Upon request from ilovetvalot who stated she DESPERATELY needed some Rossi and Mudgie.
Song prompt: "Any Foolish Thing" by Michael McDonald
Any Foolish Thing
The difference between a dog and a profiler isn't much….okay, there may be a few differences, but overall, we are the same thing. And if the slam of the front door is a good indicator of my master's mood, then I can tell you that all hell has broken out at the BAU.
Slowly I get to my feet to walk over to him. I have learned by now that jumping on him while he's in this mood can only end with me walking away with my tail between my legs.
As I get closer, I notice that there is something wrong…this mood is quite different from any other I've ever encountered…and trust me, I went thru his last divorce, so I know his moods.
He needs a good walk…something to take his mind off of work. So, I get my leash and carry it to him, but he just pats me on the head.
"Not tonight, Mudge," he says as he walks over to the bar and pours a drink. Uh oh! Three fingers high. Serial killers are one, child killers are two, but three can only mean one thing: woman troubles. I turn around and head back to the kitchen to put my leash back on the hook. All I know is that it's going to be a long night.
I'm on an automatic feeder, so I don't have to worry about my supper, but I'm not hungry. My appetite can't exist when my master is hurting.
Trotting carefully into the study, I see that he is sitting in his favourite chair, staring into the fire crackling in the hearth. I go over and lay my head on his lap. Pitifully, I whine to ask him what's wrong.
"You're lucky you're a dog, Mudgie," he spoke as he scratched my head. "You don't have to put up with the bullshit of women."
Ah! My instinct was dead on. I whine some more; I need to find out what happened. Which one did he tangle with this week? My money was on Emily Prentiss.
"Yes, they can be right on many things, but that doesn't mean they are always correct," he continued. "Honestly, can't they ever cut a guy a break? I said I was sorry…"
I wag my tail as I anticipate the story coming up.
"But more than women, I've had it with technology. Whoever decided that we had to put our calendars on phones should be shot. So, I forgot her birthday…not a big deal, right? After all, don't women want you to forget how old they are? What does it matter that I forgot Em was turning forty? You think she would have done a cartwheel in the bullpen."
Uh oh. My dog senses perked up. I was right!
"You would think that three marriages would have clued me in to the art of being subtle. Okay…maybe it wasn't wise of me to say that she still looked pretty good despite turning the big four oh." He shrugged and spread his hands in perplexity.
Double uh oh!
"She does," he explains with a small smile. "The ten mile runs and gym membership proves it; I would have never guessed she was forty."
Tell me you didn't say that, I whine, but I know him better than he knows himself - after all, I did see his third divorce coming before he did. But I know that he did because when he moves the hand rubbing his forehead, I can see the goose egg. I raise my eyebrows in question.
"At least she didn't throw something," he continues. I'm stunned. I missed that call.
He sighs. I know that sigh. It's another woman. My tail wags. I need to know where he got the goose egg.
"File cabinets were made to file things. And the tabs with letters on them are for alphabetizing folders… So, when you have a case that you need to research on, wouldn't it be logical that said folder would be in the cabinet?" he asks rhetorically. "I know. I don't understand why she had to get all bent out of shape because I went thru her office to find what I was looking for."
JJ! This is getting good!
"Was it wrong of me to tell her that it takes less effort to file a folder than to put it on a pile on her desk where no one but her can find it? I mean, why did the government spend all that money to provide cabinets if she is going to leave everything right there in the open?" He sips his scotch. "I'm an FBI agent and thrice married; I should be immune to tears."
Did she or didn't she? I try to shout. But it comes out as a bark instead.
"Suffice to say that I am no longer allowed to enter Jennifer Jareau's office unaccompanied."
Now I am intrigued. Someone beaned him and I have to find out who! Em was my first guess and if it wasn't her or the marksman named JJ, it was definitely someone!
I bark my impatience; I'm not a cat, I don't have nine lives to waste waiting! But he remains mum. Giving up, I walk over to my plush tempurpedic dog bed and lay down. I keep an eye on him, but he doesn't move. Nor does he speak.
