Author's Note: VALENTINE'S DAY!
I know, I know, it's a holiday created to cater to couples and maximize the amount of possible revenue intaken by implying that you're not happy unless you're drowning in chocolates, roses, and sappy crap.
Personally, as I find myself again flying solo for this Singles' Awareness Day, I thought I might as well make a date with someone fake; better than nothing, right? So, here we sit with a vaguely amusing piece about love, friendship, and hot bodies. From the place where my heart should be, to yours.
Warnings: NO SPOILERS, unless you weren't already aware that JJ married Will, and they have a son. Whoopsie.Vague OOC-ness, lots of fanning, and oodles of promotions for my own favorite celebrities. No likey, no read-y, savvy?
Disclaimers: Regarding Criminal Minds: I do not own the characters, as they are fictitious. I do not own the show, as it is quite popular and expensive, and, alas, I cannot afford it. I do not own any of the people associated with the franchise, because that is slavery and that is wrong.
The only thing I claim rights to is this package of cookies I'm munching on. MINE.
Reviews are lovely – but if you really like it, you should put a ring on it.
Do enjoy.
FanDUMB
The case was a serious one. Six women were dead – all lower-middle class, all abducted from their cars on the way home from work, all found a week later wearing clothes that were much outside of their price range, all cleaned and combed and washed, all with their hands folded remorsefully over their hearts.
And each of them had had their hair chopped down to only inches in length, dyed the exact same shade of red as a ketchup bottle, and were wearing the same pair of stainless steel butterfly earrings – even though two of them had never gotten their lobes pierced, and none of them wore jewelry to their jobs.
It was a lot of information, with lots if different possible conclusions and tangents that could be drawn from all of the facts; a fascinating, invigorating case, to be sure.
The problem was, no one was actually discussing that information, or looking for those conclusions.
Sure, every member of the BAU team had a file folder somewhere on their person. But, save for David Rossi and Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner himself, not a single one of the FBI agents had even glanced at the paperwork since they'd stepped on the plane.
Morgan was, as usual, listening to something smooth and quiet on his iPod, the headphones nestled deep into his ears as he stared out the little window and tried to prepare himself for their new case. It was sure to be hellfire, once they landed in Springfield.
Prentiss, whose dark makeup and curled hair looked more ready for a night on the town with a gentleman caller than a week in a town with a psycho serial killer, was curled up tightly in her own seat, one of the complimentary blankets wrapped snugly around her shoulders as she read, . . . Aaron leaned forward, and squinted . . . Cosmo?
There's a twist, the older agent thought as he turned instead to JJ – who, by the sounds of it, could only be talking to either Will or Henry right then; she was making cooing noises into the phone, and had said several variations of "I love you, baby" in the few minutes since their plane had taken off. Hotch smiled slightly, thinking of his own young son – he couldn't wait to see Jack when he got back from summer camp next week. When Rossi noticed his expression and gave him a knowing glance, Aaron just shook his head of the thoughts, and tried to orient himself back onto the file in front of him; the kidnappings, the murder, the posing of the bodies . . .
. . . The surprisingly loud sound of Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia arguing in a corner of the jet, both getting more adamant and vocal as they pointed at something on Garcia's computer screen.
Huffing a small sigh of irritation – for God's sake, they're on the clock! – Hotch turned his head towards the battling duo, more than a little curious as to what could have the normally close-knit pair so at ends.
"– don't have anything to say on the subject, Garcia!"
"Oh, come on, Reid!" Penelope pouted, looking for all the world like a child who had been denied a piece of candy. "Everyone has an opinion about good looks."
"Not on same-sex identities! I'm a man, Garcia – " Reid was briefly interrupted by Garcia's ill-disguised snort of laughter, before he barreled on, "– and a straight one, and therefore would be completely irrelevant in either the validation or repudiation of your thoughts on the relative attractiveness of a male actor."
"All actors are males, o Smart One." Garcia's tone victorious, she turned away from the bumbling, blushing genius, and instead looked back at her monitor. "And Zachary Quinto isn't just 'attractive' – that man is the only tiger who could rip me away from my God of Chocolate Thunder." She looked at the image on her computer, and sighed a girlish smile, while Reid grumbled something unintelligible, and got up, apparently intending to exit stage left and go get himself some coffee. Garcia, eyes never leaving her computer, shot out a hand and grabbed the young doctor by his sleeve.
"Ah, ah, my dear; you next."
