CHAPTER 43
SWEET VANILLA CUPCAKES
When the team got to the main FBI building, Emily disappeared from their sight. No explanation.
Three hours later, she came back, just before lunch, and she asked for another meeting.
"JJ, you're off to Kansas for the next couple of days. One of our fellow Units is short out of a liaison figure and, given the complicity of the case they are working on, they could really use a helping hand from someone who knows what they are doing." Emily stated, out of nowhere.
"Go, Dorothy!" Luke laughed at JJ for having to go to Kansas, out of all places.
"Uh. Okay." JJ replied, a bit unsure of what was going on.
"Reid, you will be giving lectures at the FBI Academy this week. They just had a sudden and very suspicious cancellation of three of their regular classes for this week's schedule." Emily smirked. Sudden and suspicious? Yeah, not if she had something to do with that.
"You are covering two of those. Any topic you want." Emily added and Reid clapped his hands, like a happy child.
"I'm thinking something light for the first one." He muttered to himself. "Quantum physics! Yes, perfect!"
"Oh, dear Lord, have mercy upon the souls of those poor kids…" Rossi laughed, sitting right next to Reid, hearing his loud thinking.
"Funny you should chime in." Emily then looked at Rossi. "Reid is teaching two of those three classes. And you are teaching the third one."
Rossi's eyebrows rose. What the Hell was going on with Emily and all those sudden new assignments?
"I'm sure there is plenty that those Trainees can learn from you." Emily added, before she turned his attention to the rest of the team.
Each member got assigned to a different Unit for the following days.
"Me? What about me?" Garcia was afraid to ask, when she noticed that Emily was done assigning new tasks and she hadn't yet mentioned her, at all.
"You, my dearest Garcia, are going to be my eyes and ears." Emily smiled.
And it was a genuine smile. The kind of smile that the Emily Prentiss that Morgan once knew, would put on her face when she was extremely content with a plan that she had just come up with. Confident, even.
"Oh, I've always wanted to be a spy." Garcia commented happily.
She had once been obsessed with Emily's past, when she learned about her involvement in the CIA and all the spy work she had done before the FBI. And yet, she didn't even know half of it.
"It's not as glamorous as they make it seem on TV." Emily leaned in and whispered those words to Garcia.
"So, uh, lunch?" Tara asked after a long moment of silence.
"Yes, you guys can go to lunch. And then you can go get briefed by your new temporary units." Emily said, that content smile still on her lips.
"But, what about you?" JJ asked, because in all of this, Emily failed to let them know what her weekly plans were.
"I'll be hanging out with this colorful lucky charm over here." She pat Garcia's shoulder and felt her almost explode with excitement.
"Oh and guys?" Emily spoke when everyone was getting up from their seats and starting to walk towards the door.
"Knock 'em dead!" Emily added with a smirk.
"You got it, Chief!" JJ nodded at her before she left for her lunch break.
It was weird to have Morgan there. Emily didn't want to exclude him, and yet she had to. Then, she also didn't want to mention how he wasn't part of any of this, so she didn't. And through all of it, she felt so incredibly awkward. But everyone knew how the situation was and they understood what was going on.
Usually, the BAU would eat together.
But, given the unusual circumstances, that day they split up.
Some of them got some snacks from the vending machines, before they sat on their computers, researching everything they needed to know about their new temporary Units.
Others grabbed a hotdog after a long stress-relieving run outside.
"So, can I wear a mask? Do I need a spy name? Because, I have a few options. Oh, I've been waiting to use one of my spy names for so long." Garcia shot at Emily, as soon as they were on their own.
"Garcia, if your spy name is anything like Sparkly Kitten, I can bet you every single soul in the world would know whose face is hiding behind it. Even if you put a mask on." Emily laughed.
Garcia frowned.
"Glittery Kitty-Kat." She muttered, correcting Emily's suggestion with, basically, the same thing.
