Sam Cooper looks up as both soon-to-be official members of his new team walk in, sparing a moment to get a feeling for each of the men before him.
Mick's tired. Not enough sleep this past week, and not enough the night before to right the balance, though nothing worth worrying over-the man could probably go another couple of days on the previous night's sleep if he had to without compromising either mental clarity or physical capabilities.
In seemingly direct conflict comes another observation: there's a considerable amount of restless energy built up, most likely a result of the long drive down paired with not enough mental stimulation for the duration of said drive. The man can go hours without so much as moving a muscle on a mission, but outside of work-
To say the man gets bored easily would be nothing short of gross understatement.
He's in good spirits overall, though. Cheerful, friendly, and steadily charming his way into the good graces of the female officer he's currently talking to.
Prophet, half a step behind him, is working harder than he should have to in order to project a casual, almost indifferent air. Cooper can read the tension in his frame from across the room as well as the way his gaze keeps darting around, taking in each and every uniformed officer and, unless Sam is greatly mistaken, marking the location of each and every possible exit.
He looks somehow more uncomfortable here than he had during any of their consultations while he was still in prison, with the possible exception of the time Sam brought Derek along and figured out the hard way exactly why Prophet had refused to continue working with the other agent.
The man is nervous, wary even, but by now Sam's interacted with him enough that he's confident Prophet is under control. As long as he doesn't feel backed into a corner, he should be fine.
Sam can understand his discomfort, but it's something the other man is going to have to learn to deal with if he's going to be a part of the team.
Mick catches sight of his soon-to-be boss and twists around to say something to Prophet, jerking his head back toward Sam before making his way across the station. The older man looks up, nodding as he briefly meets Sam's gaze, and follows.
"Mick," It's the first time Sam's smiled since arriving in Kentucky. "Thanks for coming."
He's not just referring to this case. Mick grins, nods in acknowledgment of that left unsaid, and drops unceremoniously into the empty seat next to him. Without looking over his shoulder he kicks the chair across from him, pushing it back from the table with his foot.
Prophet has at least spent enough time with Mick to recognize the action for the invitation Sam knows it to be. He settles a bit cautiously all the same, eyes darting briefly toward Sam as if to gauge his reaction.
He's very much on edge, likely has been all day. Sam readjusts his own seat to put a little more distance between the two of them, and is rewarded for the effort when Prophet relaxes, if only marginally.
"Would've been here sooner, but Prophet got us lost." Sam can tell Mick's joking, but Prophet tenses up again, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat in a not-so-subtle attempt to give himself just a little more breathing room.
Sam shoots Mick a warning that other man completely ignores.
Mick's tendency to test people could be a problem, especially considering that given the right circumstances the man has been known to push people well past their limits-the last thing Sam needs right now is for Prophet to go off on the younger man, with or without provocation.
He makes a mental note to have a private word with Mick later.
Mick's been staring at the same suspect list for roughly the last eight minutes. Prophet is rereading the latest autopsy report for the third time in a row. Sam's eyes are starting to feel like sandpaper.
They've been at this for a good couple of hours with no results. As much as Sam was hoping a second and third pair of eyes might turn up something he could use, it doesn't look like they're getting anywhere, at least not tonight.
Mick brings up a hand to massage his forehead, stifling a yawn as he finally turns his gaze from the board. "Not sure we're going to come up with anything more tonight, Coop. Not unless there's something in whatever it is Prophet's been obsessing over for the last twenty minutes."
Without warning he's up and around the table in an almost manic burst of energy that Sam should have been expecting, leaning in over the older man's shoulder in an attempt to get a look at the report.
"Mick." Sam barks out the warning in the same second that Prophet completely stops breathing. He braces himself for the inevitable explosion, ready to intervene.
Prophet's gaze shifts to narrow in on Sam, as if he's more of a threat than the idiot currently looming over him in spite of the table currently between them. With deliberate slowness he tilts his head, shifting his weight to lean away from Mick, and sets down the file.
"A little too close for comfort there, brother," Prophet drawls, eyes still on Sam, one hand braced against the table while the other maintains a white-knuckled grip on the side of his chair.
"Sorry." Rather than back off, Mick leans farther forward, just enough to retrieve the abandoned report and ignoring the resulting sharp intake of breath from the other man.
"That's enough," Sam says, and Mick shrugs, idly flipping through the report as he makes his way back to his own seat. "You all right?"
He hasn't taken his eyes off Prophet, even if he figures that if he had been going to do something he most likely would have done it already, and the other man has yet to look away.
Prophet takes a breath, nods, and pushes himself up from the table, spinning around abruptly and heading for the coffee maker across the room.
