Posted in Criminal Minds, NCIS, Rule 63, Short Fiction

tBS: The Perils of the Divine

The Big Short

Title: The Perils of the Divine
Prompt: Anthony DiNozzo Jr
Fandom: Criminal Minds/NCIS
Characters/Pairings: Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, JJ Jareau, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid/Tony DiNozzo
Genre: genderbent/always-a-girl, team fic
Word Count: 1375
Warnings: none
Author’s Note: I realized that all my always-a-girl genderbent stories had the younger partner as the female. Since I don’t want anyone to think I do this because I’m making the ‘weaker’, younger or ‘submissive’ (finger quote emoji . . . do they have one of those?) character female out of some kind of adherence to gender roles, I decided to remedy that. FYI, I nearly called this story “Women on Top”.

“Well, now, the day is looking up,” Morgan told Rossi, who made an amused and appreciative noise. Both men tipped their heads slightly as they gazed out the round table room’s window.

Emily rose from the table, followed their gaze, and huffed. “Seriously? You two are such boys.” They grinned. “Rossi, that woman is young enough to be your daughter.”

“Most women are,” the older profiler said, unabashed. “Besides, if I couldn’t appreciate a pair of great legs — I’d be dead instead of just old.”

“Those legs aren’t great, they’re a work of art. Yes, please,” Morgan grinned as said legs were crossed.

The legs, Emily noted, were attached to a woman who looked exactly like someone who should own them; lean, athletic, and tall. Emily was no shrimp herself, but the woman sitting out in the squad room probably had several inches on her, even without her low heels. Her suit, including a skirt that showed off those legs, was a better fit for a boardroom than a bullpen and made an interesting contrast to the badge just visible at this angle.

“Does anyone have an outside consult today?” Morgan asked, obviously seeing the stack of files under a long fingered hand. “And if so, I’m stealing it.”

“Not me,” Emily demurred, “but Hotch might, or have a meeting scheduled.”

In the bullpen, Garcia approached the object of Morgan’s admiration. They were an interesting pair, two intensely female women; Penelope was all colour and flash and texture and the stranger was all lines and angles and neutrals tones.

A sweep of dark blonde hair was pushed back, revealing a sharp jaw and cheekbones, and she rose to shake Garcia’s hand — standing a full head above their technical analyst — and smiled. Emily could see the shift in Garcia, from slightly cautious to surprised, and then relaxed and cheerful. Even without being able to hear her, Emily knew that Pen was now bubbling over at the other woman, which said a lot about the power of that smile. The former hacker was no slouch when it came to taking someone’s measure.

Rossi made a soft noise in the back of his throat, apparently agreeing with her silent assessment.

Damn,” Morgan said, reverently. Emily sighed.

“Rossi, you better lend him a handkerchief for that drool.”

The man ignored her teasing and called out, “Pretty Boy, put down those papers and come check this out.”

Reid didn’t even look up from the stacks of journals he was perusing — the contents of one of the twelve boxes of personal effects they were going over to get inside the heads of a killing team they were doing custodial interviews with next week. The genius made an absent hmmm noise and flipped another page.

Morgan tore his gaze away to stare at their youngest member incredulously. “Seriously, man, there is a goddess out in the bullpen, and you’d rather read about torture fantasies.”

“In mythology, mortal men who dally with goddesses usually suffer unpleasant fates,” Reid said absently. “Also, appearance is the most superficial of reasons to judge a person’s worthiness, value, or claim to divinity.”

Emily hid a grin at Morgan’s disgusted look. “I’m not judging, I’m appreciating.”

The door swung open, revealing their technicolour technical analyst. “There you are, my precious ones.”

“Baby girl, make my month and tell me that the piece of perfection in the bullpen needs a consult with a federal profiling stud.”

Morgan didn’t seem to notice that Pen’s smile went sly; Emily grinned. This was going to be good.

“Indeed, the fair damsel — and can I just say that I would commit an illegal but nonviolent act for those cheekbones — has stormed our castle in search of a knight in FBI body armour.” Morgan pushed up has sleeves, straightened his back, and started forward. “Specifically, she’s looking for the beautiful and brilliant Sir Doctor Reid.”

