. "And the next time you decide to adopt a new agent into the family, please inform me first. Are we understood?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, but she looked so lost in your office."
I grin, knowing she can't see it. She's far too maternal for this team for my taste, but she's exactly what they need. "I'm sure she did, but you can't go breaking protocols for every stray you find."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Good night, Garcia."
Original post @ Dreamwidth with
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Chapter 1 - The Last Word
++ Agent Emily Prentiss ++
(11-15-06)
Standing outside Agent Hotchner's office, my heart is racing in my chest. Finally, after so many attempts, I am part of the BAU team. This is more than a dream come true. And my mother didn't do anything to pave the way, either. That, more than anything else, makes this opportunity all the sweeter.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I knock on the door and step in when he answers. The confusion on his face gives me pause, but I set my box aside and barrel on anyway. Maybe my name will help trigger his memory.
"I'm Agent Emily Prentiss."
"How do you do?" he asks, stretching his hand out toward me. And then I see recognition dawning in his dark eyes. "Oh! You're, uh, Ambassador Prentiss' daughter. I did security clearance for your mother's staff. Uh, it was one of my first commands. Yeah, I believe you were off to Brown at the time."
Smiling at his error, I politely correct him. "Actually, it was Yale."
"Ah."
He's still not completely with the program yet. Damn!
"I've been in the Bureau for almost ten years now."
That makes him grin ruefully. "Don't tell me that. Has it been that long?"
"Apparently, sir," I reply, grinning at his discomfort at the passing of time. "But I worked mostly in the Midwest, St. Louis, Chicago…"
"Good, good." I read it on his face when decorum sets in. "Your parents well?"
"Ah, yeah, they're great."
"Excellent. What can I do for you?"
He still doesn't get it? I thought he was the lead on this team. "Uh, well, I -- I guess I was hoping you could tell me where to put my stuff."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm supposed to start here today at the BAU," I say, handing him my file.
He scans the file and his face hardens at my words. "There's been a mistake."
"I don't think so, sir."
"There's definitely been a mistake," he continues, as if I haven't spoken at all.
A knock at the door puts an effective pause on our conversation. "Oh, excuse me," comes a woman's voice as I turn to see who it is interrupting us. My breath catches in my throat as I look into the bluest eyes I've ever seen. It takes just a second or two before her name comes to mind: Jennifer Jareau, the communications liaison. "We're getting started."
"Thank you," Agent Hotchner replies, breaking the spell I seem to have fallen under in those few seconds. "I'll be right there." He pauses only long enough for Jareau to walk away, then returns his gaze to me. "I didn't approve this transfer, Agent Prentiss. I'm sorry for the confusion, but you were misinformed." He steps around his desk. "Excuse me. Uh, it's very good to see you again."
"Uh…"
And he's gone before I can say anything else. I grab my box and step out into the hallway to… I'm not sure what I intended to do as I started following him out of his office. I can't help but stare at Agent Hotchner as he walks away, clutching my box of belongings to my body. How can he just blithely turn down my request, when the transfer's already been approved?
He pauses to speak with another man walking out of an office further down the hall. This time, recognition is easier. This would be Agent Jason Gideon, one of the first and best profilers in the FBI. I start feeling more than a little self-conscious as they keep turning back to stare at me while they talk.
My temporary paralysis is lifted when they step into the conference room at the opposite end of the hall. The finality of the door clicking shut sounds as sharp as a gunshot, even at this distance. I did not work this hard for this long just to be blithely turned down like that. I earned this transfer, and I intend to make Agent Aaron Hotchner realize that, no matter what it takes.
+++++
I have been sitting in Agent Hotchner's office all day, waiting for him to come back and let me make another attempt at getting him to understand that there was no mistake about my transfer. But he hasn't materializes. It's well past the end of business hours, and none of the team -- my new team -- have made any sort of appearance either. Clearly they've left on a case. That's fine. I can wait him out.
"Oh my god!"
The sound of a startled voice brings me out of my thoughts to stare at the woman standing just inside the doorway. Medium height, slightly heavyset -- zaftig is the word, I think? -- with bottle blonde hair tied up in little anime buns on her head, and sporting clothes in a set of bright colors that nearly make my eyes ache.
"Who are you and what are you doing here?"
I don't bother to stand. Better to keep her feeling as safe as possible against my potential threat. "I'm Agent Emily Prentiss. I was assigned to the BAU and was supposed to start today."
Confusion wrinkles her forehead as she stares at me. "I never heard anything about a transfer to the team. I'll have to check on that," she says softly, then shakes her head and smiles as she sticks out her hand to me. "Penelope Garcia, technical goddess extraordinaire. Welcome to the team."