"You need to back off," Sam warns, voice low, while watching Prophet out of the corner of his eye. Mick shrugs, unbothered, still perusing the report he'd taken from the other man. "I mean it, Mick."
"He's fine," comes the dismissive reply-they're definitely going to have to talk later.
Sam decides to call it a night soon after. It's well after midnight, and he's been up since about four this morning. Mick's starting to get jittery, leg bouncing almost violently as he tries to ignore his body's growing need for sleep, and Prophet-
Prophet's still staring at the autopsy report, empty coffee cup in hand, eyes starting to glaze over.
Sam shifts, drawing the attention of both men. "Let's call it a night," he says. "Come back in the morning with a fresh set of eyes."
Mick unceremoniously crashes on the unoccupied double bed the second the door closes behind them, letting out a groan of pleasure as his body hits the mattress.
Prophet spares him a brief glance before looking around the rest of the room.
"What'd I say about hovering in the doorway?" Face buried in the mattress, Mick's muffled accusation is nearly unintelligible.
Prophet doesn't quite manage to stifle a sigh. "Move over," he says. "You're taking up the entire bed."
Sam's not sure the two of them sharing a bed is a good idea. They don't have a whole lot of options- Sam hadn't originally been planning on having either agent join him, and by the time he'd changed his mind the hotel hadn't had any extra rooms available-but he'd figured that he and Mick could share the one bed and let Prophet have the other.
Mick drags himself further up the bed, grumbling all the while. Prophet rolls his eyes and crosses the room to sit on the empty side, body turned so as to keep both men in sight as he reaches down to remove his shoes.
"Fair warning," Mick mumbles into his pillow. "I'm not a cuddler-I'm liable to throw you across the room in my sleep if you try."
Prophet ignores him, climbing into bed without comment.
Somehow they make it through the night without incident. Sam wakes first, his internal clock getting him up at his usual time in spite of the previous late night.
Mick's still out, sprawled face down in pretty much the same position he'd fallen asleep in the night before. Prophet, lying on his side, back to the wall, stirs when Sam gets up, briefly opening one eye before apparently dismissing Sam as not a threat and going back to sleep.
Sam grabs a change of clothes and heads for the bathroom, figuring he might as well get a start on the day. Mick will be awake shortly-is probably already in the process of regaining consciousness, actually-and Sam can't see Prophet sleeping too much longer once the rest of them are up.
He hears an ominous thud from the other room as he steps out of the shower-he's more familiar than he'd like to be with the sound a body hitting the ground. Grabbing a towel and hoping he's not about to walk into the middle of a war zone, Sam heads for the other room.
He opens the door in time to watch Mick scramble up off the floor, reach for the closest pillow, and launch it in an annoyed Prophet's direction.
Prophet catches it seconds before it would have hit him in the face and is midway through the process of throwing it right back at the other man when he catches sight of Sam.
"What?" Mick turns. "Jesus, Coop, go put some clothes on!" He makes a huge show of averting his eyes-never mind the towel, or the perfectly valid concern that Mick might have pushed the other man too far.
Sam shakes his head at the man's antics and retreats.
He can hear muffled conversation in the other room as he gets dressed, but not enough to gauge whether or not he's going to need to find some sort of distraction to keep Mick off the other man's back for a while.
"Hey, Coop! We're going to run downstairs and grab some breakfast." Mick calls from the other room. A second later he can hear the sound of the door closing behind them.
They're both gone when he comes out of the bathroom-Sam's not sure yet whether or not that's a good thing.
Sam reaches the lobby and pauses for a moment to assess the situation.
Mick and Prophet are sitting at a table over in the corner, situated so both have their backs to a wall. Mick's hunched forward, methodically working his way through a plate of waffles with single-minded focus while Prophet slouches in his chair, legs sprawled almost lazily in front of him, and sips his coffee.
Mick pauses, shifts, and reaches toward his breakfast companion's plate. Prophet swats his hand away without looking up from his cup. Turning his attention back to his breakfast, he picks up what looks like a blueberry only to flick it unceremoniously in the other man's direction.
Mick half-twists in his seat, batting at the offending piece of fruit. A second later he grins, gesturing with his free hand, before flicking the captured blueberry back towards Prophet.
It lands with a plop in right in the man's coffee. Prophet looks down at his cup, then back at Mick. Without breaking eye contact he raises the cup to his lips and drains the rest of the dark liquid, smirking all the while.
"That's disgusting," Mick says before popping a forkful of waffle in his mouth.
"I've eaten worse." Prophet retorts, leaning back in his seat.
"So have I," Mick manages while still chewing. "Doesn't change a thing." He shoves another forkful of waffle in his mouth.