She followed Emily like a good puppy, all the way to her office upstairs, and she watched her grab a few things and then stick them in her bag. Her gun being one of them.
"Are you still on with Kevin?" Emily asked casually, since Garcia had been on and off with the guy for a while now.
"Oh, I mentally dumped his ass the second I saw Morgan." Garcia smirked. "But, but, but…We're still kind of on. Casually. Sometimes. You know?" She stuttered.
"I really do not want to know." Emily rolled her eyes while zipping her oversized handbag and walking towards the door.
Garcia then found herself running, trying to catch up with Emily, all the way to the floor and corridor where Kevin worked. She was torn between letting Emily talk to Kevin and maybe not finding the truth out; and being the one to talk to Emily about it, herself. Luckily for her, she didn't catch up soon enough.
"Hello there, Kevin!" Emily said nicely, as she barged into the office. "You wouldn't mind joining me and this lady over here, for a coffee, would you?"
Kevin looked at Emily with discomfort.
"Oh…" Emily realized something at that moment.
"Yeah, I didn't want to bother you with, you know, my problems." Garcia shrugged, looking down at the floor guiltily.
Kevin stood still and quiet like a mouse.
"Nevermind. My bad." Emily said awkwardly as they left the room.
"When?" She asked Garcia.
"A while ago, actually." Garcia replied. "And then that case happened….and I just…you had a lot on your plate."
"I have the overwhelming feeling that you're not the only who has been hiding things from me lately." Emily stated, but she had no strength to waste on being mad about that.
Garcia just nodded, because there were a ton of things that Emily was currently clueless about.
"Well, we need a new mastermind on our team now." She said, sitting on a bench in the outside area, as they had just exited the building. She needed some fresh air. And junk food.
"There might be someone…" Garcia said hesitantly and it got Emily intrigued.
"Oh?" She smirked, being able to read Garcia like an open book.
"He's uh, he's new around here. He just got transferred from New York. Uh, he uh, he is good at computers uh…" Garcia stuttered and Emily was enjoying this so much.
"Mhm. And?" She urged her to continue.
"And electronics. He's really good at electronics. And codes. He writes code. Obviously." Garcia was just the cutest.
"Oh, he's good at code, too?" Emily was pulling her strings so hard that they would snap at any time.
"Yah." Garcia nodded.
"Tell me, G…" She moved to sit closer to Garcia. "What else is he good at?" She asked, in that deep, dark and suggestive voice that cracked Garcia like an egg.
"Okay, fine. Yes, okay. He's kind of cute and we kind of went on a few dates. And I kind of like him. And he's kind of really cute, okay?" Her words made Emily chuckle.
"Let me guess – he's also quite cute?" She suggested, making sure that Garcia had no idea that she had already called him cute twice in her previous statement.
"So damn cute!" Garcia nearly squealed. "He's got dimples when he smiles. Dimples! Yaikes!" She said with enthusiasm in her voice.
Emily then realized how attracted she was to dimples as well. A certain someone from her very recent past had the cutest little dimples when he smiled, too.
And then she realized that, in her thoughts, she just called Richard cute.
"God, I hate love." She said, without knowing she was putting her inner thoughts into actual speech at the moment.
"What's his name?" She added, before Garcia would shred her to pieces for having said that previous thing.
"Desmond." Garcia smiled innocently. "And he's chocolate!" She added, because she just couldn't hold that crucial piece of information back.
Emily laughed at the thought of Garcia finally finding her own chocolate man. Maybe now she would act a little less inappropriate around Morgan? But then again, who was she kidding with that?
"I hope you know that it's not socially accepted to go around, calling people chocolate." Emily stated, her eyes scanning the perimeter for food already.
"Oh, he likes it when I call him that. And also-…" Garcia was surely about to be inappropriate again, but Emily was quick enough to shut her mouth with her hand.
