Essential listening – Home, by Daughtry

0o0

Erasmus wrote, "What else is the whole life of mortals but a sort of comedy, in which the various actors, disguised by various costumes and masks, walk on and plays each one his part until the manager waves him off the stage."

0o0

There was a pumpkin full of candy on her desk when she got in, along with a model of a skeleton that looked like he had been caught mid-pirouette. It grinned up at her conspiratorially.

Grace stared at them.

She glanced around the bullpen, which was empty and dark at this early hour. Several of the neighbouring desks held the commercial accoutrements of Samhain. They looked marvellously out of place on the sober and orderly desks of her fellow FBI agents. The level of frivolity seemed utterly alien here, in a way that it wouldn't elsewhere, as if some mischievous Halloween ghoul had flitted around the BAU overnight, joyfully wreaking havoc in the usually sedate office.

For a moment, she wondered if it might have been Penelope, but quickly dismissed the thought. Garcia, Morgan, Prentiss and Grace had been out late the night before, swapping stories about their new senior agent, a man who was legendary even in the Met. Grace had read all of his books and was curious to see what this rock star of behavioural science was like in real life. His writing style was candid and engaging, and she was hoping the general gregariousness his books hinted at would be present in the man himself.

By the time the four of them had left the bar it had been about midnight and Garcia had been asleep on her feet. There was no way she'd have been able to sneak back to the office to decorate it.

There was even a plastic ghost attached to the door of Hotch's office. The one place that had not suffered the hand of tasteless plastic decoration, she noted, was Gideon's old office. She guessed that even now that would be considered sacrilege.

She deposited the pumpkin and the skeleton on the top of her 'out' tray in the optimistic hope that one of the filing ninjas might take them away, and settled down to work.

By the time Hotch rolled in (far too early, as usual), she had made a decent headway into the stack of reports, debriefs and requests on her desk.

"Good morning," he said, clearly surprised to see anyone else at the office this early in the morning. "You're in early."

His eyes flicked to the plastic skeleton and back to her; he frowned slightly.

"They were here when I got in," she said. "I think we may have had a visit from the Halloween fairy. I couldn't sleep."

Hotch nodded in a resigned sort of way that suggested this sort of thing happened every year – and that he had a reasonable idea about the identity of the culprit.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "It just happens sometimes."

He nodded again. Lack of sleep was an occupational hazard around here. She watched him climb the stairs to his door and calmly remove the ghost from his door. He was still smiling faintly when he hung it on the bookshelf behind his desk.

Grace laughed. Perhaps this strange, overblown version of Halloween had its place after all.

0o0

"Uh – okay…" said Emily, dropping her bag on her desk. She picked up the large, fake spider from on top of her keyboard and gave Grace an inquisitive look.

"Don't look at me," she said. "My idea of Halloween is a private expression of respect to the dead and a party where you eat until you burst."

Emily laughed.

"I like the sound of that."

"The sound of what?" Morgan asked and then paused, taking note of the severed head on his desk. "Oh man, not again."

"I take it this happens every year then?" Grace asked Emily, who shrugged.

"I wouldn't know – I wasn't here last year."

"Every year," Morgan sank into his seat, grumpily. "Man, I hate Halloween."

Grace and Emily shared a look and decided that they didn't want to know.

There was relative peace in the bullpen for the next ten minutes as the agents went through their morning routine of checking files and clearing emails before the inevitable 8.30 briefing.

Movement caught her eye and she looked up as a ridiculously tall, skinny Frankenstein's monster, complete with noose and giant fake hands, handed candy to a grinning colleague from a large plastic cauldron.

Ah-hah, she thought. The mischievous ghoul revealed.

She should have known, really – his desk was covered in pumpkins, spiders and masks. The apparition put an oversized monster finger to his lips in a conspiratorial fashion. Grace watched, fascinated, as he crept up behind Morgan, the costume giving him the confidence he usually lacked.

"Waurgh!" he growled, getting the monster head only inches behind Morgan's head. "I'm going to eat you!"

Both Grace and Emily burst out laughing as Morgan jumped out of his skin.

"Reid!" he complained, exasperated.

"Happy All Hallows Eve, folks," said Reid, pushing the monster head far enough off his face that he could grin at them. "To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night all order is suspended and the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are temporarily remooooved!"

He put on what he clearly felt was a spooky voice and flung a shrunken head at Prentiss, who caught it, laughing.

"See that right there is why Halloween creeps me out," said Morgan, clearly still in a huff from Reid getting the drop on him.

"You're scared of Halloween?" Reid asked, surprised.

"I didn't say I was scared, I said I was creeped out," said Morgan, as his team mates shared a 'yeah, we believe you', kind of look. "There's a difference there youngster, you should look it up."

Grace snorted at Reid's don't-give-me-that face.

"Don't tell me you're against Halloween, too," Reid said, eyeing the pumpkin and skeleton in Grace's 'out' tray, which were about as far from her as they could feasibly get without actually being in the bin. Grace shrugged. "I'd have thought it would be right up your alley," he sounded a little disappointed, which surprised her, but his voice lost that edge when he continued, "What with all the ghosts and ghouls."