"Thank you, Penelope," I say, standing to shake her hand.
"Nope, call me Garcia. Everybody does. Well, except for Morgan, but that's different." There's the slightest blush to her cheeks at the mention of Agent Derek Morgan's name. Interesting. "So if you're supposed to be on the team, why are you sitting here in the dark in Hotch's office? Shouldn't you be out working the case with them?"
Here we go… "Apparently, Agent Hotchner said the transfer was a mistake and not approved. I'm waiting for him to come back so I can take another stab at convincing him that this wasn't a mistake at all."
She nods slowly and chews at her lower lip for a few seconds, then grabs my hand again. "Come with me," she says as she starts heading out of the office.
I'm helpless to do anything but follow in her wake as she navigates the corridors to what appears to be her own office. The tech support has her own office? Fascinating. Garcia settles into her chair in front of a bank of monitors and keyboards, pointing imperiously at a second chair. I sink down into the chair as she begins to type, windows popping up on the screens in front of her, and mutters to herself. At one point, I will swear I see my own picture flash across her screen, but it's gone so quickly that I can't verify my supposition.
After several moments of this silence, I clear my throat. "Um, Garcia? I should go back up to Hotch's office. What if he comes back?"
"Oh, they won't be back until the case is resolved," she says, not stopping what she's doing.
"But my stuff?"
"If it's in Hotch's office, it's safe. And if they lock up his office, we can get it opened again to get your stuff. Trust me, you're totally fine." She turns at this point and grins broadly at me. "Besides, I like you, and if the Goddess likes you, you're all good."
I don't bother to hide my laughter, and she soon joins me as she returns to her rapid typing. After several moments of trying, and failing, to read all of the information streaming across her monitors, I just sit back and soak in the atmosphere of the room. I've seen rooms decorated with all of the owner's favorite things like this before, but usually college dorm rooms, not an office in one of the FBI's departments. But it's pretty clear that this Garcia is not your typical FBI employee, either.
I listen in as she fields a call from the team and begins to do her technical magic, as she calls it. The woman is certainly brilliant at what she does. It takes everything in me not to laugh out loud at her reactions to Agent Morgan calling her 'baby girl' once or twice. Another piece of the fascinating new puzzle that is Penelope Garcia falls into place.
+++++
(11-16-06)
I'm not even sure why I'm back here today. Garcia's already said that the team won't be back until the case is resolved and promised she'd give me a head's up when they do come back, which she hasn't done yet. But she asked me to come back, so I have. Then again, I'm supposed to be working and it's not like there's anything else I can do here without Agent Hotchner's approval of my transfer, so I'll spend more time with her, help where I can.
"So you need to make sure that you never let Hotch see you hesitate."
Quirking a brow, I stare at her for a moment. "Are you serious?"
"Okay, let me rephrase that. Don't ever let him see you paralyzed with fear. That's also good advice for some of the unsubs they hunt down."
"Well, at least that makes sense. I wouldn't let the unsubs see any fear anyway. They don't need the power."
"Yeah, you have no idea how happy I am that I never have to go out in the field with you guys. It's bad enough having to process information about the unsubs and the victims here. I don't know how any of you do it out in the field."
I shrug, pointedly ignoring the images of Ian Doyle popping up in my mind. "You just do what you have to do, I guess. I went up against some really crazy situations when I was in the Midwest, but I don't know that it's anything like what this team does. I guess I'll find out how I react in the field if I'm ever actually in the field with them."
"You will be," she says with a grin. "Have faith, Emily. I do."
There's such a sense of inevitability in her cheerful voice, it makes me smile. Positive thinking's always been a better motivator than negative thinking. How many times did my mother drill that into me when discussing some of her diplomatic crises and triumphs? And I'm nothing if not my mother's daughter. When Doyle's voice starts to whisper in my head again, I ruthlessly shove that back through the door it's supposed to be locked behind. That's my past. My present is a bit mutable, but the BAU is my future. I know it.
++ Penelope Garcia ++
(11-18-06)
Humming happily to myself, I do my wizardry, my technomancer juju that makes me such a badass. There's a reason the FBI leaves me the hell alone to do my thing, understanding that a very loose rein makes me far more valuable than trying to control me. And because they give me that, I am loyal and hardworking.
Besides, I get the coolest toys!
Having an audience always helps, making my customarily lonely stage far grander. The new girl is an enigma, which I like. Not only would someone too open get eaten alive by this job, it makes for a boring companion. She's whip smart, alert as a raptor -- bird or dinosaur, take your pick -- and a hell of a good conversationalist.
