The view from my desk
I work at a desk. I'm happy to, really. I love my phone, my computer, my drawer full of snacks, the few photos of my mom and my girlfriend. I love digging into stuff, finding out information, helping catch the bad guys. I love working at my desk, too, since let's face it, I've got a bad back, I love doughnuts more than my waistline, and I couldn't consistently weapons qualify for serious field work if my life depended on it, which, of course, it does. But give me a spreadsheet? A database? Background information buried on microfiche somewhere in Omaha? An undercover op where they need some nondescript, pudgy-faced yes man to dig out that information they thought they'd buried under wherever the hell Jimmy Hoffa was? I'm your man.
He knew it, too, which was great, so when he asked me if I wanted to follow from Narcotics when he got the SAIC promotion to MCU, I jumped at the chance. Most of the agents and SAs are condescending to those of us who stay on the inside, but he knew I could find the world from my desk if he asked me to. So he asks me to find the world, often. It's great. And he trusts me to handle the boring stuff, work it up almost to the end before handing it off to him—he doesn't breathe down my neck or double check my work, either, before doing whatever else is needed to finish the investigation off. He trusts me, which makes even the boring stuff exciting.
He has great cases—big ones, lots at stake, lots of press when he solves them, not that that's what he's after when he's trying to solve them with her. But those cases are a challenge, and I like a challenge. He does, too, though it's the justice he's after first and foremost. But if it's a challenge, he likes it even more, though if you didn't know him, you couldn't tell that he "likes" things when his face gets very still as his mind starts going a mile a minute as he plots out where to go next on a case—the more he's thinking, the stiller his face gets. But you can also tell that he likes things when he smiles that small smile right before he learns something big, or nails the bastard to the wall in the interrogation room. It's great to watch—sometimes when he's collared someone and I've been helping out a lot on the case, he'll let me know and I can go down to observation to watch while he or both of them skewer the suspect and make him confess. He doesn't smile when he solves a case, their work is too serious for that, but he does get this satisfied look, even when he's tired.
Some of my friends from the academy don't get how I can like my desk so much. Yeah, I hauled my ass over the obstacle course and can shoot a gun if I have to, hit what I'm aiming at better than your average Joe, but they don't get how I could possibly be happy. "Don't you miss the excitement?" they ask. "Don't you get bored?" they wonder. "Don't you get tired of the same view, the same four walls all the time?"
How the hell could I be bored? I get to help catch serial killers. I helped track down someone who ended up getting rid of the most corrupt Dep Dir we'd ever had. I get to call him in the middle of whatever he's doing and say my four favorite words: "There's a new case." He always takes my call, or calls me back right away if the call goes to voice mail.
And how the hell could I get tired of the view from my desk? I see into people's bank accounts, wills and testaments, every dirty secret laid bare, if I just dig hard enough. Which I do, including all the medical technical science mumbo-jumbo I can't do a damned thing with, but which I can find anyway, then send over to that brain trust of his down the street. They're great—they call me up to say thanks all the time, sent me over some doughnuts, too. "Couldn't have done it without you," they say. I don't care what other jockeys say about squints. His are a good bunch.
When the case is over, he always makes sure to give credit where credit is due, even though he's about the least touchy-feely, least verbally effusive person I know. But a "thanks" means something from him, and he follows it up. I've got more commendations for "assistance above and beyond" than any other desk jockey in the building, combined—and those are out on my desk for the rest of them to see, the lazy bastards. I've got a great view from my desk, actually.
My job has a great view, really. From the observation room, I get to see when the two of them make those scumbags pay the piper, playing with them like two cats with a mouse who doesn't know what's hit it. I love watching the two of them at work—it's amazing all the way through, from the beginning, when they're sitting in his office, talking with witnesses or the victim's family, through to their work in the interrogation room, questioning suspects or getting confessions. I even got to go to court a few times— it was so great to see him testify about how the stuff that I found led to them finding the suspect.
I don't think he knows, though, exactly how much of a view I really have from my desk. I can see right into his office, though I don't sit directly outside—but I can see everything when the two of them are fighting, and she's right up in his face, or when they're trying to hash out the next step to take in the investigation. She gets him worked up like nobody else does, even when she's not here. When she was kidnapped, I was working late pulling whatever I could on the Gravedigger-- I don't think he knew I was here when he whipped that sellout K & R weasel on his table and threatened to kill him. His face was as still and silent as marble that time. I wouldn't dare tell him that I saw, but I don't blame him at all, either. I wouldn't tell anyone else, either. Yeah, most Agents don't actively threaten to kill people, and mean it, inside the Hoover, but this? Well, I think he'd have been justified.
I'm also pretty sure he didn't know I was still here, working late, during her dad's trial, when he'd come back at the end of the day, sling his feet up on his desk, and just sit there, staring up at the ceiling or with his hands over his face for long minutes before he got back to work, his face nearly immobile, on the administrative shit I tried to whittle down to manageable piles for him. I always try to keep it under control for him, but that week, especially.
From where I sit, I can see how he watches her every time she leaves his office, striding off like she always does without looking back. She's always moving ahead, that one. And he's either sitting there, watching her go, or walking just a step behind her, still watching her. Most of the time, he has that still look on his face as he still figures out what to do next as he's walking behind her, but sometimes, especially when he's the one who's gotten her all riled up, he has that small smile on his face, like he's just learned something that's going to help him crack a case. He likes the view from behind her, and not just because she's the hottest thing on two legs—she's just easier to watch and learn about when she's not looking.
Office gossip being nothing more than glorified high school like it is, there are all the usual "does she like him," "does he like her" bull. Of course he "likes" her. He's only human and she, well, she's not a goddess, but she's pretty damned close, big words and hot temper notwithstanding. Whether he "likes" he isn't the question. And you can't solve the case if you don't know what questions to ask. There's a reason why those other desk jockeys aren't as good at their jobs, which is, of course, why he relies on me instead of the rest of those bastards. I'm good at my job because I know what questions he's asking, and can pretty much figure out what he needs the information for, how it's going to fit into the rest of the case. The question isn't whether they "like" each other. Of course they do—they're still working together, and given that they both have foul, egotistical tempers, that's really saying something.
The real question, I think, is when he's going to find that piece of information, that integral key, that makes her turn back and look at him the way he looks at her. And then, maybe, she'll have the same view of him that I do from my desk. It's a great view.
Well, there's your Charlie fic. He hasn't been on this season, yet, so if he's on again, perhaps the muse will prompt something more.