"Hot dogs!" Emily stated, once she spotted a place that she hadn't been to in a while, and she knew for a fact that they had amazing junk food in there.
"Something like that…" Garcia blushed, continuing her previous thought with what Emily had just said.
"Ugh, I never want to be in love!" Emily muttered unhappily, already on her way to go get food.
"Aha. I believe that." Garcia teased her, now basically running after Emily one more time.
How was it that each time Garcia was out and about with her female colleagues, she was the only one running in high heels?
"You, Emily Prentiss, need a strong man to love you. A man who would hold you and do things to you, things that I shouldn't even mention right now…and to kiss you and to remind you every moment of the day how beautiful you are – inside and out." Garcia narrated her perfect vision of Emily's love life.
And Emily envisioned it, too, for a moment. She had lived it, for a week.
When she failed to give Garcia any attention on the topic, she quickly remembered something.
"Wait a minute! Does Emily Prentiss already have a hot boo-boo in her life? Ohhh, tell me more, girlfriend! Tell me everything? Is he the guy you told me about? Oh my God, is he French!? Girl, is it true that French men like to-…"
"Garcia!" Emily's loud voice startled her and prevented her from saying another word. Plus, she hadn't admitted to anything. Garcia had tried extorting information out of Emily during that chat, a few days ago, but she had neither confirmed, nor denied Garcia's suspicions.
"But, I was just being happy for you." Garcia frowned and if Emily hated anything in this world – it was to make her friends frown. Especially Garcia.
"There is nothing to be happy about! Emily Prentiss did not meet the man of her dreams in France, okay?" Technically, it was true. It had been Lauren Reynolds who had met him and then bounced him off to Emily Prentiss once she realized their personalities kind of clashed and that it was a doomed thing. Not that it didn't turn out to be just as doomed for Emily Prentiss as well.
"Then why were you in Europe? I saw your credit card transactions and you barely spent more than a day in the same city. How come?" Garcia just would not drop it.
Saying that it was a trip to help her clear her mind would not be enough. Even though, at the beginning, it had been true.
Saying that Emily had gotten her heart broken would be kind of true, but also quite humiliating to tell. She could only ever feel comfortable confiding in Morgan about it.
So, she said the one thing that could shut Garcia up.
"I was on a work assignment." Emily whispered, making it seem like it was classified information.
"In Europe? With the FBI?" Garcia then remembered her CIA past and she gasped. "Wow, you were a spy again!? Oh my God, tell me everything!"
Emily groaned unhappily. There was no possible situation in which Garcia would just shut up and take an answer without coming up with twenty additional questions about it.
They walked in and ordered hot dogs and fries to go.
Finally, Garcia couldn't hold it anymore.
"I'm sorry, but how is it not socially accepted to call my man chocolate when this guy you dated last year kept calling you his vanilla cupcake?" Touché, Emily Prentiss. Touché!
"Jesus, Garcia!" Emily sometimes envied the ease with which Garcia spoke about PG rated stuff.
"Because you are referring to the racial aspect of that said person…" She trailed off, wishing she would not have to explain any further.
"Oh yeah? And what's vanilla cupcake then if not calling you a white woman?" Garcia raised her eyebrow, feeling like she had argued her case perfectly.
Alas…
"It's not cupcake! It was sweet vanilla cupcakes." Emily emphasized on the plural connotation to that nickname.
"And it wasn't referred to my skin tone…" She added.
"Then what?" Garcia asked, because she was sometimes a five-year-old who had all the questions about the world around her.
Emily sighed and her hands rose up to her chest, as if she was pointing at it.
"Oh…" Garcia gasped, finally able to get the reference. "Ooh!" She then stated, being embarrassed that she had taken it so far.
"Can we now, please, close that topic and never revise it again?" Emily laughed, but then something hit her.
