Fic: Three Profilers and a Nun / Morgan`s Stage Debut (Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid / Derek Morgan)
Title: Three Profilers and a Nun
Pair: Spencer Reid / Derek Morgan
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Criminal Minds Main List
“Three profilers and a nun walked into a bar-”
“Wait a minute.” Reid interrupted, his hand waving in front of Morgan’s face. “We’re they on or off duty?”
“The profilers? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter-”
“It matters, because we do alter our behavioural patters according to the situation, and a more relaxed environment and situation might change the angle of the story and therefore influence the outcome.”
“No, the story stays the same.” Morgan groaned and avoided the amused looks Prentiss was sending them from the other side of the table. “They’re just off work, okay?”
“Did they have a case?”
“No.”
“Then what were they doing?”
“Counting their paper clippers, can I go on with the joke now?”
“What about the nun?”
“What about her? A nun is a nun.”
“From what order?”
“Why do you wanna know?”
“Different orders have different regulations, and the odds of a nun walking into a bar, especially one where a group of profilers go-”
“She was from a silent order, so shush.”
“Was she collecting?”
“What?”
“Was she collecting donations for something, like the one we met in Sacramento?”
“No, she just walked into a bar, that’s all.”
“Did she have a moustache?”
“Why do you ask?”
“When we interviewed that one nun last year, the one who was leading that day-care centre, she claimed it’s part of their wows.”
“Growing a moustache?”
“No, giving up on all earthly grooming, because they’re supposed to focus on their spiritual growth. She looked like Hotch does when we’re busy on a case and he doesn’t have time to shave for few days.”
“This nun didn’t have a moustache or any other hair facial hair.” Morgan exclaimed and slammed his hand down on the table. “Okay? None.”
“Not even eyebrows? Or eyelashes?”
“Nothing. The three profilers and a nun walked into a bar-”
“Where was it?”
“The bar?”
“Yeah, I need to know, so I can visualise it.”
“It’s a joke, you don’t need to visualise anything.”
“Is it a verbal gag without references to physical movement or physicals beings being involved?”
“What?”
“And if it’s only about voices without a physical manifestation of their existence, can it be considered to be more of a metaphysical gag than-”
“You know what….” Morgan took his coffee cup, shoved half-filled report forms away from him and got up. “Forget the whole joke, I’m gonna go and get more coffee.”
Reid’s eyes went wide and his bottom lip quivered just a little bit. Morgan shot him an annoyed glare on his way out of the conference room.
“And don’t gimme that look!”
Morgan marched out and Reid’s Lost Little Boy expression vanished. It was replaced by a smug grin.
“Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Prentiss leaned over the table. “You’re always got something weird to say, but that was weird even for you.”
“Morgan has forty-seven jokes he subconsciously recycles. When he gets back to the beginning of the cycle, he doesn’t remember he has already told them.”
“So what?”
“I know how that joke goes and it’s so bad that it’s worth all that avoidance.”
“You did that on purpose?”
“Yeah.” Reid admitted. “Besides, everyone knows profilers and nuns don’t go to the same bars.”
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Title: Morgan`s Stage Debut
Pair: Spencer Reid / Derek Morgan
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Morgan held the skull in his palm and stepped to the centre stage, eyeing the rows of empty seats. He cleared his throat and raised his voice.
“To be… or not to be.”
Reid chuckled quietly in the wings. When Morgan’s one sentence monologue ended, he walked closer and tapped the man on the shoulder.
“To be, or not to be: that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die, to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.”
”Hey!” Morgan complained. ”Don’t ruin my solo, I’m in the zone here.”
”This is theatre, there is no solos, unless you count one man plays. And Hamlet doesn’t do that monologue with a skull, he does it holding a dagger.”
”Close enough, besides no one knows that.”
”And one more thing.” Reid glared at the plastic skull. ”That’s supposed to be a chimp, not a human. Tomorrow’s matinee is The Island of Doctor Moreau.”
“Chimp? How do you know?”
“The jaw line and the brow-”
“Okay, I believe you. I just wanted to see what it’s like.”
“The stage manager said all the visitors want to do that.” Reid snickered. “But most visitors don’t have five murders to solve.”
“Yeah, that was one nutty Prima Donna.”
“No, she was the understudy. Or actually she was the understudy for several parts. Prima Donna means a leading actress of a theatre company. And the nutty part wasn’t that accurate either.” Reid frowned and seemed to slip into his own thoughts for a minute. “She was aware of what she did. She saw the other actresses as obstacles, so she removed them.”
“I think I saw the same plot in Columbo.” Morgan mused and toyed with the plastic skull. “Or Monk, those two are so close I can’t remember. Anyway, gruesome case.”
”Ambition can lead to jealousy and jealousy can lead to rage.”
”Or like they say…Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
“I’ve never understood why people always misquote that…”
“What do you mean? And why do you need to spoil the one highbrow quite I know by heart?”
“It’s actually: Heaven has no fury like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it changes the meaning.” Reid mused absentmindedly. “They always use that quote when the woman in question does something awful and make it sound random. Tragic or violent, but in the right context it means, that there was a reason behind it. Love was there first, then hate, but hate didn’t just come randomly. It was a result of something.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Morgan admitted and tossed the skull to a nearby cardboard box, that was half full of miscellaneous props. “Did everyone leave already?”
“We’re the last ones, the janitor asked us to let him know when we leave so he can lock up.”
”Yeah…” Morgan turned to take one more look at the empty stage. ”What did you think about my monologue?”
”Well… it did bring to my mind one phrase that fit your performance perfectly: Virginia ham.”
”Thanks… Any other critique?”
”I think that covered it. But if you want something to take your mind away from it, I can give you a historical fact that has a relevant connection to today’s society and to your misquotation.”
”Hit me with it.”
”Your quote was from William Congreve’s play called The Mourning Bride. He also created a phrase that is now often used by the press.”
”Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?”
”Kiss and tell.” Reid gave him a little peck on the lips and grinned. ”From his play Love For Love: O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.”
”Don’t call me a miss, kid.”