Author's Note: This fic came into creation because I just finished a 53-hour workweek, and today 'tis payday; thus, I felt the curious need to celebrate. And I finally got to see Catching Fire, and holy balls, it was good! Also, I think I might like this guy I work with, and I very much needed a distraction. Sew . . . well, this is what that particular recipe creates . . . My apologies.
Disclaimer: Hah, hah, hah. I'm a college student, do you effing think I can afford something as fabulous as Criminal Minds or The Hunger Games? (Luckily, I'm enlisting the help of Nicolas Cage to steal them – can't be too much harder than getting the Declaration of Independence, right?)
Kudos: This oneshot is totally dedicated to my little sister, without whom I never would have been persuaded to try The Hunger Games in the first place. I love you much, my little snuggle-ostrich. :)
Reviews are sexy. So are the members of OneDirection. But I know how to get along without them, too.
Do enjoy, of course.
On the last Friday of the month, the FBI Headquarters building located in Quantico, Virginia, was one of the few places around that hadn't closed early due to the nasty weather – crime never took a day off, so neither could the agents hunting it.
However, as the roads had become quite slick, and there was a clear sign of ice storms moving into the area, many of the aforementioned employees had already vacated the premises, with their director's blessing, by seven o'clock that evening. In fact, the only two people left to be found amiss the entire property were two members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit; one of them a very tall, quiet man of slender build, and the other a short, bubbly blonde dressed in multiple layers of poignant, bright color.
It was because the lights began flickering on and off that Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia had both finally gathered their coats, deciding to call it a day at last, and were now walking one another to their separate cars, each under the impression that they were the one protecting their partner.
Or, perhaps they would have been, had the two of them not been so busy arguing with one another.
"My sweet, darling, just-a-little-off-step baby genius, it's not a huge deal – "
"I never implied that it was – you're the one who's putting up such a fuss Garcia! I politely declined – "
"Which I am politely ignoring!"
"In what manner is that polite? . . . And who are you to be talking about being 'just a little off step,' anyway?"
"What do you mean by that?" Garcia glanced at Reid out of the side of her eyes, biting back the huge grin just starting to blossom over her cheeks.
"I mean . . . your earrings are little shrimp cocktails!"
"Annnnd?"
"That's, uhm . . . weird?" Spencer spoke tentatively, unsure as to just how weird the jewelry either was or was not.
"Oh, precious, that hurt." Garcia clutched dramatically at her heart.
Somewhat chastised, Reid blushed. "I apologize – I wasn't meaning to come off as rude, I – "
"I know how you can make it up to me."
Reid just looked at her, raising one eyebrow. Garcia smiled, and cautiously patted his chest.
"And it'll make you feel so good, too."
Reid spluttered, blushing furiously, and the tech analyst patiently waited for him to get over his embarrassment and start talking.
"Garcia! I'm just not interested – "
"Baby, everyone's interested in The Hunger Games."
"That's quite a hasty generalization – and a false one. I'm not everyone, and equally unenthused by the thought of some pop fiction teenage literature."
"Pop fiction?" Garcia slammed to a halt and shot out her hand, stopping Spencer in his tracks as she unceremoniously thwacked him in the chest. She barely listened to the young doctor's "Oof!" as she glared up at him, geared for war.
"First of all, 187, the word 'pop' is just a shortened version of 'popular,' as in 'culture,' as in what people find appealing to read these days just because it fits whatever version of reality they embrace. And that's all it is, so don't you just stand there and say it as if the word is synonymous with garbage."
"I didn't – " Reid started, only to be cut off by the fierce blonde once more.
"Secondly, for someone with a certified degree in geniusness and about a thousand PhD's to back it up, you're being pretty narrow-minded, just deciding that the work of Suzanne Collins won't be appealing to you without even glancing at the inside jacket!"
"Now hang on a minute!" Reid shot back, defensive. "I never stated that the work of the author was bad, nor anything of the sort about the works that she's published! I said that the genesis of her 'acclaimed' trilogy, combined with her lack of credible writing history, as well as the fact that this piece has yet to win any awards of credible note, made evidence for a reasonable assumption that The Hunger Games would not be a series to capture my interest – and, thus, not worth my time to read. And that's all I said. " He took a breath and added, "And there's no such thing as 'a degree' in 'geniusness' – which doesn't even exist!"