"Oh my God, Garcia! This is it!" Emily exclaimed. "The Section Chief is toying with us. They planted some stuff around our offices, just to make us crap our pants and act guilty. They want to push us to the wall, to the point where we have one week to go revise our own faulty cases and to mask up our mistakes. In the meantime, they are watching our every move and just waiting for us to admit what we have done wrong! They are trapping us. They have absolutely nothing on us right now, but by planting a bug in our heads, they want to make us point out our mistakes, those mistakes that they have no idea exist! So, the only way to win against them in their own game, is to refuse to play the game."
"Yeah, I can tell you're not into sports. That would basically be a forfeit and it would mean that we automatically lost the game." Garcia commented briefly.
"Not necessarily. If we don't give them what they want, they can't continue playing the game. And then there is no game. No winner. No loser. And that's the kind of outcome we should aim for." Emily said enthusiastically, but Garcia just shook her head. "Fine, I couldn't care less about sports."
"I love it when you admit defeat, Emily Prentiss." Garcia smirked.
"I should do that more often." Emily reminded herself.
A guy came over their table and brought them their food, along with a complementary side of chicken nuggets.
"So, can we maybe get in touch with Desmond and ask him to help us out?" Emily asked while grabbing her hot dog with both hands. Manners were optional for a starved woman.
"Sure. I'll text him right now. When do you need him?" Garcia took her phone out and snapped a selfie of herself. "Oh, it's like, our thing. We send each other photos sometimes." She added.
"Good, then you can show me a photo of him now. I'm curious." Emily said genuinely.
"Okay. Uh, let me see. Chocolate folder, yes. Fingerprint analysis, yes. 6-digit code, accepted. Second fingerprint analysis, check…" Garcia narrated the military-style encryption process on her phone. "Okay, we're in! Now, photo…photo…hmm. Okay, not this one…"
She started swiping photos away.
"Oh yeah, no. Definitely not this one!" She said, her tone a bit scandalized. "Surely not this one. Although, God, he's cute!"
She continued for two whole minutes in which Emily was hating life and hating the fact that she had even asked for a picture of the guy.
"Okay, this is a decent one." Garcia turned the screen to Emily.
"Alright!" Emily blinked a couple of times, unsure if she was comfortable.
"Two things. One – he is hot, okay!?" She looked at the photo one more time and the guy was attractive. He didn't look like the typical tech analyst, like Kevin, for example.
"And two – if this is the most decent photo of him that you could find, then I wish to never see the rest of them." She laughed, briefly analyzing the photo. He was shirtless, winking at the camera, with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth playfully, one hand on his chest and the other one suggesting to be a little further south from it.
Garcia blushed a little bit.
They got interrupted when Emily received a phone call that she had to go take outside.
When she came back to the table, Garcia had already finished all of her food.
Emily urged her to leave, but Garcia pointed out how Emily never ate any of her fries.
"Yeah, I don't like French." Emily said defensively. A bit prematurely.
"Fries, that is." She added lamely.
"What's the rush?" Garcia asked when she found herself being physically pushed out of the small restaurant.
"How soon can we get Desmond over here?" Emily asked, in a completely different mood after that phone call.
"Je vais te tuer, Victor!" Richard was fuming.
His face was red, his fingers were already clenched in a fist and he knew it for a fact that the next time he'd open his mouth, he'd insult his best friend with something juicier than what he had just told him – that he was going to murder him. And he wasn't even joking.
"But I thought you like American candy…" Victor replied with a smirk, faking his best American accent.
"I do, I like eating it. I certainly do not enjoy it when it is someone's name…" Richard rolled his eyes.
He had just walked in an expensive restaurant, one where Victor and he liked to dine sometimes, after work, or even with clients, so they'd pass for somewhat important. Not that they both weren't.
In his mind, he was going to meet his best friend, have some good food, maybe a glass of wine, or two, and then go home.
But no, Victor had to ruin it all.
Richard was now at the reception desk of the restaurant, where Victor had been waiting for him and from where he had pointed to a table, currently occupied by a certain model-esque bleached blonde barbie who looked like she could be Richard's daughter.
