Essential Listening: So Nice, So Smart – Kimya Dawson
0o0
SSA Grace Pearce stepped into the lift in a philosophical frame of mind.
It had been the second of two rare days where the team had rolled out separately: SSA Aaron Hotchner and Doctor Spencer Reid had been carrying out an interview at a prison in Connecticut while the rest of the team caught up with paperwork – at least, in theory. She knew from Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia that the others had followed SSA David Rossi out to Indianapolis on some kind of cold case thing.
His unfinished business, perhaps.
Despite his refusal to discuss it, she suspected she would hear all about it by the end of a fortnight. Coppers talked, and that was just as true at Quantico as it had been in the London Metropolitan Police. It was one of the reasons you had to be selective about who you told your secrets to, and to ensure that those you did trust knew that you didn't want it passed on.
Grace wasn't in the habit of trusting people, but she had been at the Behavioural Analysis Unit for nearly a year now and had learned to think of some of her colleagues as family.
She had spent the day running a seminar on occult crimes at the training school. It had been an unusual experience. There was some disparity between what people thought was the occult and what actually was; this kind of seminar was useful for dispelling some of the illusions created by film and the media. Most of it was just murder with some local hysteria, but from time to time you came across a criminal who really believed what they were doing was magic, and that made them extremely dangerous.
The occult was Grace's forte, but working through cases with cadets and interested parties had been a little unsettling.
It was the kind of the thing she'd loved doing back home and it had brought back memories – both good and bad. She remembered always feeling faintly smug back then, generally being the only person in the room who knew what was really out there – that magic was real – but now it just made her feel tired and a little lonely.
Back in London, she'd been a part of a team for whom the supernatural was just something you put on your CV. It had been like being part of their own secret club, deep in the heart of the Met. Out here, nothing about her magic was official – even the discussion she'd had with Hotch had never been recorded, as far as she knew. What little she had told him had barely scratched the surface.
Even Reid, who had slightly more knowledge about her clandestine talents, didn't know the half of it – and believed less. Recently she'd noticed one or two of the more obscure magical texts on his shelves, though he'd denied all knowledge when she'd asked him about it.
She was torn between amusement and concern: magic was dangerous, particularly if you approached it in the wrong way, and without proper supervision. She was reluctant to interrupt him however. Research was his forte and generally speaking she had sensed not a little anxiety from him when it came to real magic, which put a bit of a strain on their friendship at times.
If he was genuinely trying to find a way to cope with it, she didn't want to get in his way. Knowing everything there was to know about something was his defence mechanism.
She stepped out on the fifth floor and dodged the cross-traffic into the bullpen. Grace found SSA Anderson in the kitchen area, working his way through the obligatory box of doughnuts that heralded someone's birthday. She snaffled one and clapped him on the back.
"Happy Birthday!"
"Thanks," he said, reclining in his chair. "Can't believe I'm thirty!"
"Doing anything special?" she asked, picking hundreds and thousands off the top of her doughnut and popping them into her mouth.
"Family meal back home at the weekend," he told her. "Also I'm intending not to do anything for the rest of the day."
Grace laughed.
"At the BAU? Good luck with that."
She left him doing a crossword, content in the knowledge that today – unless all hell broke loose – no one would take him to task for slacking off a little. She was wading through the ever-replenishing stack of reports in her in-tray when Reid and Hotch strode in, looking tired from their journey.
"Hey," she greeted them warmly; both men stopped by her desk.
"How was the seminar?" Hotch asked.
Grace considered for a moment before answering.
"Thought provoking," she settled on. "How was Chester Hardwick?"
"Violent, narcissistic, power hungry…" Reid shrugged; there wasn't that much more to say.
"Toying with us," Hotch remarked, bluntly.
There was something about his manner that seemed a little clipped, strained today. Spencer shot him a glance that suggested the interview hadn't gone quite as smoothly as it could've done. Hotch's eyes fell on Grace's snack.
"You have a doughnut," he observed, frowning slightly.
Grace jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the kitchen area and smiled.
"Anderson's thirty today," she explained.
Hotch made a grunting noise in the back of his throat and went to secure a doughnut (or possibly chase the young agent back to work).
The two youngest members of the team watched him go, contemplatively.
"So, how was Chester Hardwick?" Grace repeated, and Spencer raised his eyebrows, realising that the nature of the question had changed somewhat.
"A total waste of time," he admitted, wearing a rueful smile, eyes still on their boss. "I'll tell you later."
