Prompted by For swing_set13.
Summary: FBI agents AU, either the truth is out there or there is crime to stop!
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The Truth Is Probably Somewhere Out There
"Aaaaaaaaaagent Winger, so good to see you! Not. Big news, buddy! You're off racketeering as of yesterday. Yes, time for a Chang of scenery. It's too much of a liability to let you talk to those people if every other word out of your mouth inhibits a future arrest. Lucky for your shit-skinny ass our 'wise and indubitable' Deputy Hawthorne still thinks you're worth employing. So clear your desk and mosey down, down, doooooooown to the basement. Report to Special Agent Edison, she'll be supervising you in the adjunct department-yes, I'm talking about the cold cases. And if you think you can con her because of her age, know this my not-friend: I've already warned her that if you even breathe at her inappropriately, it will be just the excuse I need to ice you. She earned the right to her own department, a feat you have failed at spectacularly-no, don't even think about opening your mouth. Get out of my office and report to your new boss, before I grind your testicles into my snack time cheese grater."
Stepping off the elevator in the basement level of the Bureau's Rocky Mountain Regional HQ building was a bit like stepping into 1992. Lights flickered half-heartedly along the narrow hallway, and two doors down a fax machine sat against the wall, unplugged sometime before the second internet boom. More discarded appliances littered the rangy carpet as Jeff made his way to the assigned office, as if the place had been looted when the population moved above ground with the promises of sunlight and a T-3 line.
"Hello?" Two knocks, and the door swung open. A feminine voice hollered back, and he stepped into another universe. Where the hallway had been dirty and used, this space was immaculate. New rugs, an unused but cheerful reception desk, and a series of locked cabinets with a small sink and counter filled the space. At least seven potted plants demonstrated someone's passionate effort to overcome the lack of windows. Doors went off either side of the room, with his new partner's voice coming from the right. Raising his eyebrows, Jeff walked to the door on the left instead, and whistled when he peaked inside. On one end of this room was another desk and a short filing cabinet. In front of that was a small conference table with six chairs, facing an ornate multimedia system, with a projector included, and none of it more than a year old. Burying his grin, Agent Winger spun and went to the opposite wing.
"Agent Edison?" he asked, stepping in head and shoulders first. He ducked a hanging vine plant. "Jeff Winger, reporting."
A short woman with quite dark hair leaned around her monitor to stare at him, lips pursed. "Hello, Jeff, I'm Special Agent Annie Edison," she said, and offered a quick, intense smile. Jeff felt his jaw drop half a centimeter to the left, and blinked. It was unbelievable that this girl could be his supervisor-she could barely be the FBI's minimum of twenty-six, much less experienced enough to run her own department. Beneath a curtain of sleek hair Annie had a heart-shaped face, classic cherry lips, and eyes that belonged on an animated princess, not a law enforcement officer. She probably weighted less than a hundred twenty pounds, wet. They shook hands, and Jeff noted her grip was aggressive, even for a female agent.
"I was told I'd be getting someone assigned to the project; it's so good to have you on the team. As you can see, this office is a biiiiiiiiit," she stretched out the word just a few syllables longer than necessary, realized it, and caught up, "of a diamond in the rough! But with two of us, the caseload will be a lot easier. You can have the desk in the main room."
Jeff blinked twice at her, reminding himself forcibly of his Supervising Special Agent Chang's warning. No wonder the little man had threatened his career over the issue, if this was who he'd be working with. "The desk in the media conference room?"
"No, that's for projects," said Annie.
He smiled with a deferring shrug, leaning his weight on the edge of her desk. "Of course you do know the layout best, but I'm sure I'd be more productive in the conference room."
Annie leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms. "Okay, big shot. Take the conference room, hopefully the networking access will speed along your introduction."
Jeff grinned, and mock-saluted. "Sure thing, boss."
Annie smiled, closed mouth but a bit flushed, and waved him out. "I put out three cases for you, get started on those."
He nodded, swung out of her office, and sauntered into the conference room. Jeff dropped into the ergonomic desk chair and spun, imagining how he'd decorate the space. The plants were a good idea, but he'd have to find just the right picture to go beside his degree certificate and his Key to the City.
His third rotation came to an abrupt halt. Something smelled...odd. Odd and cold. He lifted his head, and sniffed again, raising his eyes up, up, and up... to a vent in the wall. He stood to his full height, just half a foot below the vent, and took a deep breath.
"What the hell!" he yelled, and leapt back. Annie's young, pretty voice sounded from the other office.
"Are you sure you want the conference desk, Agent Winger? The plumbing in these old buildings is socreative. And to think, this is only March. You're going to love the place in July! Fragrant is a generous description."
Picking up his box of personal items, Jeff stalked back to the main room and dropped the load onto the reception desk. He shouted back in her direction, a little louder than necessary: "I'll be taking the main desk! There's better lighting, and it's closer to the case files."
"Very wise!" Annie sing-songed back. Jeff glared at her office, then tugged a leaf off the nearest potted lily.
"And I'm getting better plants!"
"Of course!"
"And a mini fridge!"
"If you like. Welcome aboard, Jeff."