Grace laughed as he waved oversized monster hands in her direction.

"You are so weird," she said, fondly, and threw a sweet at him. "I guess I see enough of the occult the rest of the year – and all this –" she gestured at the décor. "It's just window dressing."

"Window dressing can be fun," Reid said, and deposited a purple witch's hat on her head. She glared at him, an effect which was possibly spoilt by the answering smile that was developing on her face.

"You didn't celebrate Halloween in London?" Emily asked, amused.

"Not like this," she allowed, which she felt covered all the basics of the truth and absolutely none of the details. "Usually I was on duty."

She grinned properly then, realising that she wouldn't be spending all of the day in the pissing rain, lining the old drover's route out of the City of London. The thought cheered her up considerably.

"So, what creeps you out about it?" Emily asked, as Grace removed the hat and – in deference to her enthusiastic friend – balanced it jauntily on the corner of her computer monitor.

"I don't know," said Morgan, leaning back in his chair. "People wearin' masks," he shook his head. "I don't like folk in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid declared. "You can be anyone you wanna be."

He tossed some candy at Morgan, who dodged it with ease.

"Nah, I'm pretty good jus' bein' me," said Morgan.

Emily grinned at Grace.

"Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"

Grace laughed.

"You know what though, on the flipside," said Morgan, as though it had just occurred to him. "It does provide a pretty good reason to cosy up with a scary flick – and a little Halloween honey."

He winked. Grace rolled her eyes.

"Ew," Emily remarked, pulling a face. "Halloween honey? Now I'm creeped out."

"Guys," said Reid, in a quiet, urgent voice. "He's here…"

They followed his gaze to the agent being led through the bullpen by Erin Strauss. Grace looked over his expensive, understated suit and general air of assurance, and wondered why a man so obviously confident in this setting would ever retire. He couldn't help but smile as Reid realised he still had a Halloween mask on his head and tried to hide it behind his back.

Promising, Grace thought.

The team watched him climb the stairs to Hotch's office; Reid was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Stand down, fan-boy," she teased; he stuck out his tongue.

0o0

Hotch glanced up from his files when Strauss walked in, obviously hoping to main an air of professionalism despite the temperament of the man following her.

"Agent Hotchner, I'm sure you remember –" Strauss began, but she was cut off.

"Dave!" Aaron grinned.

"How are you, Aaron?" Rossi asked, beaming.

"I'm good – I'm great."

They gave each other the man hug of men who had faith in the other man's ability to keep their cases in order and colleagues alive – and their faces straight in front of Chief Strauss.

"I'd say so!"

"Saw you on TV last week," said Hotch. "Can't believe you wanna come back here."

Grinning, David Rossi shrugged, and Hotch decided that even if he was back for personal reasons they could really use the help. As one man, they turned, realising that Strauss was still watching them, aware that she was being cut out of this particular conversation. She also seemed to notice their expressions were a kind of challenge, but she chose not to rise to it.

"Well, I'll let the two of you catch up," she said, allowing herself to be dismissed. "If you need anything, I'll be in my office."

Hotch gave her a small smile; she was learning, if a little slowly. A lifetime of office politics took a while to dissipate.

"Thanks," said Rossi, as she departed.

Both men released slightly, pleased to have found an ally in one another.

"So, how long's it been?" Aaron asked, when she'd gone.

"Dinner, almost three years ago," Rossi reminded him. "But the last time I was in the BAU, you were sharing a desk with two other agents in that God awful bunker we were in."

"I remember," said Hotch, smiling.

"Congratulations," said Rossi, and meant it.

"Thanks," said Hotch, glancing around his office. "Well, there's one just like this next door, if you're interested."

He looked back to find JJ waiting for an opening.

"I'm ready to give the briefing," she told him, jerking her thumb towards the open door.

"Agent Jareau, this is SSA David Rossi," said Aaron, with a nod.

"Hi," JJ shook his hand, warmly. "Everyone calls me JJ. It is such an honour to meet you, sir. I've heard a lot about you."

"Thank you," Rossi smiled, impressed. "And – what's you're function here?"

"Uh – I'm the communications coordinator and liaison – pretty much the go between for the team and the rest of the world," she added, with a grin at Hotch, who smiled back indulgently.

In many ways, without JJ, they'd be lost.

"So, I'll gather everyone?" she asked.

"We'll be right there."

"It's so nice to have you here, sir," JJ said, shaking Rossi's hand again.

"Wow," said Rossi, appreciatively, when she'd left. "We didn't have that ten years ago."

"What do you mean?"

Rossi paused for a moment.

"Communications coordinator."

"Right," said Hotch, who didn't believe him for a second. He remembered Rossi's glory days; he'd have to keep an eye on that, at least to start with. "Well, a lot's changed. Come and meet the team."

0o0

By the time Hotch and Rossi emerged from the office, Grace had given up on work entirely and was perched on the edge of her desk, deep in debate with Reid about the origins of Halloween and its – in her view – flagrant commercialisation. She got to her feet as they approached, while Reid finally pulled off the rest of his 'window dressing'.

