FIC: The Nice Girl, mostly GEN, Rated PG.
Title: The Nice Girl
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Brief mentions of one-sided Reid/Rossi, and past Reid/OMC.
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 3675-ish.
Summary: My take on the Psychic! Meets the BAU concept.
Spoilers: Spoilers for 4.14, Cold Comfort.
A/N: Yeah, so I may have taken creative liberty with the location of the BAU. Chalk it up to creative license and work with me, okay? Also, ariestess and innerslytherin make for great betas and encouraging-type people.
***
The attack comes from behind, a vicious push that sends me flying to the sidewalk. The concrete tears open the skin on my palms, my knees hit with a painful crack at the same time that the purse is yanked away. The pull of the strap against my shoulder leaves a sharp, burning pain. That's going to leave a bruise.
Sunshine is barking and growling beside me, and I can hear the yells and shouts as my attacker takes off. Hands grip my shoulders, my arms, pulling me to my feet and steadying me as my knees take a moment to decide if they're going to support me or not. My glasses are pushed back into my hand before I'm even aware I've lost them. Concern comes in a cacophony of voices and touches as people forget the concept of personal space to make sure I'm okay.
"Sunshine, chill," I snap. She falls silent, and I grope for her lead -- another thing that's pushed into my hands. "Thanks," I murmur, mentally cursing the way adrenaline and fear makes my voice wobble. Sunshine leans reassuringly against me, and I lean down a little to bury my fingers in warm, silky fur. "I'm okay," I add, hoping I sound reassuring. "Really, it was only my purse. There wasn't anything important in it!"
Luckily, it's true. ID and pocket money are actually in my pockets. I only really lost the makeup I never use anyway. Well, that and my collapsible cane. Oh, damn it all to hell and back, my GPS was in there, too! Now I really want to cry.
Oh, man, if my brother finds out about this, I'm toast. I'm stuck downtown, I'm freaked out, and the last thing I need is more proof that I should stay home on teacher in-service days. But I'm still standing, and I'm going to be alright. It was only a thing. I can replace things. I stifle a sigh and try not to cry. Okay, quick. Time to figure out what to do.
I push my glasses back on and smile in what I hope is a somewhat brave manner. "Can anybody point me in the direction of Pennsylvania Ave?"
***
Sunshine and I waltz through the front doors as if we own the place. I've had some time to calm down, and though I'm still pretty rattled; faking it is something I've had years of practice at.
Sunshine leads me to the front desk, where the guard seems a little bit puzzled by my appearance.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Dr. Spencer Reid," I tell him. "If you could tell him Cassandra Cunningham is waiting for him, I'd appreciate it."
He seems hesitant when he makes the call, but it gets done, and that's all I can ask for at this point. The wait seems interminable, but finally I hear the ding of the elevator doors. Seven steps and then someone is standing in front of me. It's not Spencer, this guy's wearing cologne, a dark, woodsy scent that I don't recognize.
"Ah...can I help you, Miss?"
His voice is kind of deep, a little rumbly, and he's got a faint New Yorker's accent; as if he hasn't lived there for years. His tone and inflection sound like those mobster movies my brother is so fond of. I wonder if he's Italian.
"Is Dr. Reid available?" I ask, wondering why he didn't come get me himself. The adrenalin has given me a headache, and I just want a glass of water and some Tylenol.
"I'm sorry, he's out on an interview. He won't be back for another hour or so," he tells me.
Oh. My lower lip trembles a little and my grip tightens on Sunshine's lead. Now what?
"You can wait for him if you'd like," he tells me, concern ringing through his voice. "Why don't you come upstairs?"
I nod quickly. "Thank you," I manage.
"It's, ah, just this way."
"Sunshine," I murmur. "Follow."
We get into the elevator and he turns to study me. I can imagine what he must see. My last checkup told me I was standing steady at 5'3'', and my brother Lindsey tells me I resemble our mother, with her dark hair and eyes. She was Spanish, so I've gotten her golden coloring. My clothes are all either black or white -- it makes getting dressed in the morning much less difficult.
Sunshine is a beautiful golden retriever. She's about six years old now, and very well behaved. Spencer bought her for me. He'd said it was an impulsive move to see if he could negate The Reid Effect, and then he'd realized he couldn't keep her very well when he was always traveling. We both know the truth, but if it makes him feel better to say so, I won't stop him. Sunshine is a darling around him, too.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I don't think I caught your name."
I offer him my public smile. "It's Cassandra. Cass, if you'd like."
"Cassandra. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm SSA David Rossi."