Emily fancied that she could hear Morgan’s ego and fantasies deflate.

Rossi chuckled softly, earning a fulminating glare, while Reid looked up at his name.

“What’s going on, Garcia?”

Pen smiled brightly at him, after flashing a cheerful and toothy grin at Morgan. “An officer from Metro is here, and she’d like to speak to you. Apparently she’s heard of your code-breaking talents and has sought them out.”

“Metro?” Reid rose, pushing back his long hair and adjusting his glasses — which usually only came out when there was a massive volume of reading to do. “What’s her name?”

“A Lieutenant DiNozzo —”

Reid grinned and swept out of the room. They followed, curious, with Morgan trailing slightly behind.

“Tony!” Long legs ate up the carpeted floor, leaving Reid standing right in front of the Metro cop. The grace he could show when comfortable was evident — there were no abrupt or aborted motions, and his beautiful hands moved smoothly instead of fluttering.

From the corner of her eye, Emily saw Hotch and JJ leave their team lead’s office, watching the scene.

“I thought that Quantico was the Pit of Despair, inhabited by the shades of tormented and broken souls,” Reid teased — and then embraced DiNozzo warmly.

The woman laughed as she hugged him back. In heels, she was Reid’s equal if not half an inch taller. Over Reid’s shoulder, she grinned at Emily and winked. Her face was gorgeous, no doubt, but the humour in it was far more compelling than even her features.

She pulled back, pressing a soft and lingering kiss to Reid’s mouth — Pen made a quiet, fangirly noise — and told him, “It absolutely is, but I braved the pit and it’s torments — mainly the traffic, the security, and a pair of neanderthals in the elevator — because it’s where my favourite genius with a math degree is condemned to toil in servitude.”

“Math? Garcia said it’s a code?”

“The arms dealers I told you about? Well, Technical Services finally got back to me on some messages we got a hold of. It took them two weeks to figure out that the code isn’t a computer-based one, but a transcription code that uses a mathematical expression as a key.” The woman had fantastic puppy-dog eyes, and she deployed them with prejudice as she offered Reid several thin files. “So I thought of you.”

He made a pleased noise, already flipping open the folders, but noted, “and since your other option was to go through federal channels and send these to the FBI or CIA for analysis.”

“Which would take a year, since it’s not like arms dealers who are arming DC’s gangs with military assault weapons is as important as stealing cases from local cops,” she sneered.

“Oh oh,” Reid murmured. “What happened?”

She huffed. “I’ve had to run Fornell and Gibbs off of stealing cases from my unit this week. And it’s only Wednesday.”

“And I’m sure they regret it,” he said warmly, winning a sharp smile.

“Damn right.” DiNozzo tugged her jacket straight. “Well, I’m pretty sure that even in the Pit of Despair you get a lunch break. Consider it a downpayment on this,” she tapped the folders.

“Oh, I can work on this now — if I skip lunch I should be done by —”

“Dr Reid, I’ve told you before that a boytoy isn’t any use without proper nutrition and regular meals.”

Pen laughed out loud, drawing Reid’s gaze. He blushed and ducked his head a little. “Oh, no, my Junior G-Man — you need to own it.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been telling him,” DiNozzo smirked. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it. And you, Gorgeous, have got it.”

“Reid,” Hotch said dryly, “take your lunch break.”

Lieutenant DiNozzo grinned and drew a bashful Reid out of the squad room by his tie, leaving laughter in his wake.

“The hell?” Morgan asked. “Since when does Pretty Boy have that much game?” Rossi clapped him on the back and led him away, looking deeply amused.

“Aww, our genius is all grown up and partaking in debauchery,” Pen sighed happily, then smiled slyly. “How long do you think it will take for Morgan to get over this and start asking personal and invasive questions?”

“Four hours,” Emily offered, and they bumped fists.   

Additional Author’s Note: My headcanon Female Tony DiNozzo is currently Tine Stapelfeldt, because no matter the gender, Tony is all about the jaw, the cheekbones, and that intense green gaze.




I have spent more time in fandom than in real life in the last decade. I'd offer cookies and a speech about joining the dark side, but if you found me here you've probably drunk the kool-aid already.

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