AFTER THE case had wrapped up and all of the agents filed on to their assigned private jet, tensions were finally starting to subside. Holmes was the last to board, and chose a seat next to the most familiar face, Agent Jareau. Rossi decided to take a drink from the open bar on the plane, and as he was walking back to his seat, he placed a firm hand on Holmes' shoulder.
"You did good for your first day, kid," He gave a weak smile and returned to his seat. Spencer was the next to speak as his head popped up out of the book he was reading.
"Yeah, good thinking on connecting the victims' childhoods," He too offered a slight smile. Holmes tried to suppressed the rose tinge forming on her cheeks.
"Thanks, guys," She was defeated in her battle to not show embarrassment and blushed furiously. The woman sitting next to her noticed and squeezed Holmes' wrist as to comfort her. She smiled up at her, subconsciously thanking her for her friendliness.
As silence fell on the plane once again, Holmes' thoughts ran wild; a regular occurrence in her mind. She thought to ask, but soon regretted it, "Hey— why am I here, exactly?" Practically everyone's heads perked up, not including Rossi's, who was still nursing his scotch.
"Oh, um— our boss— well, our usual boss— is on medical leave," The agent named Prentiss replied causally as she looked up from her magazine.
"Oh," Holmes shrugged. They must not be comfortable with giving details.
"Hotch will fill you in once you meet with him," Jareau murmured. "Oh, and— call me JJ," She smiled. Holmes returned the gesture.
Once they all returned to they station, spirits still at their monotone state, Holmes decided she would try to make herself at home, although not too much as to disturb Agent Hotchner's belongings, in her temporary domain. This included pulling out a few fake succulents from her back and placing them next to the name card on her desk, which she replaced with her name, placing a fluffy grey cushion on the seat of the desk chair, and folding an equally as soft blanket in a cabinet when she inevitably got cold. She was careful to place Agent Hotchner's name back in the drawer, however. She would only be staying for a month or so, anyway.
Now slightly more comfortable, she opened up one of her numerous files and began working. This task was short lived, however, because a familiar, thin man knocked on the already open door to her office.
"Hey, boss," He visibly cringed at his greeting and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Holmes smiled and looked up from her files. "It's weird calling someone other than Hotch 'boss',"
"You don't have to call me Boss," She replied sweetly, her head still hanging low over her desk. "Call me Ophelia,"
"Thank you," He trailed off, rocking back and forth on his heels. "You know, you're much softer and smaller than Hotch but you're just as quiet," He mused. Ophelia didn't look up from her paperwork, but a visible smile appeared on her face. She once again met his eyes expectantly. They hovered there for a moment before she interrupted their gaze.
"Agent?" He was snapped out of his thoughts, still holding eye contact. "Hm?"
"Did you need something?" She was careful not to embarrass him further.
"Oh—No, I just wanted to— I'm supposed to give you Hotch's contact information," He quickly dug his phone out of his deep pocket but not without fumbling with it before actually giving Ophelia his number.
"Alright, thank you. Is there anything else, Agent?" She asked softly, still writing down the final details.
"Uh— Yeah," He tucked his phone away. "Call me Spencer," They exchanged a sweet smile before Spencer exited her office. This didn't go without him lightly bumping into the frame, of course. Ophelia chuckled to herself and shook her head. She would get along here just fine.