Now my smile flashes for real. I know this man. "Agent Rossi. It's a pleasure to meet you as well. Spencer speaks highly of you."
"I wish I could say the same," he tells me, curiosity and wryness in his tone. "Spencer's never mentioned you."
"He tends to try to keep his personal and professional lives separate," I agree.
My stomach does that funny flutter that comes with the ding of the elevator announcing our arrival. Sunshine follows Agent Rossi without being told, and so do I. The busy hum of the office assaults my sensitive hearing, different voices coming from every direction. It makes the throbbing in my head increase, and I stop for a moment to try to adjust.
"David!" A guy calls, and comes up to where we stand just inside the doors. "Ah, hi. Sorry."
"It's alright," Agent Rossi says. "Derek Morgan, this is Cassandra. She's going to wait up here for Reid."
"Uh, hi, Cassandra." He says, a little uncomfortable.
I wave politely.
"Cass," Agent Rossi's voice is gentle, my protector in this new environment. "You can sit at Reid's desk, or you can come spend time with a grumpy old man while you wait."
Oh, I have heard stories about this man. Spencer's always got something to tell me, about Dave saying this or David doing that. He's got the biggest crush, and there is no way I'm going to let this opportunity to gather information to tease Spencer with get away. I'm trying to suppress a smile when I tell him, "I'm sure you'll entertain me beautifully, Agent Rossi."
"Oh, it's David, please," he says. "Calling me Agent Rossi really will make me feel old."
Mm, he is smooth. I approve already. I flash him a smile and dip my head in acknowledgment. Agent Morgan is still standing in front of us. "I can wait by his desk, if you'd like, while you two discuss business."
"Thank you, Cassandra." David leads me to it and I lean against the desk while they move back off to talk. I've got eyes on me again -- I imagine Spencer's coworkers don't see a lot of new faces around here, much less someone like me. Years of practice have me ignoring it patiently. Dave and Agent Morgan haven't moved far enough away that I can't hear them, so I tune in to the sound of Dave's voice to better drown out the white noise of a bunch of people.
"Who is she?" Morgan asks, curiosity plain in his tone. "What's she doing here?"
David is nonchalant. "I imagine she's waiting for Reid."
"That kid can't be any older than fifteen. How does he even know her?"
By accident, mostly. At one point he was sleeping with my brother and I caught him doing the walk of shame ridiculously early in the morning. I offered him a bagel for the road, and he and I have pretty much been friends ever since. For the most part, Spencer and Lindsey don't do the horizontal mambo any more, but I've managed to wheedle Spencer into staying around. Girl's got skills, you know.
Any reply Dave has made is lost by the new woman that catches my attention.
"Oh my God, what a cute dog!" She gushes, and comes forward to where Sunshine sits beside me. There's something about dogs that turns people into giant two year olds. It's something I've noticed for years, the way they start cooing and getting excited at the puppy, and it always makes me laugh. "What's her name?"
"This is Sunshine," I introduce, standing up away from the desk. "Sunshine, say hello."
Sunshine raises a paw to shake, and the woman before me gasps in delight as I hear a smattering of laughter nearby.
"Sorry," she says, sounding embarrassed. "I'm Jennifer Jareau. JJ."
I nod a greeting and introduce myself. Now all I'm missing is --
"I'm Emily," a new woman says, coming up on my other side. There she is. I wonder when I'll get to meet Garcia. I've heard stories, of course, of all of Spencer's team. He describes them with fondness and humor, and I feel as if I know them all. Spencer likes everyone, but his voice warms when he speaks of his favorites, and I guess by default they're my favorites, too.
We make small talk about Sunshine for a few minutes, and then David is pushing his way through the small crowd that's gathered around me.
"Alright," he grumbles, faintly exasperated, "Don't you people have work to do?"
"But sir! The puppy!"
"Garcia, that puppy is a trained working dog, and she's not supposed to be distracted."
I missed her? Damn. I wonder what colors she was wearing today.
"Cassie," Dave touches my arm briefly, "My office is up a flight of stairs. I forgot to ask if that was going to be a problem for you."
I shake my head, touched by his concern. "Nope. Me and stairs are old hat. Just point me in a direction and Sunshine will do the rest."
We've actually managed to make it up eight of the steps before the low murmuring picks up again, and above the crowd, I catch that variation on a theme I'm all too familiar with.
"I wonder if she was born that way?"
Dave hears it, too. He stiffens beside me and turns, but I lay a hand on his arm before he can say anything.
