Author's Note: A new Finding story. Yes, I know, you're all waiting patiently for the conclusion to Finding a Place to Dump the Body, I'm working on it. But to tide you over in the meantime this is just a little snippet of the crew on St. Patrick's Day. And it's just a one shot! Yay!

For background, Hotch and Em, having gotten together on Valentine's, (Finding a Tree) have been together for just over a month at this point, though they're still hiding it. Doesn't matter though, because this story isn't really about them. They're here, but this one's all told from Dave's POV. The reason will become clear soon enough.

Also remember this is a world where, though JJ is married to Will, she and Dave have a little platonic mutual crushing thing happening. And remember as always, this is a world where everything is just a bit ridiculous.

TV Bonus Challenge #10 – St. Patrick's Day 2010

Show: The Office

Title: St. Patrick's Day

Finding a Place to Stick The Shillelagh

Dave scowled as he looked around the battered wooden table at his drunken co-workers.

Jackasses, every one of them. Class A, uncontested, jackasses.

How could they do this to him?

Actually though . . . Dave directed his nastiest scowl over to an oblivious Reid who was counting on his fingers . . . really this entire situation was all HIS fault. He was the one that had cut the straws tonight with "scientific accuracy." He was the one that got Dave Rossi . . . a man who had never met a glass of scotch that he didn't want to take home to mother . . . picked as designated driver on St. PATRICK'S Day!

What kind of bullshit was THAT?

Aside from Morgan and Garcia, Dave was the only one in their crew that actually enjoyed drinking as a regular social activity. And yet somehow, the generally one and done teetotaler Reid, was free to get utterly trashed with Dave sitting there with his thumb up his ass waiting to play monkey boy chauffeur.


Though . . . Dave got his temper under control enough to eyeball Spencer a little more closely . . . the teetotaler wasn't quite so teetotalery tonight. They were about two hours into this excursion and Garcia had gotten the kid good and smashed on a half a pitcher of green beer. Right now the super human who possessed an intelligence high enough to independently send a rocket into space, was being flummoxed by the dollar ninety-nine peg jump IQ game that he'd found sitting in the middle of the table.

His last attempt had left twenty-two little wooden sticks on the board.

And when Emily had tippsily pointed out that he was about thirteen off the average chimp score, Reid had responded . . . in a drunken slur of his own . . . that if she could round up an average chimp for comparison he'd happily kick his furry brown ass. Then he asked loudly if anybody else had a lower intelligence primate that he could challenge. She and started to laugh, but it was the point that Reid had announced that he was taking all non-biped comers that the green beer had snorted out of Emily's nose and dripped down her face.

Yeah, that looked just about as gross as it sounded.

Still though, Hotch, their "fearless leader". . . Dave grunted humorlessly to himself . . . had of course been completely unfazed by this disgusting turn of events. He'd simply dropped a stack of napkins in Emily's lap with one hand as he removed the sloshing glass from Reid's wildly gesticulating arm with the other. Then before Reid had gotten out more than a whiny, "but Hoootch," Hotch had distracted the kid from his missing beer . . . and his monkey vendetta . . . by ordering him to count down pi to the two hundredth numeral. But that he wanted to hear it listed backwards.

Even though Hotch himself was half in the bag, Dave was (reluctantly) impressed by the man's ability to control his team even then through non-violent means. Really, for Dave, the moment he'd heard the whiny voice make an appearance, he was just going to smack Reid in the back of the head and be done with it.

There was a reason Dave never had any children.

So now Spencer was halfway through his pi exercise . . . or Dave thought he was halfway through, he'd lost the half a shred of interest he'd had about six seconds into the countdown . . . and the rest of them were ignoring Reid's semi-savant like activities in exchange for their continued consumption of green beer and Irish whiskey.

Again . . . Dave's jaw twitched as he tossed back the last of his Shirley temple to wash the bitter taste out of his mouth . . . selfish jackasses.

Realizing he'd spilled a bit, Dave wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to get the sticky liquid off his lips. The Shirley temple was courtesy of Emily . . . she thought she was being cute . . . but the joke was on her, he LIKED grenadine!

Take that!

His disgusted gaze snapped back down to her section of the table. Then he rolled his eyes in irritation at her inability to appreciate his nasty glare. Instead he could see that (of course) per usual these days, she was NOT openly flirting with Hotch. Like Dave hadn't already figured out that the two of them were sleeping together? Please. Then he watched as Emily giggled at Hotch's clumsy attempts to scrub green beer off her sleeve.

Christ . . . Dave suppressed a gag . . . get a room already.

Trying to ignore the two NON lovebirds . . . ordinarily Dave would have been happy for them, but tonight they could choke on it . . . his attention shifted around the table.

