An/ Yes, I know its a little long, but I have to say, it was a whole lot of fun to write. It was an enjoyable distraction as I embarked on my self motivated "One Word Prompt Challenge", where I didn't get to have nearly as much fluff as I was used to.
This is going to be a three part story. This first section is from the perspective of the receptionist, while the second and third sections respectively are about JJ's intern and the janitor.
After all the disclaimers I've given, wouldn't it be funny if I suddenly told you I did own Criminal Minds? That, however, would be a complete lie so I won't. So, time for the standard KDZL disclaimer. I don't own Criminal Minds.
The beauty of being invisible is no one ever censors because of your presence. No one lies because deep down, you just don't matter that much. Not in a self-pitying 'I'm so sad about my life' way, just in an 'I know my place in the world' way. I know this better than anyone else because I, Meradee Bennett, am a receptionist. Not just any receptionist, I am the proud receptionist for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. You would think that it would be a hard gig, trying to juggle the daily workings of an elite crime-fighting team, but in all reality, it's quite mundane.
All the scandalous 'The world is on fire' details stay in meetings that I don't get to be in, all terror alerts are kept away from my ever present ears. And really, I am wavered, contracted, agreed, and gag ordered within an inch of my life. So, I can't even spare my ever loving mother any sweet details of the workings of the BAU, though, I definitely have my fun.
You'd also think that I'd be answering phones all day, being a receptionist and all, but really, agents are pretty good at giving anyone work related their extension. So, I don't really know much about cases, since they are confidential.
Certain things aren't confidential, but secret. You know, the kind where you wouldn't want anyone to know because they're really embarrassing if they got out but America would survive just fine. And of those, I'm the freaking authority on. No one worries what the receptionist thinks or worries about behaving well for the receptionist. In my career, I blend in. People start conversations while I'm still on the line, people confess to things right in front of my desk, people ignore me in the break room, I literally am the fly on the wall. And seriously, if you knew what I found out from the messages I've taken…it would knock you off of your feet.
The thought occurs to me that I am just a fly on the wall as I make my own coffee in the break room. As I stand right there, I can't help but over hear a conversation.
"Come on Emily, Please." Spencer Reid, a member of the BAU big team, pleaded to his teammate, Emily Prentiss.
"Reid, I don't care how much you ask, I am not getting you tickets to Barry Mannilow." She seems very firm about this, and she probably is. Emily is not the soft rock/ mood music type. I heard her humming Nine Inch Nails the one time she actually picked up her messages. For most people I require them to come and get their own, but since she is consistently running twenty minutes late, its routine just to put them on her desk. I actually don't think if put to the test, she could pick my face out of a three person line up.
"But he's Austin's favorite." He whined like a little boy. I filed that little detail away; you never know when these things are going to become useful.
Let me explain the term 'big team'. The BAU has several teams, and hundreds of agents, so there are many possibilities on who I could spy on, but the big team is the one lead by the unit chief of the BAU, Aaron Hotchner. They typically are the most busy and they are the ones that its most rewarding extracting details from because nearly all of the time, their lives are more boring than mine. Granted, I'm 26 so I still have some of my partying ways in me, thus accounting for the entertaining happenings of drunken hook ups and odd dating situations, but for the most part, I live a very normal life. The big team? They nearly all are single, they nearly all are commitment phobics, and they all work way too much.
But none of this has to do with Spencer Reid, the one I was thinking about clear when I started thinking about the Big Team. The Austin he's talking about, she's some girl he picked up in Atlanta who he is crazy about. It sort of does the heart good. Because he apparently is some freaky super genius and has like, three PhD's and he's only two years older than me, but he is also biggest sweetheart I've ever met. Reid is always super polite when he gets his messages, and he's pretty cute too when he has a decent hair cut, so I'm glad that he has good karma coming his way.
Oh, I forgot to mention one little thing about the Big Team, the kicker is that while they are all profilers—which is some hinky thing where they can practically read people's minds—they can be so blatantly blind to what goes on around them. Like I knew for nearly three months about Jennifer Jareau's secret relationship with a guy named Will before they did. And then it was still another nine before JJ found out that they knew about it.