"I wasn't," I announce, turning carefully to face the bull pen. "About ten years ago, my parents and I were on our way home from dinner. It was raining pretty hard, and it was dark out. I guess the other driver was too drunk to see the red light. I was knocked out in the crash, and when I woke up, everything was dark. I was seven, and I was the only survivor."
After ten years, I can still remember the sounds of metal wrenching, the way my mother screamed. The pen is silent as I turn and finish making my way back up the stairs. I don't even bother trying to suppress the petty satisfaction that comes from shaming strangers into shutting up. That question is rude, anyway. I can at least be grateful that it didn't come from any of the people I just met.
We're met upstairs by someone new. "I'm sorry about that," he tells me. His voice is quiet and serious, and I can feel the sincerity.
"It's alright," I tell him. I wonder if this is the famed Agent Hotchner. "I'm Cassandra Cunningham."
"Aaron Hotchner."
I love being right. "Agent Hotchner, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"And you, Miss Cunningham. What brings you to the BAU?"
The unassuming question snakes through my somewhat flimsy defenses and I'm appalled to feel my eyes welling up with tears. "I was mugged," I admit. "Lost my GPS and got a little bit turned around. I was looking for a friendly face, I guess." And a ride home, so I don't have to tell big brother what happened until I'm home safe.
"He should be back soon," Agent Hotchner assures me.
"Come on, Cass," David touches my arm again. "My office is just through here."
I all but collapse into the chair he leads me to, and wave him off listlessly when he says he's going to go get me some water. My head still hurts, and between landing on the pavement and unintentionally being put on display, I really just want quiet music and a warm blanket. Footsteps coming up the stairs, and it's David, stopping at Aaron's office for a few words.
"Morgan was having trouble with the consult from Portland, so I told him I'd take a look at it," he says.
"Okay. Let me know if you have any trouble. Maybe JJ still has Stanley Usher's phone number."
"Ha. Ha," Dave shoots back. "Stop it. You slay me."
"Or I hear Reid's got a friend who is psychic. Maybe you should ask him."
"What?" Now he's intrigued, and so am I. I sit up in my chair and wonder what Spencer's been saying. "You're joking. Reid? Our Reid? Knows a psychic?"
"That's what he told JJ," Aaron replies. "Apparently she asked him if he thought she was being silly, and he said he had a friend who had ESP, so he didn't feel it was a complete improbability."
"Huh. I wonder why he never told me."
"Given your reaction to Usher?" Aaron's voice is pointed.
Dave's quiet for a moment. "Yeah, alright," and then he's walking back to me.
I can't help it. "Not a believer?" I ask, not even bothering to pretend I wasn't listening. David harrumphs and presses a cold cup of water into my hands.
"No," He says shortly.
I grin a little bit, saying nothing. The water is cold going down, icicles hitting my insides and making me shiver.
"You don't believe in all that crap, do you?" He asks me, as if he's hoping for just one person to see sense. "Auras and tarot cards and clairvoyance? You seem like a well-grounded girl."
That makes me laugh. Do I believe? I think back to the first time I woke up after the accident, the way my mother sat next to me, the only light in the black. The doctors were unnerved with how calm I was, but how could I be hysterical, with my Mommy telling me she loved me?
"Well everybody says we only use a small percentage of our brains," I reply. "You don't think it's possible that other people, who have the ability to use more, manifest it in different ways?"
"But seeing the future?"
"There's a theory that time is a circular motion, with no real ending and no real beginning," I grin, teasing. "Or maybe it's only one possible future. There was an entire Star Trek episode about this, you know."
"Now I see why you're friends with Reid," he grumbles.
Another laugh, and this time I can feel his answering smile. I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, wincing at the way they protest. "As for auras and clairvoyance, well. We know that everything emits energy. Reid's the physicist, he can tell you. If auras are the energy we give off, it only makes sense that our eyes would interpret them as colors, right?"
"You're sounding entirely too logical about this," he warns me, amusement ringing through his tone.
I smile at him, and continue anyway. "Psychometry and clairvoyance are sometimes confused with each other, and sometimes they mix."
"Psychometry being the ability to pick up impressions off of objects," Dave follows.
"And clairvoyance being able to see things that are happening now, in different places," I confirm. "So psychometry is really picking up the aura of the object, the energy imprinted on to it. If we can agree that people can see auras, then it follows that they can pick up experiences and impressions off of an object."
"Okay. I can agree with you on the possibility of these things happening," He sounds as if the admission pains him. "What I don't agree with is people using these so called gifts to inject themselves into an investigation."