Grace nodded, understanding that to mean 'where no one can overhear'.
"Hotch okay?"
Spencer met her eyes and lowered his voice.
"That's something I won't be telling you later," he mumbled, firmly establishing the topic as off limits.
That's a 'no' then, Grace thought, as Spencer dumped his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers and went off in search of part of Anderson's birthday treats.
Grace didn't need to be a profiler to know there was something going on with their fearless leader. He'd been a little off for weeks – almost since he'd nearly transferred out – but now it appeared to be coming to a head. She had a shrewd suspicion it was something to do with Haley and Jack; she'd been among coppers long enough to recognise the strain this kind of work put on a family. She knew he'd ask for their help if he needed it, and decided not to press the issue.
She nodded to Hotch as he hurried back past her desk, a coffee and another doughnut in hand, looking like he'd had one of the worst days of his life.
"Do you think anyone would notice if I just 'accidentally' deleted all my emails?" Grace asked, upon Spencer's return.
He chuckled.
"Aside from Garcia?"
"Yeah, she'd probably have me executed…"
Grace looked up as a shadow fell across the report she was working on, to find Kevin Lynch standing between her and Reid's desks, looking lost and agitated.
"Hey," she said, surprised.
He hadn't been about much since Garcia had returned to work.
"Oh – uh – hi," he stammered, brightly. "Uh… is Agent Rossi in his office, do you know?"
"Oh, er – no," Grace told him, glancing up at the office. "He's been out in Indianapolis."
"They should be getting out of the airport around now," Reid offered, checking his watch. "So, um…"
"Oh – uh – great!" Lynch stuttered. "I'll – uh – wait in his office…"
He trailed off, already threading his way through the desks away from them. He looked terrified.
Grace shared a speaking look with Spencer, perplexed.
"What's with him?" she asked.
Spencer shrugged, turning back to his computer, both of them putting his behaviour down to the eternal vagaries of the technical analysts.
They worked in companionable silence for an hour or so, finishing off reports, comparing notes and answering emails while the great human engine that was the BAU rumbled slowly on around them, generating bureaucracy as it went. Grace was almost through the top layer of her pile when SSAs Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi and Jennifer Jareau strolled in, back from their impromptu (and, judging from their cheerful expressions, successful) visit to Indianapolis.
"Hey hey," Morgan grinned, winking at Grace as he stowed his go bag beneath his desk, making the Perspex partition rattle.
Grace looked up, giving her colleagues a friendly nod of acknowledgement.
"Pretty boy," Morgan continued, nodding at Reid. "How was Connecticut?"
"Ultimately uneventful," said Spencer, keeping it deliberately vague. He looked at Rossi, closing his file. "Sir, there's uh –" He coughed, sitting up. "Somebody waiting to speak to you in your office," he continued, pointing.
Spotting their arrival, Kevin Lynch got to his feet, looking exceptionally nervous.
Grace watched Rossi's face, fascinated, in case it betrayed any clue. If anything, he looked bemused. JJ, on the other hand, Grace noted with growing curiosity, was struggling to keep a straight face.
"Agent Rossi," Lynch began, anxiously. "We need to talk. About – uh – Penelope." He paused, looking very serious indeed. "Man to man."
Emily looked from Lynch to Spencer, to Grace, baffled.
"Wha-?" she mouthed, but Grace could only shrug, helplessly.
Light appeared to have dawned for Rossi, however.
"Man to man," he confirmed, with a slight smile, and joined the worried Technical Analyst in his office, closing the door behind him.
The five of them watched him go, in various attitudes of confusion and amusement.
"What about Penelope?" Morgan asked, looking around.
"I don't know," said Reid, with a frown.
JJ grinned.
"Garcia and Kevin, sittin' in a tree," she sang, just loud enough for them to hear, and walked off to her office.
Grace clapped a hand to her mouth in delight as the proverbial penny dropped.
"Get outta here – you serious?" Morgan demanded.
"Oh my God!" Grace laughed, fingers still pressed to her face.
"Oh!" Emily gasped, her mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise as Morgan departed at some speed, probably to investigate his best friend. "Just when I thought nothing scandalous was ever gonna happen 'round here!" she laughed.
"What? What does that mean?"
Reid's question knocked both agents for six; Emily and Grace both stared at him.
"Didn't you hear JJ?" Emily asked, gesturing after their media liaison.