"Garcia, I haven't seen the new Star Trek movie, so how can I – "
"Nice try, Reid. He was in Heroes, too, and we watched that together all the time. C'mon, who's your secret boy-love?" the tech analyst teased.
"I already said that I don't have any indication to express whether I think another man is good-looking or not, Garcia." Looking pained, Reid quickly glanced around to where Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch were all sitting, clearly hoping that none of them were hearing this conversation, and Aaron cast his eyes back down to his file, eavesdropping in secret as Spencer continued in hushed tones.
"Statistically, though – "
Groaning, Garcia interrupted, "God, Reid, no statistics. I just wanted to have a little girl-talk – "
"I'm not a girl, Garcia. And I'm not gay, either. My opinion on the looks of Mr. Quinto are unreliable, unfair, and inapplicable."
"Fine . . ."
Looking relieved at Garcia's acquiescence, Spencer made to leave again, and was stopped dead in his tracks by a follow-up question from the tech analyst.
"But you do have an opinion on girls, Boy Genius."
Tensed and sighing, Reid turned back around, to be blinded by Garcia's mischievous grin as she continued.
"Tell me what you look for in a woman, baby."
"I'm not doing this."
"Oh, yes you are!"
"No!" Reid sounded indignant.
"Doctor," Penelope started in a very patronizing tone, as if she was explaining something obvious, "if you don't get your cute little butt over here and spill to Goddess Garcia what females on TV make your heart ratta-tat-tat, then said deity will hack your personal computer system and spy on everything you do online for the foreseeable future until I find something even more delicious about our favorite genius."
Reid's lips twisted into the faintest of petulant scowls, and he crossed his arms – but, apparently not wanting to find out how serious Penelope was, he flopped back down into the seat next to her. Casting a quick glance around to make sure that no one was watching them still, the young man leaned in close to Garcia, and whispered something in her ear.
"Oh-ho-ho, no you didn't!" Garcia's gleeful cackle finally caught the rest of the team's attention, too, and they all looked up in interest as her fingers tapped speedily onto her computer, and her chortling grew even louder.
"That is not a pretty picture, boy-o!"
"You wanted to know." Reid mumbled, pouting and embarrassed from the attention that they were being given.
At last deciding that he couldn't stand his own curiosity, Aaron threw down the case file, all pretext of having been immersed in it gone completely, and walked over to where the loud duo were sitting. As he approached, he took note that Garcia's shoulders started shaking in laughter, and Reid sunk down even further into his chair, apparently trying to become part of the upholstery.
"What's going on?" the Unit Chief asked, coming to a halt before the two, and trying to catch a glimpse of the screen – only to be thwarted by Spencer, who made an uncharacteristic and quite literal leap across Garcia, in an attempt to slam the thing shut.
Garcia, who yelped in surprise when Reid was suddenly sprawled out over her lap, glared at the young genius momentarily for his mistreatment of her personal computer, and looked up at Hotch.
"It's nothing about the case, Boss Man."
Hotch raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more. Garcia, nonplussed, continued.
"It's just . . . well, Boy Wonder and I were having a nice conversation about going to see a movie –"
"She was trying to force me to take her to The Hunger Games!" Reid protested, scrambling off Garcia's lap and running a hand through his mussed-up hair.
"Quiet, you – and we're still going to that." Garcia faced Hotch, who looked a little less serious, but still hadn't moved. "And, ah . . . well, we happened to get into a discussion about new movies . . . and then I started talking about the newest Star Trek film – which, if you can believe it, Reid hasn't seen! – and so I was telling him about that guy who plays Spock . . . Well, since Reid didn't remember who the actor was, I was pulling up a picture of that fine slice of human being on Google . . . "
"Garcia, get to the point, please?"
"Well," she huffed out quickly, "Reid didn't want to gush with me about how amazing that man truly is – so I told him to tell me someone he could gush over . . ."
Hotch was truly amused by how Garcia glossed over he whole threatening-to-hack-Reid-for-the-rest-of-his-life bit, and nodded, deciding to just cut to the chase. "And who trips Reid's trigger?"
Delighted that someone was playing her game at last, Garcia ignored Reid's imploring gaze, and turned the laptop to face their Unit Chief. "Her." She said proudly, gesturing towards the screen.