I hesitate. On the one hand... "I see what you're saying. There seems to be two prominent schools of thought with this one. On the one hand, there are people who believe that if they don't use what 'gifts' they're given, they'll lose them, or they'll suffer some kind of consequences. Headaches, uncontrollable flashes of insight, hearing words that aren't said aloud..."
"Wonder if they're going crazy," he murmurs.
"Exactly. But on the other hand, people are fallible, and things are open to interpretation, and with all the pressure and expectation of an open investigation, they can misunderstand what they see."
The elevator doors open downstairs, and I hear Morgan call a greeting to Spencer. He's here.
"So they use their gifts in other ways, in ways that don't bring them crossing paths with me."
I shrug a little. "Sure. But there's only so many instances of helping Mary Jane find her grandmother's lost ring. Some people are driven by the need to do good, to help." I'm quiet for a moment, listening for Spencer. He's still downstairs, but he's coming this way soon, so I might as well dive right in before I make my very well timed escape. "And what about the spirits of people who can't pass on? If everything is energy, then people are energy, then it makes sense that their spirits would hang about, especially if they meet an untimely end. If they're hoping to find justice, they're going to gravitate towards the thing or person most able to help them, right?"
"Ghosts?" He asks, the skeptic once again.
Spencer's up the stairs and passing by Aaron's office.
"Cass?" He sounds concerned. I flash him a shaky smile and hold up one finger, the universal sign to wait. I reach up and take my shades off -- I can't see anything with them on. I close my eyes and focus on the dark spaces, 'tuning' my sight and listening until I can hear the voices of the women standing around me. I hate doing this. I hardly ever open myself up like this. It scares the hell out of me, but I have a point to prove, and come hell or high water, I'm going to listen. Just this once, and then not again.
Rossi makes a quiet, choked off sound, and I can hear Spencer's indrawn breath. He's been told that I can do this, but he's never seen it.
The girls start whispering at me, crowding closer, and I hug my knees tighter, repeating what they say as fast as I can. "There are seventeen of them. The youngest is fifteen and the oldest is twenty nine. The first one was drowned three years ago, an offering to the river. They were all thrown in on the East bank of the river, between the Hawthorne and the Morrison bridges," I can hear Sunshine starting to whine. I think Agent Hotchner has just stepped into the room, too. "Three am. The witching hour. The three you know about; Jennie Rodgers, Sarah Parker and Christine O'Connor -- they were unfinished. They should have been left in the river, but they were interrupted, scared off by lights."
One of them touches me and makes me jump. Her fingers are cold and slimy from the water.
"You're looking for three guys. They're all Caucasian. One is blond, two are brunettes. They call themselves brothers. I don't know if that's literal or figurative. One guy has a scar on the palm of his hand, he has a hard time opening it. The other one has a tattoo on his neck. Honey. That's what it says. And the last guy," My voice cracks and breaks, and I reach a hand up to rub against the phantom pain in my heart. Desolation and despair slam into me, a hopelessness that can never be fully expressed. "The last guy looks so normal. He never looked like a threat at all."
Sunshine barks, jumps up into my chair and licks my face, snaps me out of my trance and it all shuts back down again. I shudder, relieved. My head is pounding -- I probably shouldn't have done that when I already had a headache. My stomach is churning and I'm totally going to puke. I stand up and then Spencer's beside me, steadying me and letting me lean into him when I start to fall. Vertigo is no fun when you're blind. He's warm and solid, and he wards off the chill that threatens to envelope me. One hand comes around my waist and that's how I know he's really concerned.
"Prob'ly shouldn't have done that," I mumble.
"Why did you?"
"Oh, you know." I lift my head and shoot for a smile. "Pride."
"Fatal flaw," he says quietly.
"Mmm," I agree. "I got mugged today."
His arm tightens.
"Lost my GPS. Can I have a ride home?"
Spencer sags against me and puts his head against mine. "Just make sure I'm not there when you tell Lindsey what you did today," he says.
"You know, if you two had sex," I point out, remembering David's still there, "Linds might be in a more receptive mood."
"Yeah, no." Spencer starts leading me out, picking up Sunshine's lead and handing it to me. "Something tells me I'm going to have my hands full when I come back from dropping you off, anyway."
I turn back in the doorway. "It was nice meeting you, David. Thank you for keeping me company while I waited for Spencer."
He says nothing, and we leave passing by Agent Hotchner right outside Dave's door.
We've just reached the top of the stairs when I hear Dave's voice floating out from his office.
"But she was such a nice girl..."
