About Face (S3E6)

A/N: I own nothing you recognise, or I'd be far richer and not doing this for fun. If I owned David Rossi, he'd never leave my bed, believe me. Hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's not complete, but large enough now that if I don't start publishing, I never will.

Change the way you look at things and the things you look at change - Wayne W Dyer.

When David Rossi returned to the FBI, many, many things were different. He'd never liked change, and it seemed everything had changed since he was last part of the Bureau. Even the name had changed, no longer the Behavioural Science Unit but the Behavioural Analysis Unit. That wasn't the only thing he didn't like.

Everything was a team effort for a start, contrary to his accustomed lone wolf tactics. He'd found that out the hard way while in Dallas. He'd forged ahead by himself, and the combined looks of disappointment and disgust from the others made it clear that he'd have to change his working habits, and quickly. That wasn't how they worked, not how the BAU worked. Not anymore.

Apart from new ways of doing things, there were also new people. Lots of new people. He wasn't good with new people. Obviously Hotch he'd known for years. His protégé. The young gangly lad who used to have more elbows than arms had grown into a formidable Agent, tall and imposing, and oozing with authority and sheer alpha-male presence. It was good to see him doing so well. Morgan, Prentiss and Reid on the other hand, would take time to get to know. Especially Reid. The kid's way of spouting facts verbatim and often in excruciating detail was going to take some getting used to. Especially first thing in the morning. Reid before coffee was rapidly becoming Rossi's least favourite thing in the world.

He'd never been good at letting people in, letting them see Dave, rather than the brusque exterior. Now he had a whole team-full of people to contend with, all analysing him, down to the colour of his new office walls. Not that they'd even been finished before they all piled in with their rather cutting assessment of his personality from the blank canvas he'd been given. Not exactly the best way to begin, and for the first time in a long time, Rossi found himself feeling like he something to prove.

Aside from all the profilers to deal with, there was also Jennifer Jereau, known by everyone as JJ. JJ was a Media Liaison, something Rossi hadn't really understood until watching her in action. She was an agent, but she wasn't a profiler. JJ's primary role seemed to be corralling the press, a thankless task if ever there was one. She worked wonders with the media; somehow she was able to get them to broadcast exactly what she wanted, when she wanted. Provided he didn't fuck things up that was. The look she'd given him after he'd briefed the news station in Texas without her had been two parts hurt betrayal and one part terrifying fury, and wasn't an experience he cared to repeat. He had enough to cope with just trying to find his balance in the Bureau as it was, without adding to the already long list of people who disliked him. Her skills were superlative, his unwelcome interference aside, to the point that Rossi wondered how he, Ryan and Gideon had managed without someone doing what she did.

Although she didn't travel with them, it was also clear that the Technical Analyst was an integral part of the team. Frankly, Penelope Garcia seemed to be a miracle worker. It was another facet to the new way the BAU worked, so essential that it was hard to believe they'd functioned without it for so many years. Her skills with computers were nothing short of amazing, although Rossi didn't understand at least half of what she said at the best of times. His own computer skills were fairly limited, but he could get by. Or so he thought, at least until he met Garcia. Compared to her, he was stuck in the Stone Age. Garcia combined her incredible computer skills with a rather…flamboyant dress sense, and a hyperactively positive outlook that would make the winner of Happiest Person on the Planet look suicidal by comparison. She was an odd one, and probably the only person as weird with everyone else as she was with him. Between the polka dots and the headbands with cat ears, Penelope Garcia was certainly unique.

As was her relationship with Morgan. It had taken Rossi a few double-takes and a quiet word with Hotch to establish that the pair weren't actually an item. They were just the ultimate expression of what a real platonic friendship between members of the opposite sex could look like, with no danger of them ever ending up in bed together. Rossi envied them somewhat bitterly for that. He had friends, not many admittedly, but none as close as they were. Not even Hotch – it wasn't like they'd spoken much while he'd been retired and selling books by the millions. The conversation about Morgan and Garcia had come with a reiteration of all Hotch's previous rather long-winded and cringeworthy warnings about inter-team relationships. It had taken Rossi some smooth talking to convince his former subordinate that the casual sexploits of his previous employment with the Bureau were not going to be repeated. He was too old for that shit any more, unfortunately.

To add to the profiling side of the BAU, sat at the back of the bullpen, almost out of the way, was the Admin Support Team. It had taken two days before Rossi even realised they were there, and another to register that they weren't field agents. It wasn't until they got back from Texas that he fully appreciated what they did. The team had barely landed and the four-strong posse of administrators swarmed them, distributing files and forms, collecting reports and delivering messages left for them while they'd been away.

AST were part of the Bureau's Business Analysis & Administration division, providing specialist support to manage everything from case files to finances. Rossi had never paid much attention to admin staff. They were just kind of…there. In the BAU however, it felt different. They weren't just paper-pushers. AST made sure the files they all took for granted were prepped and ready when they needed them. AST filed the flight plans for the jet, something he'd definitely enjoy getting used to, and made sure the team had vehicles when they landed. Usually with destinations already programmed into the satnav. Hotels were booked and ready when they needed them. That had been a nice surprise too. He had not-so-fond memories of a very cold night sleeping in his car with Gideon, trying to keep warm in a blizzard because neither of them had remembered to call ahead and book a motel.

AST coordinated with prosecutors across the country as cases went to trial. AST followed up on phone calls, logged cases while the team were away. They tallied up the cost of each case that sent them out of the office and reported to the Senate Finance Committee. If there was a form for it, AST knew where to find it and who it should go to.

