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“Which one of you should I blame?”
“I’m offended by the quickness with which you’re accusing us,” Emily covers her heart with the palm of her hand.
“Hey we’re victims too, man!” Derek throws his once white shirt at Rossi. “You should be showing us some empathy, you understand our pain better than anyone else, but no, you’re too busy trying to find someone to blame.”
“It must be that stage of grief,” Emily adds, smiling at Rossi as his annoyance grows, yet cannot completely cover his amusement at their shenanigans, “anger or something.”
“Anger indeed. A Barba Napoli, gifted by my beloved mother!”
Emily’s eyes open wide, with false shock, “oh so it was a really old shirt then…”
“Ah, ah, Emily.” The dryness of his tone only causes the duo to smile more. Rossi shakes his head, resigned, “decades without any laundry accident and then I met you, people…”
***
Side glances and hushed voices were to be expected. Snarky comments as well. None of them bat an eye when the chief officer asks them whether it’s the BAU dress code or a questionable team effort to coordinate their outfits. “Bold choice,” he adds. Rossi’s words are too much of a mumble to be understood, but his expression doesn’t leave much room for doubt, they should know better than to speak their minds. But it’s Reid’s enthusiasm at retelling the history of colours that soon discourages any officer to say anything else.
Hotch sees their reflection in a tinted window. Bold choice, indeed.
***
The station has a cafeteria and their lunch break is taken there. Eyes are on the team, and they can’t even blame them, all too well aware of the absurdity of the scene — their little team wearing matching outfits in the middle of a crowd of men wearing their uniforms.
They sit together, eat in silence. Reid opens his mouth, wishing to break the unusual silence that has fallen among them. Emily raises her hand, “not now.” It’s rare enough coming from her for Reid to do as he’s told.
It’s not the only thing happening today that is out of the ordinary — Rossi’s dark stare and JJ’s sigh that he can’t fully explain. Penelope smiles at him, weakly. He smiles back, bright and genuine. Something is definitely troubling his friends, and something tells him it has nothing to do with the case.
***
“Trying to fit in?” The guard smirks at the sight of their shirts and they stare right back at him, their faces blank. No need to look down, they know what this is about. He lets them, his laugh echoing in the hallway growing more distant with each step.
“I swear to go if we get one more remark…” Emily doesn’t end her sentence. There wouldn’t be much she could do anyway.
When the inmate welcomes them, not matter how much she wishes she could wipe off that smug smile off his face, she can only clench her jaw. “That colour looks better on me anyway.”
Derek believes he should start counting the remarks they’re getting and get Emily to play drunk bingo with him — a comment, a shot. Hotch would disapproves. Rossi might find the prospect to bring him some comfort.
***
“A band,” Rossi says as he looks over the files, “or perhaps, a group of performers for a kid show. Wasn’t it the mandatory colour for Jack’s last year's school performance?” He gestures at himself, “uncle Dave could have joined.”
JJ smiles, “you’re only a year too late.” She pauses, “and a few decades too old.”
“What is it with you ladies reminding me of my old age?”
JJ isn’t sure what he’s referring to, but her bet’s on Emily. It would be accidental coming from Penelope, but from Emily? She’ll never back down from a chance to tease Rossi. Her phone buzzes and she sighs, “the mother’s here, wanna join me?”
“You should go alone, or she too might crack a joke on how we’re a little too early for Halloween.” He can read the question on JJ’s face, “at the coffee machine, earlier this morning, twice.”
***
It’s a surprise for Penelope to find the chief officer pacing in front of the room that has been given to her. “Something you needed, sir?” He babbles about the case and she knows his questions are only a pretence. “Something else?” She squints behind her glasses, looking closely at the man. He scratches his chin, she can tell he’s embarrassed.
“What is it with your team and that colour?”
Her smile drops. “An unfortunate incident.” Penelope can very clearly hear Rossi’s voice at the back of her mind, grumbling at how unfortunate is too weak of a word to describe the terrible fate his precious shirt has suffered. The man raises an eyebrow at her, silently urging her to elaborate. “I’m afraid if I told you more, the answer would be too much of a shock, sir.”
It’s a lie. It was an unfortunate incident, indeed. Quite an ordinary one, even, but the chief officer cannot know. He looks straight ahead, shock written on his face. “Dear god,” he whispers as he walks away, passing by Hotch and Reid making their way back to Penelope, “this team…”
“Do I want to know?” Hotch’s tone might be serious but his eyes are smiling.
“Probably not, sir.”
***
Emily and Spencer sit side by side at the back of the ambulance, letting the medics do their work. They’re silent, still shaken by the explosion and the loss of both the unsub and the latest victim, but their wounds are superficial.
A few bruises, a bloody brow bone, cuts here and there — “apart from their damaged shirts, they’ll be all fine,” the medic shares his examination results with Hotch.
Emily snorts, “our shirts were damaged long before that.”
The medic looks at her, frowns, wondering if she might have hit her head harder than he’d thought. Before he gets a chance to ask, Spencer’s eyes widen in realisation, “the shirts? That was what it was all about today? Simple shirts?”
Emily laughs, wraps an arm around his shoulder, “my advice Spence, if you do value your life, never let Rossi know you called his super fancy gifted by mama-Rossi shirt a simple shirt.”
***
The flight back is louder than usual. The kids, as he calls them in his mind, and only sometimes to Hotch, are all squeezed together around the same table, playing a game. Rossi wants no part in it, but they’re not easy to ignore.
“That’s cheating, baby girl.”
“How’s that against the rules when we never agreed on any?”
“Our queen here has a point, Morgan.”
“Remind me again Prentiss, whose fault it is that we couldn’t agree on any common rules?”