Author: darkhawkhealer
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairing: Brief mentions of one-sided Reid/Rossi, and past Reid/OMC.
Rating: PGish
Word Count: 3675-ish.
Summary: My take on the Psychic! Meets the BAU concept.
Spoilers: Spoilers for 4.14, Cold Comfort.
A/N: Yeah, so I may have taken creative liberty with the location of the BAU. Chalk it up to creative license and work with me, okay? Also, ariestess and innerslytherin make for great betas and encouraging-type people.
***
The attack comes from behind, a vicious push that sends me flying to the sidewalk. The concrete tears open the skin on my palms, my knees hit with a painful crack at the same time that the purse is yanked away. The pull of the strap against my shoulder leaves a sharp, burning pain. That's going to leave a bruise.
Sunshine is barking and growling beside me, and I can hear the yells and shouts as my attacker takes off. Hands grip my shoulders, my arms, pulling me to my feet and steadying me as my knees take a moment to decide if they're going to support me or not. My glasses are pushed back into my hand before I'm even aware I've lost them. Concern comes in a cacophony of voices and touches as people forget the concept of personal space to make sure I'm okay.
"Sunshine, chill," I snap. She falls silent, and I grope for her lead -- another thing that's pushed into my hands. "Thanks," I murmur, mentally cursing the way adrenaline and fear makes my voice wobble. Sunshine leans reassuringly against me, and I lean down a little to bury my fingers in warm, silky fur. "I'm okay," I add, hoping I sound reassuring. "Really, it was only my purse. There wasn't anything important in it!"
Luckily, it's true. ID and pocket money are actually in my pockets. I only really lost the makeup I never use anyway. Well, that and my collapsible cane. Oh, damn it all to hell and back, my GPS was in there, too! Now I really want to cry.
Oh, man, if my brother finds out about this, I'm toast. I'm stuck downtown, I'm freaked out, and the last thing I need is more proof that I should stay home on teacher in-service days. But I'm still standing, and I'm going to be alright. It was only a thing. I can replace things. I stifle a sigh and try not to cry. Okay, quick. Time to figure out what to do.
I push my glasses back on and smile in what I hope is a somewhat brave manner. "Can anybody point me in the direction of Pennsylvania Ave?"
***
Sunshine and I waltz through the front doors as if we own the place. I've had some time to calm down, and though I'm still pretty rattled; faking it is something I've had years of practice at.
Sunshine leads me to the front desk, where the guard seems a little bit puzzled by my appearance.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Dr. Spencer Reid," I tell him. "If you could tell him Cassandra Cunningham is waiting for him, I'd appreciate it."
He seems hesitant when he makes the call, but it gets done, and that's all I can ask for at this point. The wait seems interminable, but finally I hear the ding of the elevator doors. Seven steps and then someone is standing in front of me. It's not Spencer, this guy's wearing cologne, a dark, woodsy scent that I don't recognize.
"Ah...can I help you, Miss?"
His voice is kind of deep, a little rumbly, and he's got a faint New Yorker's accent; as if he hasn't lived there for years. His tone and inflection sound like those mobster movies my brother is so fond of. I wonder if he's Italian.
"Is Dr. Reid available?" I ask, wondering why he didn't come get me himself. The adrenalin has given me a headache, and I just want a glass of water and some Tylenol.
"I'm sorry, he's out on an interview. He won't be back for another hour or so," he tells me.
Oh. My lower lip trembles a little and my grip tightens on Sunshine's lead. Now what?
"You can wait for him if you'd like," he tells me, concern ringing through his voice. "Why don't you come upstairs?"
I nod quickly. "Thank you," I manage.
"It's, ah, just this way."
"Sunshine," I murmur. "Follow."
We get into the elevator and he turns to study me. I can imagine what he must see. My last checkup told me I was standing steady at 5'3'', and my brother Lindsey tells me I resemble our mother, with her dark hair and eyes. She was Spanish, so I've gotten her golden coloring. My clothes are all either black or white -- it makes getting dressed in the morning much less difficult.
Sunshine is a beautiful golden retriever. She's about six years old now, and very well behaved. Spencer bought her for me. He'd said it was an impulsive move to see if he could negate The Reid Effect, and then he'd realized he couldn't keep her very well when he was always traveling. We both know the truth, but if it makes him feel better to say so, I won't stop him. Sunshine is a darling around him, too.
"I'm sorry," he says, "I don't think I caught your name."
I offer him my public smile. "It's Cassandra. Cass, if you'd like."
"Cassandra. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm SSA David Rossi."
