Derek Morgan paused in the doorway of the office, unnoticed by the man sitting alone in the middle of the room, surrounded by computers and equipment. He had his back to the door and was clearly talking to someone on the other end of his headset. Judging by the fond exasperation in his voice, Morgan guessed that person was young, female, and cute. He waited patiently until the other man had finished his conversation and returned his attention the the computer in front of him before speaking.
“Still flirting with danger, eh Anderson?”
August “Auggie” Anderson rolled his sightless eyes at the open doorway of his office and the man undoubtedly leaning against the door frame like some supermodel, not pausing in his typing.
“Like you’re one to talk, Morgan,” he replied easily, hitting a last key and standing up to stretch. “I remember the Sheila Meyers incident at Basic.”
He could hear the laughter in his friend’s voice as a familiar, calloused hand clasped his in warm greeting. “Some spy in training you were. Your so-called intel was what got me into that mess in the first place.”
Auggie smirked but didn’t deny it, reclaiming his seat and gesturing for the other man to find one as well. “So, what brings Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan of the FBI into CIA territory? The annual softball game isn’t for another three months.”
“This is serious, Aug. I need your help.”
Auggie cocked his head. “Personal or professional?”
“Both.” Morgan said quietly. “This is deep, Blackjack.”
Auggie froze at the sound of the nickname that had been given to him at basic training nearly five years earlier. Whether you wanted to work for the CIA or FBI, all new recruits spent a year of basic training, doing the civilian equivalent of Special Forces training with a few exceptions, mostly in tactics and weapons. The people you went in with became your yearmates, your bunkmates, your teammates, and your family.
All merriment vanished from his face. “Give me a sec.” Tapping his fingers ina complex pattern on his keyboard, he waited for the beep that signaled that they were secure. “We can hear out but they can’t hear in,” he explained. “The walls still have eyes and ears, and so do bossy blondes with killer legs. Talk. Fast.”
Auggie was shaking his head before the second word was out of Morgan’s mouth. “No. I can’t.”
“No, Morgan. You’re practically family to me–”
“–I am family. Your pain in the ass brother married my baby sister.”
“I still maintain that Drew was adopted. Besides, Sarah is your older sister.”
“Let me maintain the facade of playing the indignant big bad brother just once, would you?”
“If I can’t then you can’t.” Auggie retorted. “All that aside, I can’t tell you what you want to know. Although–” he cocked his heads slightly as the faint jangle of jewelry caught his ears. “You may get some answers, thought I doubt they’ll be to what you were looking for. Bossy blonde with killer legs, headed this way.”
Morgan turned to see the head of the Domestic Protection Division, Joan Campbell, heading straight for Auggie’s office. “Shit. E and E, Aug-man. She’s got that look.” His eyes widened as he noticed another familiar blonde hot on Joan’s heels. “Uh-oh.”
Auggie smirked, fingers flying across the keyboard to quickly unlock the security mechanisms. “No man left behind, right?”
“That’s the Marines, jerkwad.” Morgan grumbled, bracing himself.
“Morning, Joan,” Auggie said cheerfully just before she stepped into the office.
There was a reason why Joan Campbell was the head of the DPD–and it wasn’t because she was married to the Director of the CIA. Cool blue eyes swept over Morgan briefly before turning to her companion.
“Auggie, you remember my niece, Agent Jennifer Jareau, don’t you?”
“Niece?” Both men repeated increduously.
“My friends call me J.J.” J.J. smirked at Morgan and shook Auggie’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you, Agent Anderson.”
“Auggie,” he corrected, intrigued. Her voice was low and smooth, and she smelled of something fresh and light, like she had just come in from a walk on the beach.
“Agent Morgan.” She finally acknowledged Morgan, raising her brows at him in query. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Visiting an old friend.” He replied. “What are you doing here?”
“You two know each other?” Auggie interjected, confused by the undercurrents suddenly flowing past him.
“J.J. and I worked together in the BAU for seven years before she was transferred to the Department of Defense as a communications liaison.” He answered shortly.