"Es-tu fou, Victor?" Richard asked, although the answer to that question was obvious – yes, Victor must have been crazy to do that stunt.
"Her name is not Candy, okay?" Victor replied defensively.
"It was something like…Cookie of some sort…" He added with a shrug.
"Oh, mon Dieu! I really am going to murder you! You set me up with an escort!? Really? Really, Victor? REALLY!?" Richard was mortified. He had a reputation to uphold.
"Shh! You must be the crazy one. Keep your voice down! One would think that, after all those years of experience, you'd know how to fly under the radar. Jesus, man!" Victor knew his best friend would take it badly, but he never imagined he'd freak out like this.
"Plus, come on, she's hot…" He added, as if that was going to convince Richard to stay. "And no, she's not an escort. She's a model, I think. Or something to do with yoga, like a teacher. I really don't know. I found her online and her profile name had something about a Cookie in it…Oh God, that does sound like an escort, doesn't it?"
Richard's only reply was an icy stare that, finally, made Victor's knees cave in. Richard was a very influential person, one that must not be messed with.
"I don't even like cookies. You know I'm a sucker for some sweet vanilla cupcakes!" Richard frowned, his eyes now glued to the blonde vision, eagerly waiting for him to join her at the table.
"Yeah, you could never resist cupcakes." Victor agreed. They were Richard's thing and everyone knew that.
"And, have you learned nothing? Seriously? Blonde hair, blue eyes…" Richard sighed. This was the opposite of the kind of woman that he would feel attracted to.
"Yeah, I guess I screwed up royally. You're more of a Cleopatra type of a guy - dark hair, dark eyes, dark soul, dark lipstick, dark everything basically…"
Richard nodded. That was exactly what he liked.
"So, you're canceling on this date?" Victor asked, as if it wasn't obvious by then.
"Nope." Richard smirked. "You are canceling on this insane stunt that cannot and will not be named a 'date'. Ever!"
With those words, Richard took his first steps towards the exit of the restaurant.
"So, if it shall come with a last minute cancellation cost, you mean I can't charge it to you?" Victor called out.
"Oh, please do. I freaking dare you!" Richard responded without even turning around to face his best friend.
He was mortified by the situation he had just been put in.
An hour later, given that his tranquil evening plans with his best friend had been ruined, he found himself opening the door to his home and entering, but with a very weird feeling inside his stomach.
This was weird. Why would he feel this way? Richard loved his Parisian home, he had re-decorated everything, renovated the kitchen. It looked like the picture perfect image, fresh out of an interior design magazine. It wasn't a mess and it was not dirty. It was huge, numerous bedrooms and bathrooms, if he ever had any guests coming over.
And then it hit him – he didn't really have any friends. All the people who ever stayed over were work-related or the friends of his colleagues. But Richard had none, apart from Victor and yet, after the restaurant fiasco he wasn't sure where him and Victor stood anymore.
He sighed, walking in his bedroom – his sanctuary. He had always loved retrieving in his own space, stripping down from the costume and just minding his own business as much as he could. And yet, his job required him to be alert, day and night, 24/7. It also involved unplanned traveling, a lot of insecurity and instability and, above all – tons of responsibility.
He loved his job. He knew how good he was at his job.
He also loved his house and his bedroom…
But something wasn't giving him any peace of mind.
His job was making him go crazy after he came back from that one week, his house was now making him feel like he was suffocating and his bedroom was…empty.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he picked up a framed photo. It was of him and his late wife, from the day they had gotten married. That photo never left the bedside table and he had never felt like he wanted it to do so. It was there, as a reminder of a love he once had, a life he once lived, a person he once thought he'd spend his entire life with. And, in a way, this woman really did spend her entire life with him. But now he was the one alive…and he had to spend the rest of his life with someone else instead.
