For disclaimer see chapter one
November 12th 2012
"Are you sure you're going to be alright without me?" Dave caught Aaron on the way out the Round Table Room, "I can easily call Miranda and-"
His lips twitching as he caught the imploring look in Dave's eyes, Aaron shook his head.
"Dave, we can cope without you for one case. You have an obligation."
"I have an obligation here!" Dave exclaimed, sweeping a vague hand in the direction of the bullpen, where an incredibly amused looking Prentiss was watching them from her desk, "Solving crimes, catching the bad guys. That's my obligation, Aaron."
"Well you should have thought of that before you decided to write a new book, David," Aaron said airily, giving in to the smile as he saw the crestfallen look on his colleague's face, "It's one case. You'll be back before you know it."
"Damn you, Hotchner," Dave muttered darkly, "Call yourself my friend."
He ambled down the slope towards the coffee pot, missing the look that Aaron and Prentiss shared behind his back, and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. He hated press interviews. He'd hated them before, but now that he was working again, he hated them even more. There was something so inane about talking to some journalist, who probably hadn't even read the book, when he knew there were people out there who needed saving. And Aaron was no help at all, with his stupid ideas about honouring commitments and not calling his assistant, Miranda, to say that he couldn't possibly attend all the interviews she had scheduled because the team couldn't possibly cope with a sudden influx of cases without him. Miranda had even acquired Aaron's number, just to make sure that he had absolutely no chance of escape. It was a conspiracy, that's what it was.
"Surely it's not that bad," a voice said behind him, the slight edge that it had suggesting that the owner was trying very hard to laugh at him.
"You can be quiet, Prentiss," he growled, turning to face her, "This is your fault."
"My fault?"
The indignation was well feigned, but Dave knew better.
"Yes, your fault. Whose idea was it for me to write a new book?"
"Well –"
"You should go for it, Rossi," he raised his voice in a poor imitation of her, "It will be good for you, Rossi. Take your mind off things, Rossi."
With a snort, Prentiss reached round for him for her own mug.
"I do not sound like that," she said, "And it was your idea. I just provided gentle encouragement."
"That's what you call it, is it?" he grumbled, but he couldn't keep up the façade for long. He wasn't really annoyed, and they both knew it. Sensing his resignation, she reached out and patted him sympathetically on the arm.
"You'll do fine. It's only the local paper."
"Only the local paper?" Morgan appeared out of nowhere, with Garcia and Reid on his heels, "I don't get interviewed for the local paper."
"That's because you're not famous," Garcia stage whispered, "Only big shots get interviewed, remember?"
"Oh yeah, I forgot," Morgan grinned, eying Dave mischievously, "I think I want to be like Rossi when I grow up."
"Ha ha," Dave said sardonically, "Keep this up and you won't live long enough for that."
"Ignore them, Rossi," Reid interjected, "I think your output is very impressive. Your books are the reason I wanted to join the BAU."
"Thank you, Reid," Dave smiled, "I'm still not getting you an advance copy. You're going to have to wait like everyone else."
"Worth a try, kid," Morgan hooted, stepping backwards so that he was hidden behind Garcia, "These celebrities forget about the little people down here on the ground."
Dave's less than savoury reply was cut off by Hotch calling to them from the door. JJ was already there, go-bag in hand.
"Let's go or I'm leaving you behind," Hotch called.
The younger agents scattered, grabbing bags and hurrying after Hotch and JJ. Only Garcia remained in the break area and she smiled sympathetically.
"Just think. Once you're done you can come back and hang out with me. It'll be just like last year."
She was referring of course to the tumultuous time last year when Hotch and Reid were away and Prentiss was 'dead', when the BAU had consisted of only herself, Rossi, Morgan and JJ. It hadn't been the most enjoyable time for anyone, but she had spent the time, when it was only the two of them in the office, getting to know Rossi much better, and in a way it had been kind of fun.
"I'm looking forward to it already, kitten," he smiled for the first time that morning, draining his cup and putting it in the sink, "Okay. I'm going. I'll be back in time for lunch."
"I'm looking forward to it," she echoed, "Good luck."
-WELLWISHING-
At least the hotel was a good one. Miranda could always be relied on for that, booking only the best places for the interviews that she forced him to go to. That wasn't even something he had specified – she had just worked it out for herself, forward thinking person that she was. Said forward thinking person was waiting for him on the steps outside, ignoring the doorman who was staring distastefully at her cigarette and lemon coloured dress. Chuckling, Dave kissed her on the cheek; there was a reason he had chosen her above all the others who applied. He needed someone that didn't give a damn about what people thought. For all his complaining about her, she was brilliant.
"You're late."
"I'm not!" he exclaimed, "I left as soon as I could. Aaron practically threw me out of the door."
"Well, good," she smirked, "I need an ally in kicking your butt."
She waved to the receptionist on the way past – yet another of her ridiculous list of contacts, he supposed – and ushered him towards the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor.
"Mister Hopper has been here for twenty minutes already," she said accusingly, narrowing her eyes at him, "And he seems to have met you before. He said he wasn't surprised you were late. You didn't tell me you knew him."
"I didn't know I did," Dave shrugged, "What's his first name?"
"Andy. Little guy, about your age. Ring a bell?"
"Maybe," Dave furrowed his brow. The name did sound familiar, now that he thought about it, but he had no idea why.
"I guess he's interviewed me before," he said eventually, "There were a lot of them for 'Deviance', especially. I barely slept on that tour."
"My heart bleeds," Miranda smirked, stepping out of the elevator ahead of him and turning to eye him over her shoulder, "Do me a favour and act like you remember. The last thing I need is another journo pissed off at you."
"That was one time," Dave sighed, "Are you ever going to let me forget?"
"Not in the near future."
She threw open the door to a suite and made her way over to a desk where her ever trusty laptop was sat waiting for her. She picked up one of the bottles of water sat next to it and handed it to Dave, reaching up to straighten his collar at the same time.
"You'll do just fine," she said, the bite from her voice gone for a moment. Of all the people in the world, Miranda was perhaps the only one who knew that interviews made Dave nervous. He never even had to tell her. That was something else she just knew.
"Thank you, sweetness," Dave smiled, "Where is he?"
"In the next room. Off you go. Play nice."
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Dave slipped through the door, his best 'meet the public' smile on his face. The journalist was sat facing the door, his legs crossed with one ankle resting on his opposite knee. A notebook and a dictaphone were on the table next to him, but he was ignoring them. His eyes were fixed on the door, and when Dave stepped through, he stood up.
He didn't look very friendly.
"Agent Rossi," he said icily, "It's been a while."
Ah.
Andy Hopper.
Yeah.
Dave remembered him all right.
