Alex Blake; 2012
Working for the FBI, especially in the field, required a person to have a certain level of tolerance for early morning flights, painfully long car rides, and a perpetual feeling of jet-leg. That didn’t mean, however, that one couldn’t be immeasurably thankful for a day (or two, or three) of paperwork in Quantico.
Alex Blake lay down her pen, which was quickly running out of ink, and covered a large yawn with her hand. Recovering back from week-long, high pressure cases had been much easier during her first stint in the FBI, some 25 years ago. She could remember working for what felt like weeks on end without sleep during the Unabomber case, her first major case, her third one overall. She was 24 and felt like she could conquer the world. If you had told that Alex Blake that she would one day treasure these paperwork days, she would have laughed.
But, holy hell, they were a godsend.
Hotch, Rossi and Garcia were holed up in their respective offices, but JJ, Morgan, Reid, and herself had commandeered the briefing room, and had spread out all the overdue paperwork between them, in an effort to combine resources. There was very little actual work getting completed, though. Alex blamed JJ and Morgan.
They had propped Morgan’s iPhone up against a large pot of coffee and were watching a livestream of some random football game that obviously held great meaning for them, but which meant absolutely nothing to Alex. Every few minutes one or the other of them would let out a cheer, alerting Alex and Spencer to the game’s development. While Alex had no particular feeling for the game, it was glaringly obvious that Spencer despised it, mainly due to the fact that he wasn’t allowed to move the phone to reach for the coffee pot.
“You know JJ, I always forget that you were a jock.” He said, glaring at her with exaggerated malice.
“Thought you never forget anything.” She shot back, grinning.
Alex nearly laughed aloud at the look on Spencer’s face but was quickly distracted by Morgan’s loud “WHOOP”; which signified a touchdown for his team, whichever one that was. Spencer tried to stay pissed off at them, but it was an impossible task. Their joy was somewhat infectious.
Realising that no one was going to get any work done today until the game had ended, Alex took out the crossword puzzle that she had been working on in her free time and motioned for Spencer to take the seat beside her. He eagerly obliged with a pleased smile, and soon they were working together, breezing through clue after clue.
Before long they finished the puzzle, and eight more after that one. Their conversation flowed easily, as it always did. They talked of Spencer’s current research projects, Alex’s newest exploration of ancient language texts, and their lectures at Georgetown. Alex had invited Spencer to do another guest lecture in a few weeks’ time, and it did not escape her notice that his confidence had increased tenfold since his first class. Utterly ignoring the unofficial rules against inter-team profiling, she also took notice of the fact that he seemed more confident in general. More confident, more content, and more covert.
Alex smiled as he launched into a long monologue on the links between geographical profiling and linguistic profiling on state boundaries. God bless you, Phone-Booth-Girl, she thought. Spencer looked happier than she had ever seen him before, and it made her happy in turn.
It made her feel proud.
Proud of this incredible kid, not so kid-like anymore, who obliterated her record of youngest FBI recruit by two and a half solid years. Who she first met as a 19-year old Caltech student who was so eager to learn about linguistics, despite his Chemistry thesis submission date looming. He had a thirst for knowledge that she both envied and adored.
She hated herself for feeling proud and hated herself for hating it.
When she first met the impossibly young Dr Reid, her son Ethan had been dead for less than a year, and she made no connection between them. Ethan in her mind at that point was a sickly young boy, in pain and nauseatingly pale. The only memories her grief-addled mind could conjure of her baby were despairing, and utterly unlike the rambling, awkward teenager that asked her endless questions on the links between Balto-Slavic and Iranian dialects.
It was only when she officially re-joined the FBI and got transferred to the BAU that she noticed the connection between the two of them, and she was floored with emotion. The curly mop on top of his head, with kind hazel eyes underneath. A quiet yet infectious laugh. A wealth of kindness and empathy in him.
But she was not his mother, and he was not her son.
So why did he gravitate to her for advice, and why did she glow with pride when she sees him succeed?
She was not his mother, and he was not her son, but sometimes the lines got blurred. Neither of them minded, really. Life was too short and too hard to push away genuine love.
She thinks that her Ethan and Spencer would have been friends; that her baby boy would gain an older brother in the young doctor. They would ramble to each other about dinosaurs and outer space and Star Wars.
”GOD. MOTHERFUCKING. DAMMIT.”
Morgan’s exclamation followed by JJ’s delighted holler yanked her out of her thoughts, and she caught sight of Spencer diving for the coffee pot as Morgan removed his phone, signifying the end of the match that JJ’s team quite obviously won.
“Use your nice words, Derek.” JJ gently chided
“What?”
JJ immediately blushed bright red and tried to explain (over Morgan and Spencer’s laughter) that spending 48 hours around a 7 year old made it difficult to re-adjust to being around adults again.
And then JJ was eagerly telling stories to the boys about Henry. How he was getting so much better at riding his bike, how he was currently obsessed with Ben-10, how his favourite colour was now blue.
Alex remained silent even as Morgan and Spencer asked JJ endless questions about her little boy. It was hard, sometimes, hearing this wonderful young mother talk of her wonderful young son. Although she had never met Henry, Alex knew he was a delightful boy, and cute as a button. She wanted to tell JJ to treasure every moment she has with him, to allow her eyes to roam over every freckle on his face and commit them to memory. To hold him at night as she reads him a bedtime story and to ruffle his hair at breakfast each morning and remind him to tie his shoes.
Because one day that might all be taken from her, and no matter how much she might love her job, and the surrogates she finds within it, nothing will compare.
Alex was not Spencer’s mother, and he was not her son. They didn’t care. They loved each other.
But she still missed her Ethan with every breath she takes.
Work helped, even though she was technically now Erin Strauss’ subordinate by several clearance levels, which irritated her to her very core. The work was hard, but immeasurably rewarding.
The work left a lot of unfinished paperwork.
“Does anyone have a copy of the autopsy of victim number two from the Wisconsin case?”
She felt slightly bad interrupting JJ’s gushing, but she did want to be home before midnight.
“I think Rossi has it in his office.” Morgan supplied, and she nodded in thanks before making her way to collect it.
She remembers hearing of the Great David Rossi when she first joined the FBI. Their paths even crossed once or twice, but he was too distracted by building up the BAU or divorcing his second wife or collecting cigars to take notice of some random hotshot kid working in the terror unit. Older age had somewhat mellowed him, not that she’d say that to his face. She had more self-preservation than that.
Her knock on the door was quickly followed by a grunt which she assumed meant “come on in”. Before she could open her mouth however, Rossi had bolted out of his chair, and was nearly skipping towards her.
“Blake! Just the person I was hoping to see. This is a very important question: Are you allergic to anything?”
She looked at him in slight confusion. “No?”
“Fantastic! Dinner at mine tonight. I know, I know. Its very last minute, but Garcia just informed me via a very frantic phone call that today is Morgan’s 10th anniversary of being at the BAU. Now if that isn’t cause for a celebration, what is?”
Alex couldn’t help but smile. What a wonderful, wonderful team she had found herself a part of.
The paperwork could wait.