"The – the song meant something?" Spencer realised, looking around, both confused and annoyed (quite an adorable combination, Grace felt). "No! No, I missed it!"
"I – it – it –" Emily stuttered, stumped by Spencer's uncharacteristic lack of knowledge.
She looked to Grace for help, but she was equally amazed by the children's rhyme that had clearly passed their friend by.
"Er…" Grace began.
Emily shook her head, in silent agreement with Grace.
"You know what? No," she said, sitting down.
"We can't be held responsible for corrupting him," Grace agreed, still astonished.
"What?" Spencer demanded, desperate to know.
"Uh-uh," Emily admonished, turning her attention to the small-scale drama playing out in Rossi's office, just visible through the blinds.
Spencer pulled a face, looking wildly around for answers, utterly flummoxed. His expression pleaded with Grace, but she shook her head as well.
"Nope."
He turned back to Rossi's office, delightfully bewildered.
"Oh come on you guys, that's not fair!"
0o0o0o0
"Hold the elevator!"
Grace looked up to see Reid coming out of the bullpen at some speed, rushing to catch up with her. She pressed the hold button obligingly and the doors juddered back open.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
They waited for the doors to close again. It was unusual to find the lift with so few occupants in it – less so at this late hour of the day. Taking their cues from Hotch and with work to catch up on from being out of the office, most of the team had stayed late. Grace was tired, and looking forward to a hot meal and a hot bath. She hummed to herself, her mind firmly at home.
"No, okay," said Reid, suddenly. "It's driving me crazy. What was the thing with the song?"
Grace laughed and shook her head.
"Uh-uh," she teased him. "You're not getting that from me, matey."
"Oh, come on!"
"No. No, you're all sweet and innocent and I'm not messing with that."
"You suck," he complained, looking away in frustration and – from the tone of his voice – not a little amusement.
Grace was very much enjoying his confusion, but he seemed to be struggling to keep a smile off his face now, too.
"Okay, I'll tell you what – I'll make you a deal," he offered.
Grace raised an eyebrow, interested.
"You tell me what was going on back there and I'll buy you dinner."
The offer immediately brought a smile to her face.
"I don't know…" she teased.
"Come on, Grace," he begged, his head flopping to one side, hair temporarily obscuring his eyes. "We could check out that new Thai place on Freemont?"
"Tempting," she admitted, trying to draw it out further, but she knew from his eyes Spencer was already aware he'd won.
"Please?"
"Alright, it's a deal."
She smiled at him and he beamed back in triumph, which made her laugh again.
The doors of the lift opened, curtailing any further explanation. Grace waited until they were on the path which led to the AMTRACK, sufficiently far away from other pedestrians that they wouldn't overhear.
"Okay, 'Garcia and Kevin, sitting in a tree,'" she chanted, softly, and he peered at her closely, trying not to miss a thing. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G…'"
She saw realisation dawn on her friend's face and giggled.
"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "Garcia and Kevin Lynch? Oh my God!"
"I know!" Grace grinned. "It's so cute!"
He snorted.
"'Man to man'?"
"Oh yeah," she nodded, laughing with him. "Makes you wonder what Rossi did, huh?"
"Yeah!" He chucked again. "So, that's really all the song was?"
"There's another bit," she said, and recited the rest. "It's all playground stuff."
"Well, that's why it passed me by," he reasoned. "I was always in the library."
"You know, it amazes me – the random things you don't know."
She nudged him gently in the ribs, in a friendly sort of way. It had been pretty gentle, but this being Spencer it sent him off the kerb for a moment.
"I can't believe you and Emily wouldn't tell me," he grumbled, mostly for show.
He wasn't really annoyed anymore, anyway.
"There is such a thing as 'Google', you know."
Spencer sent her such a look that it sent her off into peals of laughter once more.
0o0o0o0
"Hide and seek."
"Hide and go seek."
"Well, if you will insert extraneous verbs all over the place."
Spencer laughed.
"You know, British Bulldogs sounds terrifying," he remarked.
"Not that dissimilar to Dodgeball," Grace told him.
"Yeah, not at all dissimilar," Spencer grumbled, arching a brow. "Except from what you've told me there's no balls involved and the idea is genuinely to knock people out."
Grace snorted.
"I'd say there's a considerable amount of balls involved, having played it," she told him, bringing a faint blush to his face.
It still amazed her that she could do that to him.
"Whatever."