Will's alright in my unimportant opinion. He's the type you can tell smiles on the phone, he says please and thank you, he really is virtually ideal. All except…the accent. My last boyfriend was from the south, and I could deal with his drawl just fine, but something about Will's…it makes me want to gag. I have no idea why, but it just seems icky. But, I'm from Long Island, so its not like I have a whole lot of room to talk.
But even though I don't care for Will's tone for speaking, I would never wish him and JJ any harm in their relationship. With that said, I think there's trouble in paradise. Lately, he keeps calling for her extension, because he doesn't have it memorized, instead of her cell. Firstly, JJ is never in her office, so any chance of catching her there is slim to none and normally calling it is a last ditch effort of getting in touch with her. The fact that he's used it repeatedly in the last three weeks, in conjunction with the fact that her line opens up fairly quickly on the off chance that he does catch her, leads me to believe she's avoiding him. Like she won't answer her cell for him. Maybe she's getting sick of the accent too.
I'm swiftly brought out of my contemplation when I hear the sweet euphemism, "Hey Doll-face."
I looked up, already knowing who it was. You'd be surprised at how many people give the receptionist a pet name, but Derek Morgan is the only one who has taken to calling me 'Doll-face', quite frankly it makes me feel as though I'm on an episode of Dragnet. Or that I decided to visit the set of The Godfather, either one.
"Need your messages?" I say, my eyes still focused on the computer screen in front of me. It's really an art to ignore Derek Morgan, no one else seems to be able to, but I've practiced.
When I first started, the mere sight of him made me weak in the knees, but a few weeks at the receptionist desk remedied that ailment. Within a month, I learned from the many messages from desperate women that I took for Morgan that he was a philandering womanizer who wouldn't call a girl back for the life of him. That was when I officially began operation shun Derek Morgan, and so far, I've been pretty successful. Not that he minds because he still is getting his fill of cheap blondes. I know I sound pretty bitter, but that's just because the will power it takes to not stare at the rippling biceps of Derek Morgan takes nearly all of my strength, I have no energy left to be happy.
I notice from my peripheral vision that he nods, here is where I truly am specialized in the art. Without looking mind you, my hand finds its way to the small file of messages I keep for each agent and I count to the fourteenth file and grab the yellow slips of paper. Not once do my eyes meet Morgan's, really, I ought to get a prize.
"Thanks." He smiles as I thrust them at him. I can tell he's laughing at me, but I keep my eyes on the screen still, knowing I can't cave now. We've had this little routine down for the last two years, no need to ruin it now.
Here comes the snappy comment that's supposed to make me talk to him in one, two…three.
"So, you still a Rockies fan?" He asks, already turning away because he knows I'm not going to speak to him other than for my professional duties. "I still think they have nothing on the Cubs."
I struggle to keep myself in control, and from shouting statistics to him. I'm a grown, mature woman. I don't need to get in a shouting match with someone I am supposedly shunning over baseball stats. As I worry about controlling myself the phone rings, distracting my attentions to it.
"Behavioral Analysis Unit, this is Meradee." I say, giving the phone my best smile. I used to say it as a normal human being, because it is after all part of the FBI and people calling often are reeling from traumatic events, but Erin Strauss, the bane of my existence, told me that I needed to quote 'answer phones the old fashioned way, cheerfully', and so…here I am, smiling like an idiot because of some harpy Section chief.
"I need to speak with David Rossi immediately." The woman says bitingly. It is very apparent that she isn't smiling on the other side of the line.
"I'm sorry Ma'm, but Agent Rossi asked to not be disturbed." I inform politely, giving my standard 'David Rossi' speech. He is always getting phone calls from his fans (he apparently wrote a whole bunch of best selling profliling books, I've never read them but the word on the street is that they are pretty amazing) and his women. While at the ripe age of 54, he is still kicking it pretty often with the ladies. He's not a player like Morgan, but more of a serial monogamist. Seriously, the guy has been married three times, if that doesn't say it, I don't know what would. Anyway, chalking the cranky she-bear to being either a fan or one of the women, I tried to brush her off as I usually do anyone. That was until I learned that she wouldn't have any of that.