"Call it what you will," Garcia smiled, "but I think that we both know that I'm right, my scrumptious little cupcake. You're being unreasonable to not hear me out, and if that continues, I shall have to punish you."
"Punish me?" Reid cast a wary glance at the evil smirk on his friend's face.
"I better go, honey. I need to download the newest version of Photoshop – if you catch my drift?" she winked at the now-quaking form of Dr. Reid.
"Garcia?"
Her grin got bigger.
"Garcia?"
When Garcia merely turned and walked away, Reid hastily chased after her, stumbling a bit on his feet in his frantic hurry to catch up to the tech analyst.
"Garcia!"
"Ye-es, my dear?" At last, the evil and bubbly computer whiz turned to face him, and Reid fought to wipe his face clean of any annoyance. It would be unwise to incur the wrath of a paid computer hacker with lots of personal photos of him, plenty of free time, and (gulp) a high-def photo-editing system.
"Fine. You win. Why don't you just . . . give me the gist of the story, okay? I'll listen. I promise . . . Deal?"
"Aww, sugar, you had me at hello." Garcia purred, slipping her arm onto his, and the two resumed their slow walk to their cars.
. . .
"So, then, correct me if I'm wrong; but what you describe is America, several centuries into the future, war-riddled and decimated to the point where a dystopian and power-hungry form of government reigns control over the land, lead by one in a line of many sadistic presidents, all centered around the idea that in order to have peace, the newly divided twelve 'districts' must sacrifice a male and a female child every year, and sentence the unlucky youth to fight one another to the death in some twisted, sculpted arena of Hell-spawn horror, in which only one victor will emerge, to forever be congratulated on the murders they committed, for which they will also be bestowed with riches, singled out, paraded around, and notarized for, never to lead another normal day again?"
Garcia just looked at the young genius as they entered the darkened and nearly empty parking lot compound.
"I cannot believe you just said all of that without taking a breath . . . What else can you do?" She blew a kiss at him and winked.
"Gar-cia," Reid shook his head."Classic evasion of question, . . . a sure sign of guilt. Just how right am I?"
"Aw, don't get snippy, lovebird. And, technically, you nailed the more disturbing psychological aspects on the head. Technically, though," she hurried out, when it looked like the young genius was about to start up another rant, "it's really about a whole entirely new world, my Genius. A different place altogether, in which you can lose your mind."
"Lose my mind sounds right," Reid agreed, deciding first to walk Penelope to her car, and then take his own. "It sounds like a terrible world; why on Earth would I want to give up the little free time I have to read something so strange and depressing?"
Garcia snorted. "Yeah, Reid, I love you and all that sparkly stuff, but you know that you could have the entire series finished by nightfall – "
"Now there's a whole series?"
"Yes, kitten. And I promise you, the whole thing is no less disturbing than some of the 'strange and depressing' things that you see at work all the time; it's action packed, filled with amazing little one-line zingers, the prose flows like poetry on the love scenes – "
"Love scenes?"
"Just a few! And that, my sweetheart, is, like, the main reason that I need you to read these books for me. Every time I do, I totally ship you and Katniss!"
" . . . I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, right," Garcia glanced over at the confused genius's eyes, and quickly explained. "Shipping is when you imagine two characters in a story hooking up; it can be, like, men and men, or girls and girls, or just two coworkers that you always imagined would make a great couple, but, for like, whatever reason, the writer never got them together?"
"You mean like . . . deciding to marry Spock and Kirk?" Spencer looked horrified by the very thought.
"Exactly, angelfish! Anyways, I was saying that I totally picture you and the main character in the story getting together. She's, like, the perfect woman for you!"
"Yes, I see what you mean," Reid tapped his chin as Garcia opened her trunk and set her handbag inside. "She's unlucky, a declared murderer, antisocial, fictitious . . ."
Garcia's head popped up, and she shot Reid one of her infamous looks.