Nothing would work without them. For Rossi, that was quickly apparent. Yet, they were largely ignored by the profilers, simply part of the background. Much as he had always treated admin people. Perhaps there was something to be said for fresh eyes on a situation. Determined to make a good impression on at least part of the team, Rossi tried to make a point of spending a few minutes each day talking to them. The initial introductions were made easier when he realised he knew one of them from his first stint in the FBI. That said, it did make him feel quite old when reconciling the grey-haired grandmother in front of him to the fiery redhead of memory. It made Rossi strangely nostalgic, that he would wind up back in the BAU with someone he'd worked with before he, Max and Gideon had even started it.

Margaret Collier had been a good agent back in the day, but was now waiting out retirement. She had four grandchildren and was quite vocal about wanting to spend more time with them. Four years previously she'd broken a leg skiing, and decided that she wanted to transfer to a desk to finish her time with the Bureau. She had her share of battle scars and didn't want any more. With just over a year until she could, in her own words, "put her feet up", Collier was the old wise head of the group. When Rossi had worked with her in the past, he'd been a rookie, but it seemed nothing had changed except her arena. Collier was still a stickler for the rules, and still treated everything as if it were a hostage negotiation. Even if said hostage was a stapler because he'd already broken his. She knew the regulations with startling and tedious precision, and would happily quote them to him, including annotations and amendments if necessary, if he questioned some new procedure that hadn't been in place the last time he'd been part of the FBI. She was worse than Reid, who would at least shut up if you told him so. That didn't work on hostage negotiators, and would just set her off on another line of disagreement if he tried.

Mark Holden was a keen young Agent waiting out a serious knee injury sustained the morning of his graduation from the Academy. Unlucky bastard, not a great way to start one's career. Not yet given an assignment, he'd been drafted into an office support role while he recuperated, much to his displeasure. Rossi couldn't blame him, the amount of paperwork these days was daunting, to say the least. While he found Holden capable, it was obvious that he had no real enthusiasm for what he was doing outside his area of expertise and often had to rely on his colleagues to help him.

Holden was typical of the new influx of Agents. Young, fit and bright, but not an ounce of street smarts. In order to apply to the Academy, a potential applicant had to have at least three years work experience in full time employment. Rossi couldn't help but wonder where exactly Holden had managed three years without developing at least some sense of how the world worked. He struck Rossi as quite naïve, and he wondered how long Holden would last in the Bureau once his sentence in office support was over. Stuck doing office work until he was declared fit, he made no secret of the fact that he'd joined the FBI to get away from it. He had a shock coming, because the paperwork a field agent had to produce wasn't that much different from what he already dealt with on a daily basis. Perhaps it would stand him in good stead, wherever he ended up. At least he'd know one form from the other, which put him light years ahead of Rossi. There were hundreds of the fucking things, and telling them apart sometimes took more patience and understanding than he could manage.

Amber Rishi struck him as a climber, a career administrator trying to work her way up the ranks. For her, a stint in the BAU was just another rung on the ladder upwards. She was quiet and efficient, and seemed to be the one who shouldered the slack that Holden left behind. She kept her head down and worked hard. Nice enough, but not very interesting.

Philippa Harker was another matter. She was the one that really fascinated him. She and Garcia seemed to be thick as thieves, which might explain her peculiar habit of stashing pens in her hair. At any one time, there'd be at least two biros rammed at odd angles through her French plait. A New York City native and the leader of the AST, Harker was also a former field Agent. One reduced to driving a desk after being injured in the line, at least if the gossip was to be believed. Rossi couldn't immediately decide if he actually liked her or not, despite an initial physical attraction on his part. There was something about the way she carried herself that had immediately caught his eye, despite best intentions – every move was economical and graceful and reminded Rossi a little of a predatory cat. In short, she was self-assured, confident and utterly sexy.

Utterly sexy, that was, until she opened her mouth. Harker was unbelievably bossy and fiercely argumentative. Not quite disrespectful, but right up to the razor edge of it. Talking to her was like trying to have a conversation with a pissed off porcupine, all sharp quills and gnashing teeth, with the occasional hasty retreat for fear of serious injury.

Rossi couldn't help but wonder if he'd managed to mortally offend her or one of her team in the short space of time he'd been back. No matter how hard he tried, Harker wouldn't warm to him. His usual disarming charm fell completely flat where she was concerned, and she seemed quite unmoved when he'd flailed about in an attempt to appear helpless in the hope she'd "rescue" him from the paperwork. She had quite a temper, and somehow no matter what he said, it seemed to wind her up. The one time he'd let his own frustration loose at her over a form he'd filled in wrong, she'd listened carefully to what he said, then verbally handed him his ass. He'd scuttled back to his office with blistered ears and her strict instructions on how to do it properly still ringing in his head.

Hotch found all this highly amusing of course, as did Morgan. Neither of them had any trouble with her and were no help to him, either. Reid seemed fairly intimidated by Harker, but that was hardly surprising. Rossi had the idea that there were times Reid was afraid of his own shadow, so there was no assistance from that quarter either. There was no doubting his profiling skills and intelligence, but when it came to physicality, Morgan more than made up for Reid's lack. Harker mothered them all equally, a combination of bluntness right up to, and sometimes over, the limit of what was appropriate in the office, and a protective streak a mile wide.

It wasn't that the others didn't get the sharp side of her tongue, they did. Nobody was exempt, it seemed, even Prentiss got it in the neck occasionally. It was more that others didn't get the domineering condescension that went with her remarks to him. Rossi was convinced that for whatever reason, Harker had it out for him.

Annoyingly, that just made her all the more intriguing. He couldn't help but go back for more, each and every time.