His silence drags on for what seems like an eternity, but since I have no real concept of time, I'm not sure, but the sun is going down, and the fire is getting lower, so time as passed since he last spoke.
"How is it that women can get offended over something that doesn't involve them?"
My ears perk up. Oh, the trifecta! Who? Who?
"I wanted to ask Garcia one simple question about my computer and she lit into me about the way I disrespected her 'sisters'. I didn't even know they were that close! I tried to explain that I didn't mean to hurt Emily or JJ's feelings, but obviously that only made things worse."
Duh! I think to myself. It didn't take a dog to figure that one out. And he's supposed to be the best selling author!
I whine softly and I guess he understood because he continued with, "I didn't get a chance to apologize. She fumed that it was no wonder that I had been divorced three times - because I had no idea how to treat a lady. 'At least I know how you got the nickname Agent Hard Ass', she threw at me. Agent Hard Ass? Really? Come on…I know how to treat women; after all, I am Italian."
Yeah, but you're also a man, I add silently.
"Then to add insult to injury, she suggested that I get together with Lynch or Morgan to learn how to treat a lady before one of the women…what was it that she said….? Oh yeah, popped a cap in my sorry Lothario ass." He shakes his head in disbelief. "I left the room as she was complaining about putting a calendar and downloading an office etiquette book on my laptop."
Even if I could speak, what could I say?
"I hope she never finds that picture of me lying on the bearskin rug when I was a baby…"
Master or no master, a part of me wanted to see that picture. What can I say? I am a dog. But that doesn't explain the dead centre mark on his forehead. Canine minds want to know!
"But it gets better," he continues as though he has to or he'll explode. "With the day I was already having, you would think that Erin Strauss would have the decency to back off. But no, after twenty years, she still doesn't understand tact."
Oooo! The blast from the past! I was wondering and waiting for the moment those two would get back together. Okay, though I had never seen them together, I had heard the rumours…and let me tell you that everything you heard was true! I'm surprised that the Hoover Building is still standing!
"I don't even remember what she was harping on me about…maybe it was some senator coming to visit who needed a babysitter…or maybe it was her wanting to counsel me on etiquette and sexual harassment policies that the FBI implemented since my first retirement. Hell, I don't know. After my run ins with Em, JJ, and Garcia…I just didn't need that bullshit. I told her to pull the stick out of her ass and stop riding mine."
He rubs his forehead gently. "At least the coffee cup was empty," he grouses. "Can you believe she sent me home and told me to get a better attitude before I walked thru the main doors again? Women! Who needs them? Lord knows I don't."
Inside, I feel bad for him. For a man who could write a dozen best sellers and convey a mental image by so few majestic words, he sorely lacked in the communications department when it comes to women he cares about. I know he meant well, but even I have to admit that he screwed up royally. But at least it was a mug and not a bullet…he got off easy this time.
Getting up from my bed, I stretch, then walk over to him. Laying my head on his lap, I give him a look that tells him that I understand better than he knows. And somehow I know that he understands me, too.
I whine softly what is supposed to be a question of what he is going to do now that he is on the hit list of three women who carry guns and one who, through the power of technology, is more dangerous and lethal than any gun on the market.
Sighing, he empties his glass and sets it on the table. "Who am I fooling? I need them, Mudgie. In some weird way, they are the perfect woman. I'm man enough to admit my faults, and I know when I need to say 'I'm sorry'.
Pulling out his phone, he dials a number from memory - in fact, it's the only number he doesn't have to put on speed dial. I listen as he orders 4 large bouquets of flowers for the BAU women and the short notes on all the cards.
Then he hits end and pets me on the head lovingly.
"Well, Mudge," he says with a smile. "You got to listen to me rant about the day I had and how I managed to piss off the women I love and walk away virtually unscathed, and you did it without complaint." He stands up and stretches. "What do you say we go for a walk then I'll get you a steak?" he suggests.
I run for my leash. I have no doubt that once the flowers were delivered in the morning to the women he loves with all of his heart, everything would be forgiven…again.
After all, who can stay angry at Dave Rossi?