"You tell him that this is ex-wife on the phone and I need to talk to him now." She retorted, every word of it carrying a threat. This was where I decided that David Rossi was a grown man and could deal with the she-bear on his own.
"One moment please." I said nervously, dialing into Agent Rossi's line.
"Agent Rossi, you're ex-wife is on line one." I informed him as soon as I heard the receiver pick up. Normally, I would wait until the recipient of the call said something to the effect of acknowledgement, but after the year and a half of David Rossi working here, the best I've gotten was a noncommittal grunt, I know not to expect anything from him.
"Which one?" He asked gruffly, probably not even bothering to look up from the files I know he's pouring over.
"The unpleasant one." I offered uncertainly.
"Like that clears it up." He muttered under his breath before actually speaking to me. "Put her through."
"Alright sir." And with the touch of three little keys, she-bear was Rossi's problem and I was home free. Too bad that I still got my fair share of it, because before I could get off of the line, that woman was tossing around accusations like beads at Mardi Gras. Apparently someone spent their alimony money before they got it, but I tried to disconnect quickly, because while I thrive on knowing, I shouldn't.
The last part of the conversation I ended up hearing was. "Oh, Catherine, it's you, and here when I heard unpleasant I thought it was Nancy." Sometimes I think David Rossi has a death wish, but he's survived just fine.
I was about to go back to my mind blowing game of "Tamale Loco", (Don't ask, if you knew what it was, you would know how addictive it can be), I was interrupted by another call.
This time it was Hailey, Hotch (the unit chief's) ex-wife. She's pretty cool, though I have it on good authority that she cheated on Agent Hotchner, which if you saw him, you would realize is a terrible mistake. But Hailey is a lot less theatrical than Rossi's wives, so, I would much rather deal with her.
"Can I speak with Aaron Hotchner please?" She asks politely, as though I don't recognize her voice.
"One moment please." Hotch always lets her through on the line, so I don't even bother buzzing him first. It's an unspoken agreement, I don't listen in on his phone calls and he allows the water cooler to be inches from my desk to help further my gossip gathering. It really does work out quite well for the both of us. Just one of the many reasons why Hotch is one of my favorites.
Of anyone, I really wish he would get a chance to move on. Like his wife was awesome, but he deserves to be happy and not so military attention like. If only if from my lowly reception desk I could find someone. Hmm…nope. Can't think of any at the moment. Maybe if I sleep on it.
I think the world must be coming to an end. Rossi came in this morning whistling. David Rossi…whistling…ACK!
Actually, I've known for a while that the guy is a womanizer--not in a player-esque, male chauvanist way, more like a charming, older guy way. I've been able to figure out when he has a date, when he's gotten lucky, and when he's not. This, however, is completelyabnormal. I rack my brain for any way that I can figure out his sudden change of behavior. Suddenly, my phone rang, and to my delight, it was Agent Rossi.
"BAU, this is Meradee." I greet happily, hoping that he will divulge some of his secret.
"Yeah, Mandy, I was wondering if you could order some flowers for me." Rossi says gruffly.
"Sure. It's Meradee." I correct him, knowing that he will never get it right, but also feeling comfortable enough with him to try.
"Oh, right. Like Chick-a-dee." He says as I roll my eyes. Every time he says this. Every time.
"Yep. Now what do you want?" I ask politely.
"A pretty arrangement that isn't too elaborate, but is nice. You know what I mean?" He asks vaguely. "I'll come by and give you my card to put it on."
"Sure sir, would you like a message on the card?" I suggested hopefully. And then came the pause, a deafening pause where I was sure he was going to rip into me. Why do I always have to ruin a good thing by having a nose for news?