Hotch gazed down at the image of an extremely pretty girl, with large, dark eyes, generous red lips curved into a mischievous grin, and smooth, sleek black hair tied up into two pig tails – it was easier to admire those physical features on the woman than to wonder why she had a bloody syringe in one hand, a hippo toy in the other, was wearing lots of leather, spikes, and skulls, and was standing in a purple background that said, "Sciuto Shoots-Yo." He faced turned his gaze to his youngest agent, who was clenching his hands so tight that the knuckles had turned white.
"NCIS, really?"
Garcia giggled and clapped her hands, squealing, "I know!" while the other profiler twisted his lips and looked up at Aaron cautiously. If possible, his face was even redder than before.
"What?!" he said in a indignant, hushed voice. "I find the show itself quite enjoyable, being that the only people the agency hunts are directly tied to Military, Air Force, and Naval-related crimes. And the character that Abby Sciuto is directed to be is intriguing – she finds creative solutions to complex problems, she is incredibly smart without lording it over the rest of her coworkers, she's confident despite her obvious differential appearance from other NCIS members – "
"Not to mention that Pauly Perrette is a total babe." Morgan cut in, popping one of his earphones out to join in the conversation. Everyone turned to him as he continued, "I mean, I'm not one for all of the makeup and combat boots – but damn, that girl has got some legs."
Looking mildly affronted, Reid went on in a rush, "But she's so much more than a pair of legs, Morgan!" He shot a small glare to his best friend, and continued. "She's a dynamic character, with lots of interesting one-liners, she has the favorite plotlines full of excellent interaction, she's confident about being who she is –"
"Which probably means that she could be the man, if you two ever hooked up." Morgan joked.
"Fine, smart-ass. Who do you like?" Reid was relieved to shift the tension away from himself.
"Kerry Washington." Morgan's answer was as easy as his tone, as he got up and headed over to Garcia's side, where the tech analyst was quickly IMDB'ing the name. "I mean, don't get me wrong – as far as the stupid crime shows on TV go, the gothic goddess of NCIS will always rank in my top ten. But I saw her," he gestured at the multitude of gorgeous pictures that showered Garcia's screen of a healthy-looking African-American woman, "in Lakeview Terrace and Save The Last Dance, that was it."
"You watched Save The Last Dance?" Prentiss's tone was completely incredulous as she, too, joined in on the conversation.
Looking defensive, Morgan turned towards the raven-haired agent. "Yeah. My sisters dragged me to it. I liked the whole storyline almost as much as I liked my little mamacita."
"I actually found Julia Stiles was the more fascinating character on Save The Last Dance." Hotch cut in, settling into the empty across from Garcia and Reid. "She was the fighter – much more emotional, intense . . . more interesting."
"Maybe interesting," Morgan cautiously agreed, "But nowhere near as pretty."
"I thought that she was extremely attractive in The Bourne Identity trilogy." Reid interrupted, blushing when everyone turned to look at him again. "I – I mean," he faltered slightly, trying not to lose his nerve, "she just . . . when she cut her hair and everything in the second one . . . it was extremely . . . becoming on her . . ." he trailed off, silently berating himself for turning the focus of the conversation back to him.
Teasing, Garcia nudged him and whispered, "You've sure got a thing for the dyed hair, don't you, Boy Wonder?"
Seeing how uncomfortable Reid was becoming, Emily leapt in to the rescue. "No, Reid, I think if we're going to dissect Julia Stiles' movies, we'd have to start with 10 Things I Hate About You."
"Oooh, yes," JJ smiled in agreement as she came to sit on the couch next to Emily, her lovey-dovey talk with either Will or Henry apparently at an end. "Heath Ledger. That's a guy I wouldn't kick out of bed for eating crackers."
"And how is your significant other?" Emily teased, and JJ brushed the implication aside with a quick shake of her head.
"He's great. Now, what are we discussing?"
"Just some delicious fictitious, Jage." Garcia gestured to the laptop as she went on, "Apparently, Hotch likes sullen-looking blondes, Morgan watches dance movies, and Reid has a penchant for gothic lab analysts."
JJ turned to Spencer. "You like Abby Sciuto?" She asked, crinkling her nose.
"Will everyone stop saying it like it's the single most amazing factoid on the Earth's surface?" Reid might have sounded angry, except that he was blushing in embarrassment again.
"Hey, Spence, it's okay – actually, I think it's adorable. Abby's the greatest character on NCIS – well, besides Ducky, of course."
"Ah, yes," Emily cut in. "The Man From U.N.C.L.E. I loved that show in college."