She laughs, “not my fault your rules sucked.”
JJ’s genuine laugh is loud, “yes, because yours were so much better, clearly.”
“It’s complete anarchy,” Spencer shakes his head, still unsure of how they’re playing the game. He’s played it with Henry before and the version he knows and the version he’s currently attempting to play with his friends couldn’t possibly be the same game. They should have gone with JJ’s rules.
“Uno’s the only game where the rules are whatever the players agree on, Reid.”
“And as our dear Penelope has pointed out, I don’t remember any of these players,” JJ draws a circle between them with her finger, “agreed on anything.”
“We need a neutral part.” Emily is suddenly shifting on her seat, “Rossi! Come make up some rules for us please.”
“Your children are calling for help,” he mumbles to Hotch, wishing they could just spare him for once.
“I’m afraid it’s you they’re calling for.”
Resigned, David stands in the aisle, hands on his hips, and sighing heavily. “You people need to finally become independent.”
“You know you could always retire if you’re too tired of us,” JJ shrugs, falsely pouting as she cannot hide her amused smile.
“But didn’t he try that already?” He shakes his head at Emily’s question and just waits for the rest of the snarky comment he knows is about to come. “Oh wait, he did but he was too bored all by himself! He’d miss us too much.”
“There’s no such thing as missing you too much, Emily.”
“Should I just go back to being dead then?” She’s grateful Derek laughs, but at Spencer’s wince, Emily bites her lips, “sorry, too soon, I get it.”
“At least dead, you weren’t killing the mood,” Spencer retorted, a proud smile curling up his lips at his own joke.
“Your joke feels like stab in my guts.”
“And you’d know about that,” Derek adds, earning a genuine laugh both from Emily and Spencer.
Rossi shakes his head again, “enough with the dead Emily jokes.”
“Oh, so you would miss me.”
“Ask me again and I might re-kill you myself.” He could have poked his tongue at her, but like the mature grown up he is, he refrains himself. “So, you, children, are in need of rules?”
***
Derek suggested it, or perhaps it was one of the girls; all of them do share a tendency to invite themselves over at his mansion — or house, as they call it just to annoy him. He doesn’t care. They fill the room after a difficult case, with loud conversations and genuine laughter. They’re forbidden in the kitchen unless it’s cooking night, but they’ll always sneak inside to steal a piece of whatever he’s cooking. Sometimes they’ll ring his doorbell on the weekend and invite themselves over. They’d listen to their favourite vinyl, play video games or bring board games with them. It’s their family house. His mansion’s their home, and Rossi could never be annoyed at that.
And today, he might try to use that to his advantage.
“Now that we’re all gathered here—”
“Oh dear, he’s about to announce Mrs Rossi number 4.”
Penelope gasps, JJ and Spencer both choke on their wine, Derek shakes his head at Emily and Hotch just smiles, remaining silent. “No, Emily, I am not. Please Penelope, try not to look so disappointed.”
“I was so looking forward to the wedding reception, I already had a dress in mind.”
“Nothing orange, I hope,” Derek whispers and a shared laugh spreads around the table.
“Thank you, Derek, for bringing that subject back. So, tell me now, who’s responsible for the fact that we looked like a merry bunch of clowns the entire day?”
“Pumpkins,” Reid corrects, “or carrots. Not clowns.”
Choosing to ignore the intervention, Rossi stays silent as he observes them one by one, searching for their tells — had they been unsub suspected of the most atrocious murders, he would not have looked at them much differently. He had been wronged and he would know who to blame for his suffering. JJ and both Prentiss and Morgan (even though he remains suspicious, that's a duo known to be quite chaotic at times) have all been ruled out from the very short list of suspects. It should be easy to tell. “Penelope, my dear, something you’d like to share with the rest of us?”
“I am offended, my beloved favourite cook, that you would so quickly accuse me of a crime I have not committed!”
“Prentiss and I know the feeling baby girl, we were the first ones he blamed. The corpse of my shirt wasn’t even cold yet.”
“And you’re surprised?” JJ asks, hiding her smirk by taking a sip of her wine.
Emily’s mouth opens in an o-shape, “oh you absolute traitor! She would have blamed us too!”
Rossi clears his throat, “we are losing sight of what matters here. Who did the laundry and cursed all of our shirts to become orange thanks to our lovely Penelope’s bright dress?”
“Not so bright anymore…”
“He’s awfully quiet,” Emily narrows her eyes, studying Hotch closely, waiting for him to do something that would betray his stoic stance. She has a hunch, sadly no evidence.
“He’s Hotch,” Reid comments, causing Hotch himself to chuckle, “he’s never not awfully quiet.”
“The kid’s right. My bet’s on JJ.”
“Me?” She’s clearly offended. “And why is that, Morgan?”
“You were quick to agree with Rossi’s accusations on Prentiss and me, almost as to make him doubtful again. If that’s not suspicious…”
“I once saw Emily start a machine without adding detergent in it—”
“— I was exhausted!”
“— so I feel like she’s a legitimate suspect, thank you very much!”
“I’m never going to know, am I?” It doesn’t even surprise Rossi that his question is blatantly ignored.
He pours himself another drink and listens to stories he wouldn’t have minded not knowing — and never thought could have happened to these people that are so capable out there, fighting crimes, yet so easily defeated by a washing machine. JJ’s first machine with baby clothes sets a precedent, Rossi’s now certain she’s innocent — that is not something she’d do twice. But then JJ asks Aaron if that’s something that has ever happened to him with Jack’s clothes — “not with Jack’s clothes, no” — and Rossi knows that smile too well.
“Oh you bastard! Emily’s right! Murderer!”