Even better, she also knows when to shut up. This has enabled me to enjoy her company, but to also get done what I have to get done. And, amusingly, the team has no clue she's even here.
Having just gotten off the phone with Hotch, I'm a little surprised when my phone icon honey-bee dances in the corner of my main screen. A caress of my beloved keys whips up a rapid-fire blast of info and I am delighted to recognize the information. A few more effortless keystrokes open a window that leaps to the screen at my left and blows up near life-size. After a moment for electrons to communicate over 2500 miles, it flickers to life.
"Well hey there, pussycat."
Wearily, my fave wild animal smiles, crinkling up the corners of her feral blue eyes. "Hey, hey, sex-ay," she sing-songs and makes me laugh. Dace is always a riot, a mix of warm humor, affection and danger. Honestly, it's nice to talk to and about someone who's dangerous, but not a danger. Not something I get a whole lot of in this business.
"You looked wiped, Bogart."
Snorting in a very unladylike fashion, Dace scrubs both hands over her face and through that fine, white-blonde hair. I swear she gets more and more bleached out by the harsh Mohave sun every time I speak with her.
"Well yeah! This real job stuff sucks."
Our laughter mingles, crystal clear through my kickin' speakers. "So, your highness" -- the tease about her title earns a dry look -- "what can I do for you? Not that I'm trying to get rid of you, 'cause the boss is out and I can indulge in some rest and relaxation for a bit."
Dace is lost in thought for a moment and I flash a wicked grin at a very curious Emily. Not a peep, mind you, but she radiates wanting to know. But not yet. Let her form her own opinions. Suddenly leaping to her feet, jarring the camera, Dace stretches hugely, an enticing sight even if she's totally not my type.
"R and R is a good idea, PG. Do you mind if I blow some steam off while we chat?"
"Oh, c'mon, big daddy, I’ve got company and that's just kinky."
Heh, don't think I’ve ever gotten that faintly startled look before from this competent woman. "I thought you said your team was out?"
"They are. I've got the new girl in my web. Mwahahahaha, she cannot escape. Say hi, Emily."
With a quick twist of the monitor, I face the camera to my new pal, who gamely waves, doing her best to cover her discomfort. "Hi, Emily," she says readily and I crack up.
"Love ya, toots. So, get steamy all ya want, oh, kingly one."
Rolling her eyes tolerantly, Dace has stripped off her dark jacket and is rolling up the sleeves of her customary blood-red dress shirt. I know the stylized suit is her usual work drag and it bears no comment. But I watch Emily's dark eyes take in the spectacle of my Las Vegas pal, from the striking coloring, to the lithe, feline way she moves, to the carpet of exquisite ink over her scarred right arm that makes me want to meet her face to face just so that I can touch it!
"Nice to meet you, Emily. Any friend of the goddess."
"Likewise."
Padded, martial-arts style gloves are not what I expected Dace to don, but she does and steps across her pleasantly cluttered, classy office. Well, I’ll be a monkey's uncle, there's a workout bag back there! So, she dances around the thing, giving it accurate and practiced hits while she talks.
Real damn shame she's not my type.
++ Emily Prentiss ++
While I’m entirely unsurprised that Garcia has unusual friends, this one is certainly unique. There's something extraordinary about her that has nothing to do with the snappy lingo or the tapestry of ink in her skin. I fully admit to curiosity, but hide my emotions behind a pleasant expression.
Curiosity that deepens when her rich voice begins speaking again.
"I went over that file Hotch sent to Mon and I have to say I don't think he's one of mine. Too slick, not enough feral. Unfortunately, I think y'all are dealing with just plain charisma. Which means that I wouldn't be of unusual help for this one. If you get any hard evidence I can scent on, perhaps. In the meantime, the notes your sexy PR made seem accurate enough, but I can't imagine that I could come up with anything your experts wouldn't."
Half of that was gibberish, but the rest of it has me ready to go over and start quizzing the stranger.
"The original is winging its way to ya via courier," she continues and Garcia suddenly jumps in.
"The usual."
"Exactly. But, since your company is clearly chomping at the bit, I’ll zap off a digital as well."
I don't like that. I don't like that at all. No stranger should be able to read me so easily. This Dace walks briskly to her desk, leaning close to the camera, and I hear her tapping at keys. Even over a digital connection, I can see that the bright blue eyes are calculating and far too observant.
The computer clicks and makes a chime I haven't heard yet, Garcia quickly bringing up a file before she reaches for a digital tablet stashed between two monitors. "Have at, o curious one," she grins at me, handing the thing over. While Dace and Garcia banter somewhat flirtatiously, I skim the file, separating out fact and trend and erroneous information.