To my then surprise...and glee, he finally answered. Not as though he was angry but as though he was stuck in quiet contemplation for a moment. "Not just yet." He mused softly. "For now, lets just keep it anonymous."
"And who would you like them to go to?" I asked, a little disappointed that I wasn't going to get the intimate details, but this was better gossip than I had gotten in a long time.
"Agent Prentiss." He said, chuckling softly at my gasping. Agent Prentiss? As in the one sitting not feet away from my desk? Oh, this was good. "Do you think we can keep this just between us for the time being?" And while it was posed as a question, it sounded unmistakeably like a command. Not that I minded.
"Yes, Sir." I couldn't help but smile like an idiot. There are just days, where you have to love love. Sometimes its just so darn romantic.
And so, the next day, when the flower delivery people finally show up, I get the honor of pointing to Prentiss's desk for their special delivery.
"She's right there!" I shouted emphatically, and while I knew that the delivery man thought I was a loser, I didn't mind much. When my love life is in a recession as it is now, I feel fine knowing that I live vicariously through the love lives of the female agents of the BAU. Sue me...well, please don't, I really don't have anything worth suing for but the intent remains the same.
And when she gets an eyeful of the flowers being placed on her desk, she just sat there gaping at the guy. This was when I decided to be a good little co-conspiritor and write down her response in my detailed observation to give to Agent Rossi. He definitely deserves to see the fruits of his labor.
Peering up, I can't help but laugh. The first word on my list: Combative. Apparently Prentiss is very positive that they aren't for her. It was hard, but I resisted the urge to shout at her to smell the freaking roses...literally.
After her initial bout of insanity, she began to blush. I noticed Morgan mentioned something to her, making her even go redder. Stupid chauvanist womanizer. One of these days, I really will get over my hatred for him...maybe. He glanced over at me but I tried to bore holes into him with my eyes.
And through my irritation, I almost failed to pick up the phone on the second ring, the norm for receptionists everywhere.
"Behaviorial Analysis Unit, this is Meradee." I said chipperly...still trying the good old fashioned way of answering phones.
"Did she like them?" An easily recognisable voice asked gruffly. The urgency in his voice was pretty much adorable.
"After she stopped trying to throw them at the delivery guy...sure." I informed while whispering. I don't know why I bother with whispering, no one listens to me anyway, but I guess its just a force of habit. "But now she seems to be very appreciative."
"Good." He mused, more for his benefit than mine. "Very good."
"Yes Sir." I answered awkwardly. I hate it when people say things on the phone that you can't respond to, it just makes for uncomfortable conversation.
"Would you do me a favor and order some more for tomorrow?" He asked hopefully. "But this time order chocolate too."
"Smart man." I chuckled. "I sure can."
"And lets keep this a secret Mary, just for right now." He added. Apparently we were still on our secret operation, oh well, I can do secret.
"Yes sir." I agree before making a small correction. "And its Meradee."
"Oh, like Chick-a-dee." He mentioned, I could hear the wheels clicking in his head.
"Yes." I say stiffly, trying not to groan. Every day we go through this. Every day. But I didn't have it in me to be rude about it, there was a spark of excitement that showed me that maybe David Rossi, while still excellent at playing women, was far from a womanizer.
"Good." He said before clicking the receiver and ending the call.
David Rossi kept this going for an entire month. One entire, beautiful month I watched every day as Emily Prentiss recieved some form of gift from a 'Secret Admirer', and I seemed to be the only one who knew the identity of this mystery man. Sometimes being the receptionist pays.
And while Emily seemed to be elated at this newest suitor, though his identity was unknown, other members of the BAU weren't so content with their lives.
"Behavioral analysis unit, this is Meradee." I began as I saw a familiar blonde agent trudge up to get her mail and messages.
She waited patiently as I directed another one of Morgan's pursuits to his extension, cursing him silently as I did so. Finally turning to her, I put on my smile. "What can I do for you Agent Jareau?" I asked politely, though she didn't seem to be her normal self.