Now my smile flashes for real. I know this man. "Agent Rossi. It's a pleasure to meet you as well. Spencer speaks highly of you."
"I wish I could say the same," he tells me, curiosity and wryness in his tone. "Spencer's never mentioned you."
"He tends to try to keep his personal and professional lives separate," I agree.
My stomach does that funny flutter that comes with the ding of the elevator announcing our arrival. Sunshine follows Agent Rossi without being told, and so do I. The busy hum of the office assaults my sensitive hearing, different voices coming from every direction. It makes the throbbing in my head increase, and I stop for a moment to try to adjust.
"David!" A guy calls, and comes up to where we stand just inside the doors. "Ah, hi. Sorry."
"It's alright," Agent Rossi says. "Derek Morgan, this is Cassandra. She's going to wait up here for Reid."
"Uh, hi, Cassandra." He says, a little uncomfortable.
I wave politely.
"Cass," Agent Rossi's voice is gentle, my protector in this new environment. "You can sit at Reid's desk, or you can come spend time with a grumpy old man while you wait."
Oh, I have heard stories about this man. Spencer's always got something to tell me, about Dave saying this or David doing that. He's got the biggest crush, and there is no way I'm going to let this opportunity to gather information to tease Spencer with get away. I'm trying to suppress a smile when I tell him, "I'm sure you'll entertain me beautifully, Agent Rossi."
"Oh, it's David, please," he says. "Calling me Agent Rossi really will make me feel old."
Mm, he is smooth. I approve already. I flash him a smile and dip my head in acknowledgment. Agent Morgan is still standing in front of us. "I can wait by his desk, if you'd like, while you two discuss business."
"Thank you, Cassandra." David leads me to it and I lean against the desk while they move back off to talk. I've got eyes on me again -- I imagine Spencer's coworkers don't see a lot of new faces around here, much less someone like me. Years of practice have me ignoring it patiently. Dave and Agent Morgan haven't moved far enough away that I can't hear them, so I tune in to the sound of Dave's voice to better drown out the white noise of a bunch of people.
"Who is she?" Morgan asks, curiosity plain in his tone. "What's she doing here?"
David is nonchalant. "I imagine she's waiting for Reid."
"That kid can't be any older than fifteen. How does he even know her?"
By accident, mostly. At one point he was sleeping with my brother and I caught him doing the walk of shame ridiculously early in the morning. I offered him a bagel for the road, and he and I have pretty much been friends ever since. For the most part, Spencer and Lindsey don't do the horizontal mambo any more, but I've managed to wheedle Spencer into staying around. Girl's got skills, you know.
Any reply Dave has made is lost by the new woman that catches my attention.
"Oh my God, what a cute dog!" She gushes, and comes forward to where Sunshine sits beside me. There's something about dogs that turns people into giant two year olds. It's something I've noticed for years, the way they start cooing and getting excited at the puppy, and it always makes me laugh. "What's her name?"
"This is Sunshine," I introduce, standing up away from the desk. "Sunshine, say hello."
Sunshine raises a paw to shake, and the woman before me gasps in delight as I hear a smattering of laughter nearby.
"Sorry," she says, sounding embarrassed. "I'm Jennifer Jareau. JJ."
I nod a greeting and introduce myself. Now all I'm missing is --
"I'm Emily," a new woman says, coming up on my other side. There she is. I wonder when I'll get to meet Garcia. I've heard stories, of course, of all of Spencer's team. He describes them with fondness and humor, and I feel as if I know them all. Spencer likes everyone, but his voice warms when he speaks of his favorites, and I guess by default they're my favorites, too.
We make small talk about Sunshine for a few minutes, and then David is pushing his way through the small crowd that's gathered around me.
"Alright," he grumbles, faintly exasperated, "Don't you people have work to do?"
"But sir! The puppy!"
"Garcia, that puppy is a trained working dog, and she's not supposed to be distracted."
I missed her? Damn. I wonder what colors she was wearing today.
"Cassie," Dave touches my arm briefly, "My office is up a flight of stairs. I forgot to ask if that was going to be a problem for you."
I shake my head, touched by his concern. "Nope. Me and stairs are old hat. Just point me in a direction and Sunshine will do the rest."
We've actually managed to make it up eight of the steps before the low murmuring picks up again, and above the crowd, I catch that variation on a theme I'm all too familiar with.
"I wonder if she was born that way?"
Dave hears it, too. He stiffens beside me and turns, but I lay a hand on his arm before he can say anything.