"I didn't think that you were old enough to have watched that show when it was still on," Hotch remarked, amused.
"I wasn't. But I caught the reruns. David McCallum is kind of a pet of mine."
Morgan snorted at the word 'pet.' "Honestly, Prentiss, I would have figured you were more the type for George Clooney."
"Just because you named your dog after the man who ruined Batman doesn't mean that I have to like him." Prentiss shot back.
"Yeah," JJ added. "Emily's more into those sweet-and-vulnerable-looking guys. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Orlando Bloom, . . ."
"Hey!" Emily's composure finally slipped as she looked flustered by the revelation.
"Sorry!" JJ spurted out, clapping her hands over her mouth.
"What about you?" Morgan asked the blonde curiously.
"What about me?" she returned.
"Who does it for you?" Morgan asked, simply.
"I have Will. I don't need any actors or characters." JJ tried to put the conversation to a rest.
"Bull!" chorused Hotch, Prentiss, and Garcia.
"C'mon, sweet thing. Tell us who your man is. We all shared."
"Unwillingly." Reid muttered, and Morgan shot him a grin before returning his attention to their media liaison.
"I was telling the truth!" JJ defended, as the entire team looked skeptical. "I was! I'm not all that into actors . . ." Seeing that her friends and agents weren't going to let up about this anytime soon, she sighed and continued. "What, . . . ah, . . . what really makes me notice a guy is his, um . . . well, his voice."
Emily smiled. "Singers, Jage?"
"Oh, yeah." JJ was back to her usual cheery self, knowing that the team wasn't going to ridicule her about this – well, not too much. "Andy Grammar's nice and cute . . . I find Michael Buble and Justin Timberlake the same level of good baritone and better butt . . . and I think Adam Levine is about the hottest man out there – besides Will, of course."
"Of course," Garcia murmured as she pulled up a picture of JJ's crooner. The whole team stared for a second at the images – the unbelievably sexy images – of the Maroon5 lead singer that flashed across her screen, before Emily spoke again.
"That man has no business wearing a shirt."
JJ and Garcia were quick to agree, while the men remained silent. Sensing their discomfort – and not really caring – Penelope turned to them and asked, "What do you guys think?"
Aaron shifted uncomfortably, Morgan dodged eye contact, and Reid was the only one to respond.
"I told you earlier, Garcia – I have no opinion of the, eh . . . need to wear shirts? . . . for other males. I like women."
"Whoah!" Morgan finally cut in. He looked incredulously from Reid, to Garcia, and back again. "Is that how this whole thing started?" When both the younger agent and tech analyst nodded confirmation, he continued, "Babygirl, you can't just ask a man to get all Truth-or-Dare about another guy. Men aren't built that way."
"Yeah, I think we all know how men are built, Derek." Garcia smirked.
"Actually, I agree with Morgan and Reid, Penelope." Hotch spoke up. "I don't think it's fair to ask a straight man whether or not he finds a male attractive. It would be like asking one of you three what you think you look for in a woman."
Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia all looked at each other, shrugged, and smiled, before Emily responded, "I don't see any problem with that."
"Yeah," JJ was quick to follow up. "People can see beauty without necessarily having to be gay. Good looks look good on everyone."
"Really." Morgan was skeptical, and he wasn't the only one – both Reid and Hotch looked disbelieving of the women, shaking their heads as the black agent continued, "So, if I were to ask you what you think of, say . . . Mila Kunis . . . then you could give me a debriefing?"
"Sure, hon, I'd love to give you a de-briefing," Garcia waggled her eyebrows, and succeeded in getting a small laugh from the man. "But, as for Mila Kunis . . . nah, she doesn't do anything for me. Now, Natalie Portman, on the other hand, . . ."
"Oh yeah." Prentiss closed her eyes and nodded. "Her, or Kristen Bell – you know, that chick from Burlesque? She was really pretty."
"Ah, I don't know, guys." JJ cut into the girls' fan-girling. "I think I'm all about Taylor Swift. She's so cute!"
The other two women nodded in agreement, and their reverie was continued in disquiet for several moments until Morgan broke the silence.
"Oh, come on!"
"What? Derek Morgan, what?" Penelope fixed him with a stern glare. "Is there something wrong with girls being able to enjoy the beauty of other girls? We've all got nothing but men in out lives – well, except Emily with Sergio, I guess – and it's nice to be able to appreciate other goddesses on Earth."