It settled on Morgan.

The man was three sheets to the wind and daring Kevin to go with him down the street to get a shamrock tattooed on his ass.

Kevin . . . after finishing off his own personal pitcher of the garish Emerald concoction, was barely upright in the booth . . . was all for it. He wanted it to say 'Erin Go Garcia,' right in the middle.

Morgan thought that was a fabulous idea.

And though Dave was sticking by his plan to stay pissed off and cranky all evening, as he considered the imagery for a moment, he begrudgingly tipped his head . . . all right, that would be kind of funny. The two of them would be sitting on donuts in the morning, not to mention regretting their ass ink for the next thirty years.

That degree of punishment might just (maybe) make up for Dave's crappy evening.

So after making a mental note to encourage the tat trip if it looked like Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass' enthusiasm was starting to wane, Dave's head swiveled slightly to take in the giggling Garcia . . . complete with the requisite festive green hair and leprechauns dripping from her ears . . . over talking to JJ on the other side of the table. And though Dave tried to keep up his internal grumbling, JJ . . . damn her . . . was just too frigging adorable in her tight little green sweater with the matching shamrock scarf. He was feeling his resolve to be a cranky son of a bitch starting to crumble.


So he shoved back his chair with an angry grunt . . . that wouldn't do . . . he stood up . . . that wouldn't do at all. He was good and pissed off at what they had done to him, and he was going to stay good and pissed off for another three Shirley Temples at least. Because by then these chuckleheads would be drunk enough for him to mock them openly and they'd have no memory of it in the morning.

Something to look forward to.

With a huff, Dave kicked in his chair and stalked off towards the bar.


Twenty minutes later Dave started wandering back to the group table with a third Shirley Temple in hand. He'd downed his second one while flirting with the hot redheaded Irish bartender that had made it for him. Not only did she have FABULOUS tits and an accent that was driving him mad, but she also appeared to be the sole other sober person in the bar room that night. And for those three reasons alone Dave had been working his ass off trying to get her number in between the constant interruptions of the two dozen other people clamoring for her attention.

Yes, he could have had a much easier time picking up any of a half dozen twenty-something's with daddy issues that were making eyes at him. But come on, where was the challenge in that?

That was like fish in a barrel.

Finally though . . . Dave patted his pocket with some satisfaction . . . his hard work had paid off. Kathleen told him he could pick her up after shift tonight. And that meant . . . his gaze narrowed as he pushed through the drunken revelers . . . he had to get rid of these jackasses ASAP! God help them all if they screwed up, not only his annual St. Patrick's Day drinking, but also now his annual St. Patrick's Day lay with a genuine Irish national.

The second was a tradition . . . one he'd started after his third divorce . . . that he cherished nearly as much as the first. The first screw up he might eventually get over, the second . . . he grunted . . . well, they'd all be waking up in a ditch if he ended up with a cold bed.

Dave cut through the last of the crowd blocking his path to the team's table . . . and then he suddenly stopped short.

"What the hell happened here?" He muttered to himself.

Two chairs were knocked over and there were three men lying flat out on the floor bleeding. At least one of them was unconscious, and the other two appeared to have a black eye and a broken nose respectively. And given the attention that Hotch and Derek were receiving from Emily and Garcia respectively, Dave was assuming that those two were the ones responsible for the bloody mess on the floor. Figures . . . Dave huffed to himself . . . if there were broken bodies in the vicinity at least one of them was usually involved.

Realizing then that nobody was paying him the slightest bit of attention, Dave walked closer, catching JJ's arm where she was standing over Spencer's chair.

"Jennifer, what the hell is this?" He asked as he put his drink on the table.

When JJ turned to look at Dave, he could see her focus was a bit unsteady and her lip was slightly swollen.

"Are you all right?" He asked worriedly as he slipped his arm around her waist to prop her up.

And then he tipped his head down to listen as she told him . . . in a slightly drunken slur . . . what had transpired while he was away.

From what Dave could gather, shortly after he'd headed to the bar, Reid had finished up his pi assignment. And then . . . feeling the degree of cockiness that can only come with a pitcher of liquid courage on an empty stomach . . . had decided to go try to pick up a blonde (who was at that time) standing a few feet away from their table, leaning against the wall by herself.

JJ pointed out the scantily dressed blonde in question . . . she was now kneeling down on the floor (mini-skirted ass in the air) hysterically tending to one of the bleeding hulks. And as Dave refocused on the story . . . taking the opportunity to tug JJ a little closer . . . he heard her saying what Reid's pick up approach had been. And Dave rolled his eyes . . . quintessential Spencer.

Ancient trivia.

