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As most things do, it started out very mundane.
There were no cases that day. The FBI had set it aside as a paperwork day - time to catch up on reports, forms, filing, and all things incredibly boring. Suffice it to say, Spencer had gotten bored. Very bored. Not just bored, though; bored and hungry.
He abandoned his half-finished expense report and headed for the elevator.
Derek called out after him.
“Where are you going, Pretty Boy?”
Spencer answered, one word passing his lips as the doors began to close.
“Food.”
Ordinarily, he’d just head for the break room. They have plenty of snacks in there, as well as good coffee. Today though, Spencer wants something. Something better. Something delicious and junky and shelf stable. That calls for a trip to the Cyber Crimes unit. Now, don’t be mistaken, he doesn’t need anything from the agents in Cyber Crimes; he needs their vending machine.
The Cyber Crimes vending machine is the best in the whole building. It’s got the best selection — everything from candy bars to nut mixes. It’s also well-stocked. In all the time Spencer’s been here, he hasn’t seen a single slot empty. Best of all, it’s well-maintained. Because Cyber Crimes work late hours, they make frequent trips for snacks. The FBI knows this. The machine gets serviced at least bimonthly. It doesn’t reject bills, doesn’t jam, and doesn’t shake violently like some of the other machines.
Well, it didn’t use to.
Spencer does everything exactly as he always would. He loaded his money into the slot. He punched in his number — seventy-three, sour cream and onion crisps. He pressed the confirm key. And…
Nothing.
He re-punched the number. He re-pressed confirm. Still nothing. Looking at the screen above the keypad, he sees an error code has been displayed. Spencer’s money comes back out of the slot.
This was new. The machine had never done this before. Spencer was baffled. He’s never usually baffled, especially by machinery. He has an advanced degree in engineering; there isn’t much he can’t figure out. He’s dealt with malfunctions and meltdowns, engines and error codes. Of all the machines there are, there are only two he can’t fix. One of those is printers. The other just rejected his cash.
He does the only thing he can think to do. He does the same thing all over again. Money in. Number in. Press confirm. Wait.
This time, it works! The spring starts to turn, and his crisps roll forward. The machine even spits out his change. All is going well. Until it isn’t. The spring freezes up. His chips, still caught halfway behind the metal, freeze too. Everything halts. He’s back where he started.
Once again, he does the only thing he can think of.
Now he has two bags of stuck crisps and nothing he can do about it.
His engineering studies have come to nothing. He’s no better than the common man — fully dominated by the machinery around, helpless to function without it, and helpless to repair it. He feels hopeless. Worthless. Stupid. He can’t stand it. So, instead of leaving well enough alone, he throws caution to the wind. He’s an engineer, dammit! He can fix anything. He puts the full strength of his education behind himself, and confidently approaches the side of the machine. There’s got to be a way to fix it, and he’s going to find it.
First up: turning it off and on again.
He shimmies into the gap between this machine and the one next to it. It’s tight, but he wiggles through. He reaches around behind the machine, searching for the switch. He flicks it. He counts to three, patiently as ever. He switches it back on. And he pulls his arm back out.
Well, he tries to pull it back out. It’s at this point that he wonders if maybe the gap had been a little bit too tight. He tries again to pull his arm back out.
Now he has two problems: switching it off and on again didn’t work, and he’s now jammed behind it.
Thankfully, the elevator opens to reveal Derek. Likewise, he’s become bored enough to seek out a snack. He walks in just as Spencer smacks the front of the machine with his palm. (That does about as much as you’d expect, exactly nothing).
“Something wrong, Pretty Boy?”
“Morgan!” He calls, “The vending machine’s broken.”
Like Spencer, Derek finds this hard to believe. After all, it’s never been broken before. He examines it — just as Spencer had. He looks at the two packets of stuck crisps, at the error code, and at Spencer jammed behind the machine.
“Okay, Reid, hold tight,” said Derek, “I’ll get you out.”
Derek may not have an engineering degree, but he’s not dumb either. Equal parts brain and brawn, the solution comes to him naturally. He steps up to the machine. Bracing a hand on either side, he gives the machine a good shake.
“No!” Calls Spencer. “A fully-stocked vending machine can weigh up to nine-hundred kilograms! You’ll get hurt.”
“Relax Reid, I’ve done this before.”
He shakes it vigorously, which does absolutely nothing except scare Spencer enough to make him scream more facts about vending machine injuries and deaths. It’s enough to discourage Derek from shaking it further. He takes a different approach.
He squats down to level with the retrieval slot. With all the grace of a mallet, he shoves his hand up into the machine. He manages to wedge it far enough to get at the crisps. He grabs both bags. All is well. Crisis resolved. He pulls his arm back out.
Well, he tries to pull it back out. Reaching for the second bag had twisted his watch strap into a strange position; it had hooked over the spring. As he moved to pull it back out, it had tangled further. He can only move it about two inches in any direction.
(And yes, before you ask, he did try wiggling it around a lot. It hadn’t helped at all).
“Maybe we should’ve stayed with shaking it, huh, Reid?” He says sarcastically.
Spencer kicks him in the shins for that one.
One damsel in vending-machine distress has turned into two. Instead of rescuing Spencer from his peril, Derek ended up dragged down into it. Now there are two highly-trained, intelligent FBI agents stuck in and around a vending machine. It can’t really get much worse. At least, that’s what Elle thinks when she finds them like that a half-hour later.
“Sitting down on the job, gentlemen?”
Derek rolls his eyes, “Very funny, Greenaway. You got anything useful to say?”
Instead of answering, she wanders off to the closest office. She returns moments later with two things: A car, and her car keys.
“The slot isn’t the only way to get into a vending machine, and it’s definitely not the safest.” She scoffs. “There’s a switch on the top that opens the front panel. I’ve just got to flick it, and then I’ll be able to get you free, Morgan. Then the two of us can tilt the machine and get Boy Genius out, too.”
Sounds simple, doesn’t it?
She confidently climbs up onto the chair and jimmies her keys into the small gap. It hits the latch, just as planned. It gives her enough space to slide the door forward slightly. She pulls herself away from the machine.
Well, she tries to pull herself away from the machine.
During her break-in attempt, she’d leant over the top of the door. Her necklace had fallen down into the gap. It remained caught as she tried to pull away; as she yanked herself backwards, the chain stopped her, causing the energy to be displayed. This caused her to wobble, and in an attempt to not fall off the not-very-stable office chair, she slammed her hand against the front of the vending machine. It latched shut again. The force of the movement caused her to drop her keys.
Two FBI agents stuck in a vending machine had become three .
The suspicious lack of agents in his bullpen drew Hotch to them an hour later. He found them, trapped on top of, inside of, and around the vending machine. Phone in hand, he snapped some very incriminating pictures.
“Hotch, you gonna give us a hand?” Derek asked.
“No.” Answered Hotch. It was a very sensible answer.
He didn’t stay long after that. He turned on his heel and headed back to his office. Unlike the others, he knew his limitations. Vending machine repair and agent rescue were definitely outside his pay grade. He did the only smart thing. He called the vending machine technician and called it a day.
Then, he printed a new sign for the vending machine. It read:
No Tipping
No Shaking
No Reaching into the slot
And NO HELPING OTHERS!!!