They had been discussing playground rhymes and games all through dinner, and the conversation had spilled out onto the pavement as they walked home. The waiter at the Thai restaurant had looked on in bemusement as they had discussed the possible connotations of child sacrifice in the London specific nursery rhyme 'Oranges and Lemons' and, inevitably, the American 'Lizzie Borden Took an Axe' ("Of course you know that one Grace, it's you.").
"I was pretty good at British Bulldogs, to be honest," she told him, faintly proud of herself.
"That does not surprise me."
She stuck her tongue out.
"You know, I imagine you being more of a fan of Catch and Kiss," he reflected, sharply.
"And just what are you implying?" she asked; he gave her an impish smile. "Is that like Kiss Chase?"
"All the girls terrorise the boys by backing them into corners and trying to kiss them?"
Grace roared with laughter.
"Kinda – though we always had two rounds, girls chasing boys then boys chasing girls, and no one had to play if they didn't want to."
"That would have been nice."
Grace rubbed his arm and then linked it with her own.
"There are days when I want to go back in time and beat up the kids you went to school with," she reflected. "Anyway, it was just a variant of tag really."
They walked along quietly for a moment, while Grace fought the urge to yell 'tag', punch Reid on the arm and run away.
It was pleasant out, the early heat of a spring evening only interrupted by a few stray gusts of wind, and Grace was enjoying ambling along with her friend. It came as no surprise to her that when they turned into her street, he simply kept pace with her. Following one another home had become something of a habit, generally because they were halfway through a conversation that they didn't want to end.
She let them in, picked up the mail that had fallen to the floor and then went to collect a parcel that had been delivered to her recycling bin. Grumbling about mail operatives leaving things in unsecure locations, she carried it back in, finding Spencer already making two cups of tea.
She smiled, pleased he felt so comfortable in her home.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Don't know," she admitted, setting it down on the counter. "I've not ordered anything."
It was an innocuous kind of packaging, not like anything from one of the book or plant companies she normally ordered from. The address was handwritten – something about the writing was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
For a moment, Grace hesitated, her hand hovering over the brown paper. Her past had taught her to be wary, and while her new life in the States was settled and predominantly happy now, old habits died hard. She had had many reasons to be cautious.
"You okay?" Spencer asked, and Grace let her hand fall, telling herself she was being silly.
"Yeah…"
The slightest of frowns passed across Spencer's face. It was gone in a flash, but that flash had been enough to tell her that he didn't believe her – and that he was still keeping an eye on her. In general there was a moratorium on inter-team profiling, but they were only human, it wasn't as if they could prevent themselves doing it unconsciously. It was pretty much instinct by this point.
She tore open the paper, and then carefully peeled back the bubble-wrap.
"It's a painting," she said, surprised. "Oh…"
Spencer stooped and picked up the letter that had fluttered to the floor.
"Here."
"I think it's from Odette." She read the letter and grinned. "It is from Odette. Look," she showed him. "She's settled in the reservation with her parents, sketching elephants."
One of them – a lively youngster by the look of it – was drawn on the bottom of the page, trumpeting happily.
"It's good to know she's doing okay," Spencer observed.
Odette Moss had been the centre of a recent case and a brutal series of murders. Knowing that cases could have good outcomes and that there were survivors who were still – well – surviving was good for the mental health of their team.
"What's the painting? Another elephant?"
"No…" Grace finished unwrapping the canvas and turned it over. "Oh. Oh…"
She stared at the face in the oil paint.
"It's you," Spencer exclaimed, leaning over her shoulder. "Wow."
The painting was beautiful, and Grace said so, flattered.
"Hah," Grace murmured. "She's made me pretty. Very diplomatic."
"No, you've always been that pretty."
Grace looked up, surprised, and stared at her friend in astonishment. He looked up from the painting, the awareness that he'd spoken aloud travelling slowly across his face.
"Spencer, wha-"
"I – uh –" he stammered, backing away.
Since he wasn't looking where he was going, his foot tangled in the strap of Grace's bag and he stumbled. A hot blush was flushing his cheeks.
"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, but he retreated further with every step she took towards him, waving his arms wildly.
"I – uh – I have to go!"
"I – wait!" she laughed, but he was already out of the door. "Spencer…"
Grace frowned, wondering what the hell had got into her friend.
"Now why would that make you blush?" she asked aloud, as he disappeared around the corner. "Unless you…"
She frowned, putting her head to one side.
Oh now. That could be problematic.
"Huh."