"That's disgusting," Prophet offers, grunting as he pushes himself up from his chair. "Gonna get some more coffee."
"Bring me back a donut," Mick calls after him. Prophet gestures dismissively in response. Mick grins and looks across the room, eyes going straight to Sam.
"Done eavesdropping?" he asks as Sam joins him at the table.
Sam shrugs, no more bothered by the accusation than Mick was by Sam watching them.
Prophet rejoins the group, setting down both his coffee cup and a plate before adjusting his chair to put just a little more distance between him and Sam.
Mick swipes a donut from the plate as if it were meant for him from the start. "So what's the plan?" he asks, taking a bite of stolen donut. "Cause as of last night, we had absolutely nothing to go on-unless you had something with that autopsy you couldn't put down last night."
Prophet shrugs, picking a strawberry off his plate, but doesn't comment.
Sam makes a mental note to give the report another look anyway.
Back at the station Mick starts going through the police reports again while Prophet starts flipping through the older autopsy reports.
"I've got nothing," Mick says at last, tossing aside the last of the reports. "Prophet, you want to trade?" When the other man doesn't answer, Mick nudges his shoe with his foot.
Prophet waves him off without looking up. Mick shrugs, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling for a moment before shaking his head and reaching for a pile of witness statements.
"Agent Cooper?" Sam really needs to figure out a way to get the other man to stop calling him that.
"Yes?" He looks up; Prophet's frowning at the report in his hand.
"The report on the most recent body, did it say how wide the incisions were on the stab wounds?"
"I'm pretty sure-" Sam flips through the most recent autopsy report. "Here. Three-eighths of an inch. Why?"
"This one measures the distance at half an inch. So do all the others."
Mick looks up. "Coincidence? Maybe his aim has gotten better."
"No hesitation wounds on any of the victims," Sam counters. "You think he changed weapons?"
Mick sets aside the stack of witness statements. Prophet hands the report over without prompting.
"If so, why now?" Mick asks. "Different tool for a different job?"
Sam shakes his head. "Same M.O. on the last victim as the rest. The Unsub wouldn't have changed weapons this late in the game unless he were forced to."
"So what would make him change? Don't tell me he lost his favorite knife and had to settle for his second-best." Mick sets the report aside and reaches for another.
"We could check the dump site where the second to last victim was found," Prophet suggests. "Might be a long shot-"
"Do it," Sam says, and Prophet blinks.
Mick tosses aside a second report and all but springs out of his chair. "We'll call you if we find anything."
"Mick," Sam says, catching the other man's gaze.
Mick registers the unspoken warning, but doesn't seem to think it worth heeding-Sam gets a grin from the man that isn't remotely reassuring.
"Nothing to worry about, Boss," Mick quips, before turning to Prophet. "Come on, before he decides to go himself and makes us go through the reports again."
Prophet shoots Sam a wary glance, but follows Mick willingly enough out back out of the building.
Sam's phone goes off as the two are leaving-Director Fickler. Sam debates whether or not to just let it go to voicemail, but considering he's already gone against the man's wishes by bringing two not-technically-field-ready agents down here, it's probably in the best interest of his team not to ignore the man every time he calls.
"Director."
A pause. Fickler must not have been expecting him to actually pick up.
"Agent Cooper." Fickler recovers quickly enough. "Am I to understand both of your new team members have joined you in Kentucky?"
"Yes, sir," Sam replies. "Figured it was in the team's best interest. Rawson doesn't do well with forced inactivity, sir."
"Isn't he a sniper?"
"Outside of work," Sam clarifies. "If he has an end goal in mind he can stay in one position all day, never so much as twitch. But if he doesn't have something to keep him occupied-"
"And the convict?"
"Ex-con," Sam reminds him, even though the paperwork isn't one hundred percent official yet.
"Whatever. He's unproved, untested-Agents Jacob and Kirk lost track of him for hours last night-"
"Agent Jacobs dumped him on Rawson with nothing to keep either of them occupied, and without any kind of guidelines for what to do with him," Sam points out. "Rawson made the perfectly reasonable choice not to spend the night at the gym, and took Prophet with him-or would you rather he have left the man there unsupervised?"
Fickler doesn't answer immediately. Or at all. "So instead of staying put you decided the past thing was to send them on an unapproved road trip?''
"Bureau approved the vehicle," Sam points out. He hates politics, bureaucracy, all that, with a passion, but sometimes it's a necessary evil. "I know you've gone out on a limb for both men-I know I'm not the only one taking a risk when it comes to these two. But I promise you, Director, you won't regret it."