"I wasn't," I announce, turning carefully to face the bull pen. "About ten years ago, my parents and I were on our way home from dinner. It was raining pretty hard, and it was dark out. I guess the other driver was too drunk to see the red light. I was knocked out in the crash, and when I woke up, everything was dark. I was seven, and I was the only survivor."
After ten years, I can still remember the sounds of metal wrenching, the way my mother screamed. The pen is silent as I turn and finish making my way back up the stairs. I don't even bother trying to suppress the petty satisfaction that comes from shaming strangers into shutting up. That question is rude, anyway. I can at least be grateful that it didn't come from any of the people I just met.
We're met upstairs by someone new. "I'm sorry about that," he tells me. His voice is quiet and serious, and I can feel the sincerity.
"It's alright," I tell him. I wonder if this is the famed Agent Hotchner. "I'm Cassandra Cunningham."
"Aaron Hotchner."
I love being right. "Agent Hotchner, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"And you, Miss Cunningham. What brings you to the BAU?"
The unassuming question snakes through my somewhat flimsy defenses and I'm appalled to feel my eyes welling up with tears. "I was mugged," I admit. "Lost my GPS and got a little bit turned around. I was looking for a friendly face, I guess." And a ride home, so I don't have to tell big brother what happened until I'm home safe.
"He should be back soon," Agent Hotchner assures me.
"Come on, Cass," David touches my arm again. "My office is just through here."
I all but collapse into the chair he leads me to, and wave him off listlessly when he says he's going to go get me some water. My head still hurts, and between landing on the pavement and unintentionally being put on display, I really just want quiet music and a warm blanket. Footsteps coming up the stairs, and it's David, stopping at Aaron's office for a few words.
"Morgan was having trouble with the consult from Portland, so I told him I'd take a look at it," he says.
"Okay. Let me know if you have any trouble. Maybe JJ still has Stanley Usher's phone number."
"Ha. Ha," Dave shoots back. "Stop it. You slay me."
"Or I hear Reid's got a friend who is psychic. Maybe you should ask him."
"What?" Now he's intrigued, and so am I. I sit up in my chair and wonder what Spencer's been saying. "You're joking. Reid? Our Reid? Knows a psychic?"
"That's what he told JJ," Aaron replies. "Apparently she asked him if he thought she was being silly, and he said he had a friend who had ESP, so he didn't feel it was a complete improbability."
"Huh. I wonder why he never told me."
"Given your reaction to Usher?" Aaron's voice is pointed.
Dave's quiet for a moment. "Yeah, alright," and then he's walking back to me.
I can't help it. "Not a believer?" I ask, not even bothering to pretend I wasn't listening. David harrumphs and presses a cold cup of water into my hands.
"No," He says shortly.
I grin a little bit, saying nothing. The water is cold going down, icicles hitting my insides and making me shiver.
"You don't believe in all that crap, do you?" He asks me, as if he's hoping for just one person to see sense. "Auras and tarot cards and clairvoyance? You seem like a well-grounded girl."
That makes me laugh. Do I believe? I think back to the first time I woke up after the accident, the way my mother sat next to me, the only light in the black. The doctors were unnerved with how calm I was, but how could I be hysterical, with my Mommy telling me she loved me?
"Well everybody says we only use a small percentage of our brains," I reply. "You don't think it's possible that other people, who have the ability to use more, manifest it in different ways?"
"But seeing the future?"
"There's a theory that time is a circular motion, with no real ending and no real beginning," I grin, teasing. "Or maybe it's only one possible future. There was an entire Star Trek episode about this, you know."
"Now I see why you're friends with Reid," he grumbles.
Another laugh, and this time I can feel his answering smile. I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, wincing at the way they protest. "As for auras and clairvoyance, well. We know that everything emits energy. Reid's the physicist, he can tell you. If auras are the energy we give off, it only makes sense that our eyes would interpret them as colors, right?"
"You're sounding entirely too logical about this," he warns me, amusement ringing through his tone.
I smile at him, and continue anyway. "Psychometry and clairvoyance are sometimes confused with each other, and sometimes they mix."
"Psychometry being the ability to pick up impressions off of objects," Dave follows.
"And clairvoyance being able to see things that are happening now, in different places," I confirm. "So psychometry is really picking up the aura of the object, the energy imprinted on to it. If we can agree that people can see auras, then it follows that they can pick up experiences and impressions off of an object."
"Okay. I can agree with you on the possibility of these things happening," He sounds as if the admission pains him. "What I don't agree with is people using these so called gifts to inject themselves into an investigation."
