Essential Listening: Annie Lennox – Sisters are Doing it for Themselves
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The bar was heaving, filled with a weekday crowd who were determined to get a bit of winding-down in before they had to think about their next day of work.
They had – somehow – managed to find an empty table at the back of the room, sufficiently far away from the wall-mounted flat-screen TV for them to hear each other's voices.
SSA Grace Pearce leaned against the improbable wooden ledge that ran around the outer wall of the room, watching her companions watch a man at the bar.
In theory, they were here to celebrate her passing her American driving test, but even outside of work they couldn't stop themselves profiling. It was more than a habit by now, it was ingrained – an intrinsic part of their make-up.
They could no more turn it off than Grace could her magic.
The man they were watching was tall, reasonably handsome and oozing confidence. He had moved in on Prentiss as soon as she'd reached the bar, as if she were somehow magnetic.
"We've only been here five minutes," Penelope Garcia hissed, eating the obligatory bar peanuts that seemed to materialise in every pub Grace had been at in America.
"Yeah, but look at her," JJ observed. "She broke away from the group. The guy saw her alone, felt confident and made his move."
"She doesn't seem to mind," Grace remarked, amused, as Prentiss beckoned him to follow him over. Grace eyed the man up, dubiously: from what she'd seen of her, Emily Prentiss had taste – and this guy looked every inch a stuffed shirt. She doubted Emily would have any time for the man.
"Ladies, this is Brad," said Emily, handing out the beers. She added, with obvious relish: "A real FBI agent."
Grace felt the mood shift immediately. Somehow, she managed to keep from grinning.
"Oh, wow," she said, brightly, as JJ and Garcia schooled their features into attitudes of surprise and admiration.
Poor Brad. Poor, poor Brad.
"Really?" Garcia asked, brightly.
"Really," Emily confirmed, clearly enjoying herself.
"No way," said JJ, as Emily and Garcia shared a speaking look.
Brad was looking really rather pleased with himself. Grace gave him her best 'winning' smile.
"That's exciting," said Garcia, and Grace nearly snorted beer out of her nose when she asked – in her ditziest voice – "What's it like at Quan-ti-co?"
"It's – uh – quite impressive," said Brad, oozing smarm.
"What department are you in?" JJ asked, with a calculating smile.
With a move he must have practised for hours in front of the mirror, Brad turned to her, put on his best suave face and said, "That's classified."
"Oh no, really?" said Grace, in as disappointed a voice as she could muster.
"I'm afraid so, Ma'am," he winked at her.
Actually winked.
"Must be really tough, keeping all those secrets," said JJ, candidly.
"Well, you know, it's a skill like anything else," he explained, smoothly. "Carpenters are good at building stuff, measuring…"
By this point, Grace was fighting a losing battle against her eyebrows, which seemed determined to move skywards.
"… FBI's good at keeping secrets and kicking criminal ass."
Grace stared ahead, convinced that if she made eye contact with any of the others, she would burst. Even her teeth hurt from not laughing.
"Wow," said Emily, and the women laughed as lightly as they could without giving the game away. "Well, somebody's gotta do it." She turned, suddenly excited. "Oh! Do you have to carry your gun and badge with you wherever you go?"
Grace and JJ shared a look. This was going to be epic.
"Affirmative."
Grace lost the battle with her eyebrows and they shot under her fringe; fortunately, Brad was totally focussed on Emily.
"Can we see it?" she asked, with just the right level of anticipation.
"See what?"
"Your badge," Emily flirted.
"Please?" Garcia begged.
"Just one tiny peek?" Grace cajoled.
"I'm sorry, that's –"
"Classified," the four women chorused, nodding.
"Figures," said JJ, reaching into her purse; Garcia was pulling hers out of her voluminous bosom and Prentiss was reaching for hers, so Grace slipped her badge out of her jacket pocket, nice and slow.
"Of course," said Emily. "Tell me, Brad, does it look anything like this?" she asked, holding up her badge.
"Uh, or this?" JJ asked, pointing at hers.
"Or this?" Grace waggled her badge in the air.
"Or maybe this?" Garcia asked, holding hers up.
Brad stared at them all for a moment, mesmerised by four identical grins, before turning and bolting out of the bar.
They burst out laughing, unable to hold it any longer.
"'Criminal ass'," said JJ, reaching for her phone, which had started ringing. "'It's a tough job'," she said, deepening her voice.
Grace snorted, stealing JJ's chair while she went to take the call.
"Agent Jareau…"
"Wow," said Emily, still chortling.
"Why would anyone try that so close to Quantico?" Grace asked.
"Because they're a moron," Emily grinned. "And they don't expect 'chicks' to be working for the FBI."
"Well, we are 'good at keeping secrets'," Grace joked; the others laughed.
"Lady, you are officially in my top eight," said Garcia, clinking glasses with Emily. "I am so blogging about this later. Clink me."
She turned and clinked with Grace, too; Emily followed suit.
"Congrat's on your license," said Garcia. "You're officially one of us, now."
"One of us! One of us!" Emily chanted, and Grace laughed.
"Getting there at any rate," she smiled.
JJ came back, looking apologetic.
"Sorry, ladies…" she said.
"Oh," said Garcia, putting down her barely touched pint.
"Oh," Emily echoed.
Grace set her own drink down, mildly annoyed at the criminal element for not being able to keep a lid on it for even one night. The mood had already shifted from jovial to serious.
They left their four, mostly full pints of beer on the table, looking abandoned and forlorn. They'd have to pick up where they left off, later.