"Kitten, you're being pretty presumptuous. You don't know anything about this chick."
"So tell me something." Reid watched warily as Garcia slammed her car shut, and turned to face him.
"Fine, then. You could start with the totally obvious, and say that both you and Katniss survived a rough childhood; both of you lost your dads before you were even ten, and both of your mothers required you to be the one caring for them. There was a state of catatonia for both of you, like, emotions-wise; you were too busy being a genius and trying to take care of your mother, and when Katniss's father died, she shut away all of her feelings.
Then, you move on to school; Super-Genius, you got bullied and teased for things you couldn't help – like being a super genius – and made an outcast. Katniss, meanwhile, was this quiet girl with a beautiful voice who didn't want to talk to people – which they, of course, took as snobbery, and then outright rejected her for it.
Now," she said, hastily speaking louder when it appeared as if the man before her was going to interrupt, "You take the fact that the both of you have a solid, sad base and back-story, and you fast-forward life currently, and check the both of you out.
Sweetie, you're one of the strongest people I know; you're caring and sweet and so selfless that it makes the heart ache. You've survived seeing horrible things, doing horrible things, and being surrounded by horrible things for years, and yet, you've never lost that wonderful, innocent glow that makes you so special. You cherish the people around you, and even though you're forced to watch so much bad in life, you never stop looking for the good. That takes a kind of special that I've only ever seen in one other person."
"This, ah . . . Katniss character?"
"Well, yeah – admittedly, you were right when you said that she only exists on paper. But it's more than that, Reid. Her whole attitude, her spirit – that exists in you, and it's inspiring. You're both people who have taken a whomping in life, and instead of falling to it, have risen from the ashes time and time again, bigger and better and stronger than before. Each time, you fight back and claw through to make sure that the world keeps spinning the right way."
"I think you're making a bit too much of all this." Reid blushed, not sure whether he was more flattered or embarrassed by Penelope's analysis.
"Not at all, kiddo. Everything I said is true – plus, I didn't even mention the fact that you're both supreme trouble magnets with a tendency towards stupid heroism, action-before-thought people who inexplicably seem to constantly be surrounded by a heady ring of gorgeous suitors?
C'mon, 'pretty boy,' if you would just braid that long hair of yours, you'd practically be The Boy On Fire!" Garcia finished off with a flourish.
Reid smirked, an uncharacteristic smile that looked surprisingly good on him. "Are you saying that I'm hot?" Garcia smacked his arm. "Hey!"
"Don't get smart with me, Reid. For the record, yes, you are pretty delicious. But what I was saying is that you're, like, our baby BAU bad boy with just a kiss of Katniss."
Reid hummed thoughtfully, as he and Garcia slowly approached his hair. He finally looked up when the pale blue of his old car came into view.
"Oh, I apologize – I was trying to walk you to your door, not the other way around."
"I know, sweetie," Garcia pinched his cheek, and Reid stepped back before she could get too strong a grip. "Chivalrous to the very last; but I wanted to do this. Here," she added, smacking a small, square package into the genius's chest, and he reached up quickly to catch it. When he glanced down, the young man saw that Garcia had slapped a well-worn and dog-eared copy of The Hunger Games into his hands. He glanced back at the technical analyst. "Bu – "
"No buts, baby." She pushed a finger to his lips to shush him. "We're good friends, and I know how to hack the IRS and ruin your credit score for life, so listen to me. Go home. As soon as you hang up that ugly cardigan, sit down and read the book. When you've got it done in like, 12 minutes, call me up, and I'll bring you the second and third ones. Then, while I make us some popcorn, you'll finish the series, we shall watch the DVD version and discuss the shipping of Effie and Haymitch. Got it?"
Defeated, Reid finally nodded, thinking that, if nothing else, this would only use up one evening of his life; after that, he'd never have to think about the stupid thing again.
. . .
Half an hour later, Garcia checked her buzzing phone, and smiled when she saw that the incoming call was originating from her favorite little chipmunk.
She answered with a drawn out, "He-e-e-loo?"
The genius on the other end only spoke three words before hanging up.
"I'm team Gale."
Author's Endnote: So am I. XP