I hesitate. On the one hand... "I see what you're saying. There seems to be two prominent schools of thought with this one. On the one hand, there are people who believe that if they don't use what 'gifts' they're given, they'll lose them, or they'll suffer some kind of consequences. Headaches, uncontrollable flashes of insight, hearing words that aren't said aloud..."
"Wonder if they're going crazy," he murmurs.
"Exactly. But on the other hand, people are fallible, and things are open to interpretation, and with all the pressure and expectation of an open investigation, they can misunderstand what they see."
The elevator doors open downstairs, and I hear Morgan call a greeting to Spencer. He's here.
"So they use their gifts in other ways, in ways that don't bring them crossing paths with me."
I shrug a little. "Sure. But there's only so many instances of helping Mary Jane find her grandmother's lost ring. Some people are driven by the need to do good, to help." I'm quiet for a moment, listening for Spencer. He's still downstairs, but he's coming this way soon, so I might as well dive right in before I make my very well timed escape. "And what about the spirits of people who can't pass on? If everything is energy, then people are energy, then it makes sense that their spirits would hang about, especially if they meet an untimely end. If they're hoping to find justice, they're going to gravitate towards the thing or person most able to help them, right?"
"Ghosts?" He asks, the skeptic once again.
Spencer's up the stairs and passing by Aaron's office.
"Cass?" He sounds concerned. I flash him a shaky smile and hold up one finger, the universal sign to wait. I reach up and take my shades off -- I can't see anything with them on. I close my eyes and focus on the dark spaces, 'tuning' my sight and listening until I can hear the voices of the women standing around me. I hate doing this. I hardly ever open myself up like this. It scares the hell out of me, but I have a point to prove, and come hell or high water, I'm going to listen. Just this once, and then not again.
Rossi makes a quiet, choked off sound, and I can hear Spencer's indrawn breath. He's been told that I can do this, but he's never seen it.
The girls start whispering at me, crowding closer, and I hug my knees tighter, repeating what they say as fast as I can. "There are seventeen of them. The youngest is fifteen and the oldest is twenty nine. The first one was drowned three years ago, an offering to the river. They were all thrown in on the East bank of the river, between the Hawthorne and the Morrison bridges," I can hear Sunshine starting to whine. I think Agent Hotchner has just stepped into the room, too. "Three am. The witching hour. The three you know about; Jennie Rodgers, Sarah Parker and Christine O'Connor -- they were unfinished. They should have been left in the river, but they were interrupted, scared off by lights."
One of them touches me and makes me jump. Her fingers are cold and slimy from the water.
"You're looking for three guys. They're all Caucasian. One is blond, two are brunettes. They call themselves brothers. I don't know if that's literal or figurative. One guy has a scar on the palm of his hand, he has a hard time opening it. The other one has a tattoo on his neck. Honey. That's what it says. And the last guy," My voice cracks and breaks, and I reach a hand up to rub against the phantom pain in my heart. Desolation and despair slam into me, a hopelessness that can never be fully expressed. "The last guy looks so normal. He never looked like a threat at all."
Sunshine barks, jumps up into my chair and licks my face, snaps me out of my trance and it all shuts back down again. I shudder, relieved. My head is pounding -- I probably shouldn't have done that when I already had a headache. My stomach is churning and I'm totally going to puke. I stand up and then Spencer's beside me, steadying me and letting me lean into him when I start to fall. Vertigo is no fun when you're blind. He's warm and solid, and he wards off the chill that threatens to envelope me. One hand comes around my waist and that's how I know he's really concerned.
"Prob'ly shouldn't have done that," I mumble.
"Why did you?"
"Oh, you know." I lift my head and shoot for a smile. "Pride."
"Fatal flaw," he says quietly.
"Mmm," I agree. "I got mugged today."
His arm tightens.
"Lost my GPS. Can I have a ride home?"
Spencer sags against me and puts his head against mine. "Just make sure I'm not there when you tell Lindsey what you did today," he says.
"You know, if you two had sex," I point out, remembering David's still there, "Linds might be in a more receptive mood."
"Yeah, no." Spencer starts leading me out, picking up Sunshine's lead and handing it to me. "Something tells me I'm going to have my hands full when I come back from dropping you off, anyway."
I turn back in the doorway. "It was nice meeting you, David. Thank you for keeping me company while I waited for Spencer."
He says nothing, and we leave passing by Agent Hotchner right outside Dave's door.
We've just reached the top of the stairs when I hear Dave's voice floating out from his office.
"But she was such a nice girl..."