The kid had tried to pick up a twenty-two year old big busted airhead with the story about the original pagan origins of St. Patrick's day. Just because Reid was drunk didn't mean he'd forgotten all the basics of the holiday. And according to JJ the girl had started to tune out completely around the time of the Crusades . . . apparently Spencer was going for the unabridged history . . . and as her attention had begun to wander to something shiny across the room, her boyfriend and his buddies had shown up.

On their part, there was the usual puffing of testosterone and male posturing . . . both of which Reid was entirely clueless about. Apparently he'd put his hand on his hip and JJ had flinched and turned away.

The next thing she knew the boyfriend and his buddies were flat on the floor and Hotch and Morgan were rubbing their bruised knuckles.

Spencer didn't have a scratch on him.

But then he'd accidentally elbowed her in the face when she'd leaned down to help him up off the floor . . . hence her fat lip.

And realizing that was about the point where he'd entered stage left, Dave nodded.

"Got it," he sighed.

Then he looked over his motley band of co-workers . . . idiots. Couldn't leave them alone for five minutes.

Hearing a loud yell across the bar to "make a hole," Dave realized what was coming next and growled an obscenity under his breath. Then he turned to see four uniformed deputies pushing their way through the crowd.

Great . . . Dave rolled his eyes . . . somebody called the cops. Now he was NEVER going to get out of there! Again, he couldn't leave these morons alone for a minute without all hell breaking loose! For a second Dave stood there fuming, wondering how the hell these people had become his friends . . . must be karmic punishment for prior sins . . . but then he felt JJ pat his chest and he looked down.

"This was a really good night," she slurred with a happy smile, "thanks for taking us out Dave."

And then . . . before Dave knew what was happening . . . JJ leaned up and smacked a kiss on his lips. As she pulled back he looked down at her in astonishment . . . well, if that didn't just beat all. And he was just about to ask her what brought that on . . . it wasn't exactly a romantic kiss, but still, she was married with a kid . . . when she promptly passed out in his arms.

Dave caught her just before she hit the ground.

So there he was frozen in time when the cops shoved through the crowd and saw him standing there dangling an unconscious . . . fat lipped . . . woman from his arms. And as they stopped short and looked at him . . . and then the three bodies still on the ground . . . the biggest of the four deputies looked at him in disgust.

"You hit a woman in bar fight," he sputtered in disbelief, "what the hell is wrong with you man?"

Dave's jaw dropped open . . . and then snapped shut when he saw Kathleen the hot Irish bartender come running up behind the cops. And seeing the look of horror on her face, Dave knew one thing was true . . . there was no way in hell he was getting laid tonight.

God DAMN it!

He whipped his head around to seek out the cowering catalyst for this cluster fuck. He still sitting in the chair JJ had left him in only moments before.

'You are a DEAD man, Spencer Reid.'

Though the words were only mouthed and not actually spoken aloud, still Dave saw Reid cringe as he threw up his hands in exasperation.

"I was only trying to get laid man!"

"So was I!" Dave howled back right before one of the deputies pulled the limp JJ from his arms and another knocked him to the ground as the rest of the team looked on in shock.

As the cuffs were slapped on his wrists Dave rolled his eyes at the drunken stares of astonishment from the assholes . . . aka his close friends and colleagues . . . that had started this whole melee that was now resulting in him getting cuffed and read his rights.


His only hope now was that JJ would regain consciousness soon and set the record straight. But in the meantime, as Dave's face was pressed against the sticky hardwood and the burly cop's knee was pressed into his back, only one thought was running through his head.

Worst St. Patrick's Day EVER!

A/N 2: I though this all needed to be from Dave because he was the only sober one in the bunch. And there's nothing more annoying than being stone cold sober and forced to hang out with a bunch of drunks. So basically I thought it would be much more amusing to see it all from his cranky resentful point of view.

And below was the challenge as was written (mostly) just by Kavi. I don't actually recall contributing much of anything to that one beyond maybe a cranky designated driver, so the entire existence of this story can be credited to her :) Oh, and my lovely Arcadya who helped me when I got stuck after I sent Dave off to get a fresh shirley temple. She said I needed Reid to start pontificating there at the end, and then I had the rest of it. So basically this was all just a bit of ridiculousness to pass the time :)

And Here's the Prompt: The Office - St. Patrick's Day

REQUIRED elements of the story: whole team in a bar for St. Patrick's Day; somebody on the team is the designated driver, that somebody is very cranky; you have to describe Garcia's outfit for the holiday; and somebody on the team has to kiss another character, but the kiss doesn't have to be with another team member and it doesn't have to be a romantic kiss

OPTIONAL elements of the story: a hangover, a clover tattoo, green beer, Reid tells a story telling the origin of something related to the holiday, a fight