Hotch shook his head. "I'm still not buying this."
"I'll prove it to you." Emily jumped up, and typed in something on Garcia's search-engine. When Penelope and JJ saw what image had come up, they both nodded and whispered their approval.
"What is it?" Reid finally asked, the curiosity eating away at him.
"This," Prentiss said, moving a hand to turn the screen to where the men could see it, "is proof, boys. Meet Cillian Murphy."
The image on the screen was one of the most gorgeous men in the history of . . . well, everything. His features were sharp and defined, skin pale and smooth and as clear as porcelain . . . his soft lips were the same shade of red as a cherry sucker, and his eyes were a piercing blue that made you feel as if he was looking right through you. All three men stared, completely and utterly silent. The women smiled in victory.
"See? Everyone can appreciate a looker; man or woman, or, well . . . the godsend of Inception." JJ pointed out, as the three men shook their heads of what they were thinking (though it must have been worth a whole lot more that a penny), and met the girls' eyes once more. Morgan was the first one to speak.
"Whatever," he tried to brush aside his reaction to the fabulous picture. "So the guy looks kinda like . . . so, he's 'pretty.' It doesn't mean –"
"Excuse me." The long silent voice of David Rossi broke into the conversation at last, and the rest of the team turned to face their most senior profiler.
"The pilot has just informed me that we will be landing in half an hour. And, I figured that, since we're FBI agents, all about to go headfirst into investigating a spree-killer who has left behind virtually no evidence to process at the scene, and, you know, more people could be at risk – and, oh, yeah, we took that whole annoying Hippocratic Oath thing when we accepted these jobs . . . Hmm, it might . . . oh, I don't know, be relevant to stop talking about Hollywood and focus on our unsub?"
Chagrined, the team immediately made to get up – but not before Garcia, in an attempt to alleviate any tension, asked Rossi, "Hey, Italian Stallion – who's the woman for you?"
"I like Molly Ringwald and Halle Berry. Now can we please do some work?" Rossi replied shortly, never looking up from his case file.
Slowly, the rest of the team re-positioned themselves around the cabin of the plane, picking up their folders and discussing possible stressors and signatures of their latest serial killer.
The case was, as usual, a serious one. And, as usual, the hard work and sheer determination of the FBI team won out, and eight days later, they returned to their homes, another serial killer behind bars.
But they all made a stop or two on their way home, the night they returned.
Derek Morgan was settled down in his couch, a beer in one hand and a remote in the other, scanning though his DVR. There was the football game he had taped as always, of course. And he was curious about whether or not their little incident with the unsub in Missouri had made the news . . . but, as he scanned the list of recorded shows, his eyes alit on The Bourne Supremacy, playing in a few minutes. What the Hell, he thought, flipping to FX. Maybe that Stiles chick won't be so bad, after all.
Penelope Garcia had a pre-arranged date with Kevin for tonight, and he was waiting to pick her up as soon as they were back at the airstrip. She smiled and greeted him with a kiss. And when the adorable geek that she called boyfriend asked her what she wanted to do for the evening, she said, "Let's go see if there's anything starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt in the theaters, babe," and smiled when he nodded eagerly.
Aaron Hotchner made a quick detour to the video store to pick up "Mary Poppins" to watch with Jack when he got home. And, slyly, he tucked in a copy of the NCIS Season 2 Box Set – just for him, for later.
Spencer Reid hid in the back of the movie-rental place, and waited until his Unit Chief had vacated the building with his selections, before making his way up to the front counter and paying the nominal fee to rent Inception for the evening.
Jennifer Jereau was too tired to do much besides call Will and tell him that she was on the way home. But when she climbed into her car and heard "Love Story" blaring from the back speakers, she turned it up and sang along with the country star. And maybe I'll check out that "Save The Last Dance" sometime with Henry, she thought, as she lamented about Romeos and scarlet letters with the pop star.
Emily Prentiss walked by a garage sale, seeing an old Maroon5 CD sitting on a corner table. She picked up the three-dollar disk and, on a whim, bought it.
She was singing along to "Wake Up Call" by the end of the night.
David Rossi was home the quickest. After placing a call to his first wife about possibly meeting for dinner sometime this week, he settled down into his favorite easy chair and popped The Breakfast Club into his DVD player.
"A fandom is like a teabag; you can't tell how strong it is until you put it in some hot water." – Author Unknown
Author's Endnote: Don't ask me why . . . Not even I know.