Damned if the tattooed blonde isn't dead on.
Glancing up, I take a good, hard look at the office she inhabits, automatically categorizing and learning about my target. The furnishings are heavy and expensive, though low-key. The base décor matches that, carefully upholstered walls, wood trim, what looks like real paintings on at least two walls. Layered over that is the personality I've met in this video call, playful and colorful, disorganized and yet everything has a place. There's something very deliberate to the organization, like it's not natural to her, but a learned skill. I am perversely reminded of the Dewey Decimal system and it makes me quirk a small smile.
Even that subtle movement catches the strange woman's eye.
"What did you mean, hard evidence you can scent on?"
Did I just blurt that out?
Even the irrepressible Garcia looks mildly nonplussed by the outburst and I force myself not to clap my hands over my mouth like some recalcitrant toddler. But far more interesting is the stranger's reaction.
I have met monsters in human skin before. They may appear like the rest of us, but they are a breed of their own. But I have never seen that otherworldly energy in someone not amoral and insane.
Until now.
It only lasts a split second, before being shuttered away behind clear blue eyes, but I saw it. And she knows that I saw it. It was like having a dangerous wild animal rush the bars of its cage. No matter that you know that you are safe, you feel that rush of adrenaline and fear nonetheless. For a moment, Dace stares at me, the effect of her strong personality shining even over the video link. Then, it's gone. Like a light switch, she's suddenly quite normal, a sly smile on her pretty face.
"I have enhanced senses, similar to many animals. My sense of smell has been particularly helpful in tracking down sneaky perps. There's a reason the FBI keeps me on the payroll. Sort of, anyway." Before I can ask any questions, Dace glances at her watch and her eyes widen. "Crap! Is that the time? Sorry, gals, but I was killing some time before a meeting and now I'll be lucky to make it on time. Gotta go!"
"Later, Big Cat!" Garcia crows. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
"Unlikely, technomancer, It's been a pleasure, Emily."
To my surprise, my answer is honest and warm. "You too, Dace."
I have a strange feeling it won't be the last time I encounter her.
++ Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner ++
(11-19-06)
Drop off the files and go the hell home. That's my entire agenda for the night. Anything else can wait until the morning. This has been an exhausting case, and I just need to spend some time with Haley and Jack.
Stepping into my office, I can feel the difference in the air despite my exhaustion. It takes just a split second to recognize it and, turning to face her in the dimly lit room, I say, "Please tell me you haven't been there for the last four days."
She's sitting there on my couch, box of possessions next to her. "I heard you were flying back tonight."
"Heard? How -- how could you have heard a thing like that?" Even as I ask the question, I already have the answer: Garcia. Who else would break the news to Agent Prentiss? I wonder what else they've been doing together while we were gone, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow to be dealt with.
"This was dropped off today," she says, standing to hand me a case folder.
A quick glance at the file supports my theory that it's one of the cases that Agents Reyes and Bogart were looking at for me. My eyes narrow slightly at the idea of Agent Prentiss having read it. That project connection is still too damned new for us to be sharing it with every department and agent within the FBI.
"I appreciate your interest, agent, but profiling is a specialty. We can't just let anyone who wants to give it a whirl."
"The IAD Killer?" she asks and I can see something in her expression that chases away some of my exhaustion. "Coeds in Indiana?"
"Yes," I reply, curious as to where she's going with this, and begin to flip through the folder. Doesn't matter that this is a different case than we're discussing. I've multitasked on cases before. "I read it on the plane."
"They aren't blitz attacks. This guy's organized. He's a white male, early thirties, and a smooth talker because, even after eleven victims, he can still convince educated women who know there's a predator out there to get into his car."
Pretty much what Gideon and I discussed on the plane on the way back. I wonder how long it took her to come up with this profile. But now it's time to see if she's really got what it takes, or if she just got lucky this time.
"How would you advise the police?"
There's a light that fills Gideon's eyes when he's really into the meat of a profile. Agent Prentiss has that same light right now.
"I would stake out the Ranch House, a nightclub in Gary. They have a popular ladies' night on Thursdays. If you look closely, you'll see that eight out of the eleven victims went missing on Friday mornings, so something gets this creep's motor running on Thursdays." She pauses, and I can see some of the nervous tension building in the set of her shoulders. "This isn't a whirl, Agent Hotchner. I don't know how the paperwork got screwed up, or maybe you believe my parents pulled some strings, which they didn't, by the way. I belong in this unit, and all I'm asking you for is the chance to show you that."