"SSA David Rossi, this is SSA Emily Prentiss," Hotch said, with a smile.

Grace hid a smirk. You could count Hotch's smiles on two hands, most months, so she took this, too, as a good sign. She watched Rossi take in her team.

"Sir," said Emily, brightly, as she shook his hand.

"SSA Derek Morgan."

"It's an honour, Agent Rossi," said Morgan, taking his turn to shake the man's hand.

"Please, just Dave," said Rossi, with an easy smile.

"SSA Grace Pearce."

"Nice to meet you, sir," she said, nodding.

His handshake was firm – not because he thought that it gave people the impression of integrity, but because Agent Rossi actually had it.

"Little far from home, aren't we?" he asked, on hearing her accent.

"Depends on where you think home is," she said, smiling.

"And Dr Spencer Reid," Hotch finished.

Grace made an effort not to roll her eyes as Reid launched into an inquisition on psycho-linguistics and the Scarsdale Strangler. Some days he did himself no favours.

Hotch decided to intercede.

"Reid, slow down," he advised. "Uh, he'll be here for a while. You can catch up with him later."

"Oh yeah, right. Right, sorry," Reid apologised at high speed.

"No problem, Doctor," said Rossi, affably.

"Maybe you guys can talk on the jet."

"Oh yeah – that'd be great!"

"The jet?" Rossi asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah," said Hotch, clearly entertained. "We have a jet now."

"Are you serious?"

Grace grinned, remembering her own surprise. She guessed that when David Rossi was last here, the department had been roughly the same size as the UCU back home.

"Yeah," said Hotch, loftily. "It comes in pretty handy. Come on," he grinned. "JJ's waiting."

0o0o0o0

"You do realise it's November now?" Reid complained, shivering. "Anything you plant is going to freeze to death. Much like we are," he added darkly, under his breath.

"Not everything," Grace told him, cheerfully. "And if you're that cold you can always go inside, no one's stopping you."

She pushed her seed drill deep into the welcoming earth and smiled, happy to be outside and working with the freshly tilled soil. It even smelled good.

"Besides, it's quite warm enough a few inches down, especially for hardy things like these."

She pressed a broad bean into the shelter of the hole and covered it with a blanket of soil.

"Lucky for them," Reid muttered. Grace ignored him. "Anyway, I can't go inside if you're out here, that would be rude," he said, in a pained voice.

"You could always go home," Grace observed, and laughed, correctly interpreting his grumpy silence. He wanted to continue their earlier discussion about Halloween, and he couldn't do that on his own. "Well then, stop bloody complaining and help me get these sets in," she said, moving onto the next row.

"Grace," he said, voice full of doubt. "Anything you give me to plant is going to die."

She laughed again.

"Have a little faith in yourself, Doctor," she said. "One clove of garlic per hole, okay?"

He huffed, taking the large bulb out of her hands with obvious reluctance.

They worked together in companionable silence for a while; Grace showed him the proper distance to plant onions and winter peas. He seemed happy enough to follow instructions, though he did grumble occasionally about the cold.

"You could dig the asparagus bed instead, if you'd prefer," she offered, tartly. "That'll warm you up."

"I – um – I think I'll stick to onions, thanks," he said, shooting the spade a dubious look that made Grace tip her head back and roar with laughter.

It didn't help that he looked so cute with that cross little frown on his face, cheeks pinked from the cold. She left him to his own devices and went to swear at the asparagus bed for a bit.

"You know," he said, after a while, "I think you curse more than any person I've ever met."

Grace turned to find him watching her, speculatively. He had soil on his face now, as she did, and looked marginally more comfortable in the mud-covered chaos that pretty soon would be a working garden.

"Well, everyone needs a hobby," she grinned. "Pass me a sparrow grass?"

Spencer laughed and shook his head at her. He helped her get ten crowns of asparagus bedded down for the winter before either of them spoke again. Grace dusted her hands off, satisfied at the afternoon's work.

"That just leaves the rhubarb," she thought aloud. "Which won't come until next week anyway."

"Are you planning to feed all of Quantico?" Reid asked, amused.

"No, just me," she told him, giving him a gentle, playful shove. "I always feel better when I've got a decent garden planted. More grounded – more at home."

They smiled at one another for a moment.

"Cup of tea?"

"Thanks."

"Anyway, you know statistically speaking, people who swear a lot are more honest," she told him, pulling her wellies off.

Spencer pinned her with a look of abject incredulity. He scoffed.

"Tch-yeah, whatever. Cite your source!"

0o0

Well, that's all for now, folks. Bit of a weird ending, but it's been that kind of story, really. Should be putting up the first chapter of the next Ficisode, Absent Friends, next week or the week after :) Click Author Alert if you want to be the first to see it! Thanks, as usual, need to go to my regular reviewers, MuggleCreator, gossamermouse101, xenocanaan and dianikis – you lot rock more than Dobby in a sock ;) Thanks, also, to the rest of you lovely reviewers – it's a cliché, but you guys keep me writing. Toodlepip!