"You really can call me JJ." She said, this being the common dynamic of our passing relationship. "Just the usual mail and message round up."
I filed through it easily, not failing to notice how she looked more somber than usual. "Here you are." I said as I handed over a neat little stack to her waiting hand.
"Thanks." She responded softly before pausing, and then she gave me the face. The face, I am used to. Before being the trusted receptionist to the BAU, I was one at a law office, before that my Dad's construction company. What I do is in my blood, so I know the face very well. The face is the expression given when a person decides that they are going to tell me, the lowly receptionist who doesn't have a vested interest and/or doesn't have anyone to tell, a secret. So, with my somewhat snoopy nature, the face pretty much makes my day.
"Is everything alright?" I pressed gently, trying to show now excitement in the matter. If you push too hard, you scare them away, you have to gently guide them into telling you their deepest secrets.
"I suppose so." She pursed lips before taking the plunge. "I'm just suffering from a mild case of the green monster."
"Oh." I mused sympathetically. "How come?"
"Its really nothing." She waved off before caving. "Its just, I went out with some college friends last week and they are all happy and married and have four kids, and I'm--not."
"You're doing fine." This I could understand, the whole getting together with old friends rarely is a good idea for the working woman's self esteem. "You have a good job, you've got your son and your boyfriend."
"I had my boyfriend." She corrected softly. "And I even managed to screw that one up. So here I am a single mother who works too much and I have to watch Emily get a garden every single day."
"I'm sorry." And with that, I watched as she snapped out of it.
"Oh look at me," She blushed. "I'm bearing my soul to the receptionist, have you ever heard of such a thing?"
"You have no idea how often that happens." I laugh honestly. "Really, its not a big deal."
"Thanks." She said, before briskly walking to her office, probably trying to forget her little confession.
Poor girl, that's when I decided that I would find JJ a nice man, except I would have to find him within the halls of the BAU, because I was fairly sure that any guy I hung around wouldn't really be JJ's type, due to my recent fascination with bikers. You got to love biker bars.
And like clockwork, I got a very familiar call.
"She loved them." I said to Rossi before he could say anything, already have knowing that it was him.
"Good, good." He said formulating, before he can open his mouth, I already know what he's going to say.
"I'll get on the phone with the flourist as soon as you hang up."
"I'd appreciate that Merrium." He thanked me, and while normally I just ignore it, this has been going on for a month.
"No, its Meradee." I corrected slowly. "But you're very welcome."
"Meradee." He clarified, saying it again as though this time he's actually going to remember it. "Like chick-a-dee."
"Yes." I attempted not to groan, though I have no idea whether I was successful or not. "Like chick-a-dee."
"Oh, and Marin..." He added as he was about to get off the line. "This time, put a name on the card."
"Really?" I scoffed excitedly. "What would you like it to say?"
"From Dave Rossi." He said surely.
This time, I didn't even try to suppress the groan. "That seriously has to be the lamest card I have ever heard of. You've been sending her flowers for a month, and in the big reveal, all she is going to get is a 'From Dave Rossi'. How is that romantic?"
"Marissa, I've been around the block before." He assured me with a light chuckle in his voice--though he still got my name wrong. "Trust me here."
"Fine." I relented, though I still didn't think it was a very good idea. "Those will be here tomorrow."
"Good." He said wickedly, as though everything was going according to plan. And I think for him, it really was.
Yet another month later, the flowers were still coming. Now everytime Emily recieved them, she would look them over and then shoot Rossi's door a longing stare. Unfortunantly, they are keeping it out of the office and he no longer needs my assistance. The man is even calling the floral place on his own. If only someone had some idea what was going on with them.
I would pay them the big bucks.
Well, as big of bucks as I can afford on my salary.
I hate being on the outside of secrets!
An/ So that was Meradee Bennett, next we have Courtney Grace--JJ's intern.
Let me know what you think because while I've had fun with this story, its a bit scary as its around Original Characters and their perspectives. I still don't know how I feel about it, so it would be nice to know what you all thought.