By the time she's done, she's got her hands clasped in front of her. That tension is still in her shoulders, but it's changed somehow. Would any of my other agents -- any agents who want on this team, for that matter -- have staked a claim on my couch to wait for me like this? She's got tenacity and determination, and she's come up with a valid profile for this particular case. Maybe…
"I still need to look into this. I'm not promising anything."
"Understood," she says, and I can see that she's fighting a grin.
"We brief new cases every morning at ten a.m. You can see Facilities Management about a desk."
"You won't be sorry."
She grabs her box, that grin now spread across her face, and heads out of my office. I stand there for a moment, staring after her, folder all but forgotten in my hands.
"Something wrong, Hotch?" Morgan's voice startles me.
"No," I reply quickly, turning to sit at my desk. "Just lost in thought, I guess."
"We're all pretty beat. Go home and get some rest. You deserve it as much as the rest of us do," he says with a grin and leaves after I nod.
Turning on my computer, I check my email, then pick up the phone to make a call. It rings once, twice, a third time before being picked up.
"Reyes."
"Agent Reyes, this is Aaron Hotchner."
"Good evening, Agent Hotchner. What can I do for you?"
Glancing at Agent Prentiss' personnel file, I smile. "Actually, this time I think it's something I may be able to do for you. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
"Um, give me a minute first," she says, then the phone is slightly muffled, but I can hear her giving instructions to someone else for a moment or two. "Okay, thanks for waiting. Dana's still working in town, so I'm on William duty until she gets home."
"This can wait until the morning if you'd rather."
"Oh no! Looney Tunes and fruit roll-ups go a long way with mi hijo. We've got at least an hour before he'll get restless again."
I grin at her explanation, knowing that Haley has done similar with Jack and Thomas the Tank Engine before. The boys must be similar in age, if memory serves correctly.
"This shouldn't take that long." I pause a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. "There is a distinct possibility I may have found the agent you've been looking for."
"Oh? You've definitely got my attention now."
"An agent was apparently transferred into the BAU this last week without my knowledge. I'm looking into the situation, but… Agent Reyes, she stayed here for the last four days while my team and I were off on a case, waiting for me to return to continue to argue her case."
"Really? You sure you want to give her up then?"
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm not sure. I used to work for her mother on one of my first commands, so I have vague recollections of her, but I'm usually very strict about who joins my team."
She chuckles at that. "Yeah, Mulder's still chomping at the bit to join your team, isn't he?"
"Unfortunately," I reply. "Though I think he's finally gotten the point after that debacle concerning your assistance in January." She snorts at that. "Anyway, this agent has an innate sense of profiling. She's better at it than Mulder, that's for sure. When I came back here, she hit me with a profile and advisory plan for local law enforcement that was nearly letter perfect to what Agent Gideon and I came up with on the plane home."
"Seriously? Then why are you debating letting her go?"
I pause then, trying to formulate the answer to that question. "Because she could, in fact, have the right personality and drive to be a proper liaison between our two teams. And I think this one may actually pass Agent Bogart's strict personality requirements."
"That would be quite a coup for both of us, wouldn't it?"
"I believe so, yes. So, if you're interested, I'll have Garcia send her personnel file to you in the morning."
"Definitely! I'll talk to Dace once I've looked over her file. The sooner we can work together to see how many of your unsubs are actually rogue Sentinels, the sooner we can figure out what to do to help them."
"Wonderful. I'll give you a call in the next few days to see what you think of her. Have a good evening with your son, Agent Reyes."
"You, too, whenever you get home to your family."
Call concluded, I tidy up my desk, do one last look at my email, then shut down my computer for the night. Grabbing my ready bag and briefcase, I head out of my office toward Garcia's lair. I know she won't leave until her team is all safely returned and headed home themselves. Knocking on her door, I wait for her reply to enter.
"Hotch! What are you doing here?" she asks, turning to face me as I walk in.
"I'm on my way home, as you should be," I reply with a stern look.
"Just finishing up a couple of things before I go."
"Good. When you come in tomorrow morning, I'd like you to send a copy of the personnel file for Agent Emily Prentiss to Agent Reyes."
Her eyes widen slightly at the mention of Agent Prentiss' name. It would seem my earlier supposition was correct. "Oh, okay. Sure, I can do that in the morning. First thing, in fact."
"Thank you." I turn as if to leave, then pause in the doorway. "And the next time you decide to adopt a new agent into the family, please inform me first. Are we understood?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir, but she looked so lost in your office."
I grin, knowing she can't see it. She's far too maternal for this team for my taste, but she's exactly what they need. "I'm sure she did, but you can't go breaking protocols for every stray you find."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Good night, Garcia."
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