"Ugh, Victor…" He murmured to himself, realizing that those assumptions that had just ran through his mind, were things that Victor had been trying to convince him of, for so long.
For years, they had gone out for drinks, Victor had done anything and everything, just so that Richard would find a woman he'd finally be interested in. And no results. Nothing at all. At most, Richard would date someone for a few days, a week, a month even. And then he'd break it off in the most non-emotional way and he would continue working, like nothing had happened. It often left Victor confused – was Richard acting or was he really this chill and okay with dumping someone? Plus, some of the women he had gone out with were more than suitable companions for him – smart, educated women, somewhat his age, interested in knowing more about him. And yet, he had dumped each one of them without hesitation.
From Richard's point of view, none of those women were ever equals to him. Yes, some were influential, like him, so he knew they didn't want him because of his status or money. But they were so incredibly stuck up and poised, with their perfect table manners and their eloquent way of speaking, the perfectly coordinated small hand gestures and their goddamn sense of superiority. They would always agree with whatever he said, only because of who he was. And that was boring, non-stimulating, at all. He didn't need a pushover by his side.
No. He needed a strong woman, one who would not be afraid to speak her mind and to put him in place, if he was in the wrong. A woman who would challenge him intellectually, not bow in his feet and obey his every wish without objections. No. He wanted a woman who would make him go insane, deny him, toy with him, make him only see some of her, thus making him want to find out the rest. In his mind, the perfect woman would be such an incredible tease that he would lose his mind, just by looking at her. She'd have a dirty mind, she had to, he wanted her to. She'd say the most suggestive things in the most innocent way, randomly, just blurting them out during a conversation and she'd make him feel so uncomfortable. But he would love it, he would let her continue because she'd be just so damn perfect, in her perfectly imperfect kind of way. She'd be attractive, but on the inside. Although, the outside had to be pleasant to the eye, as well. And he had a very specific type – dark hair, dark eyes, dark lipstick, dark soul…Cleopatra-like, just as Victor had said earlier.
He also had a very specific woman in mind.
With a sigh, he let his head rest against the headboard of his bed and he grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
"God, if you only knew…" He muttered to himself, quietly, while looking at a photo he had recently snapped, at the beach…with someone with dark hair, dark eyes, dark lipstick and dark soul.
And she was beautiful. In the photo, she was smiling wide and he was kissing her cheek. A spur of the moment thing. A spontaneous little gesture right before she had hit the button. The photo was imperfectly beautiful, just like her. It was out of focus, a little blurry in the background, but the one thing clearly visible was the two people in it.
He shook his head, not wanting to let himself believe that it was really over. She would be crazy if she called him, not after what he had done to her. He was well aware of the incredible amount of pain he had caused her and he knew that he would never hear from her again. Never see her again. Never hold her again. Never kiss her again. He'd never be able to tell her exactly how he felt about her and exactly why he had to do what he did.
He knew she would understand, if he had the chance to explain. But he also knew that she would never give him that chance. She was way too headstrong. Intelligent. Clearly high-power kind of a woman. Strong. Opinionated. She was straight-forward, not afraid to speak her mind. She had continuously challenged him and she had no problems putting him in his place. She had a dirty mind and a mouth that was not filtering things properly. She managed to say the most suggestive things, in the most spontaneous kind of way, making him double check whether she actually meant to say that, or maybe it was his own dirty mind, playing tricks on him. And it was always her mind, her dirty, inappropriate mind and her dirty jokes and her suggestive way of speaking…her perfection, through all of her imperfections.
"God, woman…why did it have to be you? Out of all the people in the world. You!" He groaned unhappily, knowing the complicity of the situation.
He kept on shaking his head, in complete disbelief that this was happening to him. She was right there, smiling at him, but from the screen of his phone. A photo – this was all he had left of the first woman, no – the only woman who had made him feel something so real, so true, so beautiful, after he had lost his wife.