Another moment of silence. Then a sigh. "If Simms screws up, even once, he's out, do you understand? And if he kills someone-or even assaults somebody-he can go back to San Quentin and rot there, and you can kiss your dream team goodbye. Have I made myself clear?"
"Perfectly."
Fickler hangs up before Sam can.
Mick calls within the hour. "Found something. Prophet's not fully convinced the dimensions are right, but we're bringing it in anyway. We were thinking about picking up lunch on our way back-you want anything? Saw a Chinese place on our way to the dump sight, unless you've got any objections. Might have seen a Greek place-you ever had Greek?" Mick's voice sounds quieter-he must be talking to Prophet. "Greek it is, unless you've got any complaints, Coop."
Sam doesn't.
The knife-neatly bagged and tagged and ready to go-is handed over for processing in short order. That done, Mick proceeds to clear the table they've been using and start setting out containers.
"Got a little bit of everything-wanted to make sure there was something this one-" he jerks his head toward Prophet "-likes. Plus," Mick offers Sam a full-blown grin, "I like Greek food." He pauses to think for a moment, then shrugs. "Greek women too," he admits freely, as if Sam didn't already know.
He's dishing out food onto plates as he speaks, one for each of them, while Prophet watches. He doesn't look any worse for the wear after having spent the last hour or two with Mick, at least as far as Sam can tell, even if he's still keeping a close eye on anyone who starts to get a little too close. Fortunately, most of the locals have left them alone since they arrived, content to let them work. The only person who keeps routinely invading his space is Mick.
"You said something about the dimensions of the knife being off?" Sam asks, reaching for a plastic fork. Prophet shrugs, finishes chewing, and swallows.
"Maybe?" he admits. "Can't say for sure, just didn't look right."
"It was a little rusty," Mick allows. "Might have been there for a while, might have been dropped with the victim. No way to tell just by looking at it." He reaches for something on Prophet's plate purely-Sam thinks-to irritate the man, and immediately gets his hand swatted for his trouble. At the very least, Prophet seems to have no qualms about defending his food.
It's a good sign. One: that Prophet only seems mildly annoyed by the attempt, and two: that he feels comfortable enough to deflect said attempt even with Sam sitting there.
Mick's plate's still about halfway full when his phone rings. He checks it briefly before getting up. "Need to take this," he says. "Excuse me."
He intentionally passes close enough to Sam to put a hand on his shoulder on his way out. "Relax," he mutters in Sam's ear. "You look like you're half expecting him to stab someone, and it's putting him on edge."
Mick moves on before Sam can respond, phone already up to his ear as he heads for the door. Sam shakes his head and turns back to Prophet, who is-
Prophet is carefully dissecting the remains of his meal while watching Sam carefully out of the corner of his eye, and there's no doubt the man's on edge-or that he's tensed up considerably since Mick left the table.
"You doing all right?" Sam asks, and gets a nod for his trouble. "Mick's not overdoing it, is he?" he asks, and Prophet startles, head jerking up to meet Sam's gaze head-on. Sam continues, keeping his voice even. "He's a good kid, but he likes to see how far he can push people. Sometimes he goes too far."
Prophet shakes his head. "He's not bothering me."
"Don't hesitate to tell him to back off, if he starts to," Sam says. "Or let me know, and I can deal with it."
Another shake of the head. "That won't be necessary, but thanks." He looks uneasy, though, as he resumes cross-examining his food.
"You don't have to let him push you around," Sam says. "I just want to make sure you understand that. You're just as much a part of the team as he is."
Prophet nods, but doesn't look back up. "I appreciate that."
"You're doing okay, though?" Sam asks again. "I know it's an adjustment, and I know this can't be particularly comfortable for you."
"I'm all right," Prophet says. "Just-like you said, it's an adjustment."
"That changes, let me know. You need some space, or this place starts getting to you-"
"I will." Sam's not entirely convinced. "Thank you."
It's almost a relief when Mick returns, and if Sam's a little surprised that Prophet seems to feel the same way, well he can't exactly say he's displeased by the realization.
The knife ends up being a match. They get a hit from a DNA sample the forensics team managed to get from the weapon. They pick up the suspect at work, get a warrant to search the house, find blood, hair, and even ripped clothing in the basement-all belonging to the victims.
They make the decision to head back that afternoon instead of staying another night, and the driving arrangements end up pretty much the same-primarily because Prophet can't legally drive, and Mick insists that he needs the other man to navigate.
All in all, it's not a bad way to end their first case, however unofficial.
Author's Note: And that's a wrap on this one, folks. Somehow turned into a two-parter...Already working on another piece, this one brining Gina into the fold, so hopefully that will be finished fairly soon.
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds: Suspect Behavior does not belong to me.