Chapter Text
You’ve been in Quantico, Virginia for two weeks. You’re still convincing yourself it was the right move. For almost a decade you had worked at FBI on the otherside of DC, only recently you had closed the Dollhouse case--four girls had been kidnapped and held hostage in a bunker, forced to play out the Unsub’s childhood until it turned out how he wished it to. Teens. The case had taken its toll on you, especially while you’re raising your eight-year-old daughter on your own.
You have a list of things you should do pinned to your father’s fridge. Top of the list is ‘call Aaron and Haley’. It’s been top of the list for two weeks, and yet you’ve still not done it. You’ve got Saskia (your daughter) started at her new school, cleaned out your childhood bedroom, cleaned the backyard for your dad. Looked for jobs, looked some more for jobs, blown off your old boss multiple times when he begged you to come back to DC.
Saskia’s bouncing in the front seat next to you as you pull into the pick-up/drop-off lane, screaming the lyrics to ‘Bop to the Top’. Honestly, you can’t wait until she doesn’t want to listen to the ‘High School Musical’ CD ever again. Your phone rings as you're turning the radio down, Saskia turning to it keenly.
You don’t think she has an aversion to your phone ringing, but there’s also never been a time where your phone ringing had been good for her. It was always your call to action, Saskia suddenly staying with a friend until you’re back. She looks at you, curiosity lining her big, innocent eyes.
“Who is it?” she asks, her way of scoping if you were going to work again. You pull it out the cup holder, frowning at the name.
“David Rossi,” you frown. If there’s anything to be said for Marine buddies, it’s that they speak to each other, and yet to no one at all. You father is the worst of it, you’re not even surprised that Rossi’s calling if the two of them have breathed the same air.
Saskia snatches the phone from your hand, flipping it open excitedly.
“HI UNCLE DAVE!” she screams into the receiver. He laughs, but that has to be because his eardrums have been blown out completely.
The school bell screams behind Saskia, and the other parents start honking their horns at you. You reach over and cup your daughter’s face pulling her over to you and kissing her forehead as you peel the phone from her grip.
“Do you know where you’re going, Little Miss?” you ask, cradling your phone to your chest.
Saskia nods excitedly, her plaits slapping against her shoulders. She points to the gate where Nathan, a boy from orientation, is standing. Then she mashes as many kisses against her hand as she can and blows them to you. You repeat the action as she slides out of the car dramatically.
“Grandad’s picking me up after school, yes?” she says, throwing her tiny backpack over her shoulder.
“Affirmative,” you grin at her. You blow her one last kiss. “Love you, Saskia.”
She slams the car door shut, running to the gate and screams, “I LOVE YOU TOO.”
You raise your phone to your ear as you pull out of the lane.
“Hey Dave, give me a moment to find a park. Then I’m all ears.” You pull into a park next to a shabby looking minivan and turn your car off. “I promise not to yell at you, sorry about that.”
Dave chuckles. “Your dad said you were back in town.” Honestly, it’s an accusing tone. “He also mentioned your only job is doing his laundry.”
You groan and slam your head into the steering wheel. Moving back to Virginia, back home, had been for two reasons. The first had been closer to your father, who’d finally retired from being an ME after his fourth heart attack. The second was being as far away from the Bureau as possible. From your old office, from the girl’s that haunted your dreams. Maybe there had been a third--keeping Saskia safe.
It hadn’t been against your job. You liked your job at the FBI, you just didn’t like the cases. Or being team leader, that had been your main issue. Uprooting your life was what you had to do.
“Dad shouldn’t talk so much,” you respond.’
You hear paper moving around Dave’s desk in the silence.
“BAU’s looking to hire another female agent, levelling the playing field for field assignments.”
“I didn’t apply.”
“Your boss recommended you with flying colours. He wouldn’t stop talking about how it would be a great opportunity for you.”
“I didn’t apply,” you reiterate.
And you didn’t, nor would you ever. The BAU was Aaron Hotchner’s division, and while the two of you (well, four, Haley and Felix made four) had been inseparable before college. It was ultimately Aaron and Haley staying in Virginia, you and Felix moving to DC that had torn the four of you apart.
You’d share Christmas cards, sure, but who didn’t when they had kids. It was practically mandatory.
The reason you’d put off calling Haley and Aaron bubbled in your stomach. The last time you’d seen him was, what, six years ago? 2001. At your husband’s funeral. That was something you’d both have to talk about.
Dave fills the silence.
“Drop by the office, hang out with the team. If you like it, put your application in.” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I’ll meet you out front in half an hour.”
You snap your phone shut dramatically, even though he hands up first. You throw your phone into the backseat for extra flare and pull out, determined not to go to Headquarters. But even then, your body somehow pulls into that cursed carpark and you might actually scream.
Dave saunters towards your car like he knows something you don’t. You pull your keys out of the ignition, shoving them in your backpocket with the Winnie the Pooh keyring sticking out. One positive about having kids is there’s always cute things hanging around.
“I am having lunch with you,” you say to Dave, frowning at him. “I am not saying yes or no to anything.” You grab your handbag with a glare, but it’s mainly not serious.
He taps the leather wallet in his hand that obviously isn’t his, and smirks. Nightmare.
“Non-retirement looks good on you,” you smile, embracing him. “Hope you don’t pass it onto Dad.”
“Passed writing a book onto him,” Dave chuckles. Indeed he did, your father having written a book on the case that killed your husband. And almost killed your daughter, and yourself. It’s probably the only thing that kept him sane during his forced retirement that had turned permanent.
“I’ll let you meet the team,” Dave smiles as he clasps your shoulder. He drops the wallet in your bag, which you pull out and turn theID badge over in your hands. It feels good. You handed it back to him.
“I’m only here for lunch,” you tell him. The hum he gives you tells you he’s not listening.
Despite all your years of training, you can’t help wrap your arms around your stomach and squeeze protectively as you walk into the bullpen. It’s much nicer than your old one’s in DC, if only because they’ve got light.
There’s no one there, thank god, but your father’s book is face done on one of their desks. The glossy hardcover, black, with the white lily start against it stares at you. Mocking you almost. ‘The White Lily Killer’ is across the cover in cursive, ‘1996-2001’ printed beneath it. Tempting you to remember those cursed five years. It’s kind of working.
“Looks like just lunch is in luck,” Rossi says and honestly he sounds disappointed. You wouldn’t be surprised if he drags you back later, just so you can meet the team. You make a note to leave before Dave can rope you into anything dumb.
He fumbles with a chain in his pocket and you frown at him. He doesn’t want you to join the team. He wants you to work magic with some hire ups, because that’s what you’re good at, and if you’re with the team then he can grab you whenever he needs.
You run after him, hopping up the stairs as he goes to his office.
“Before you try to bully me into this again, you should know Chief Strauss hates my guts,” you whisper lowly. Rossi raises an eyebrow at you, and you smile somewhat apologetically. “I got caught up with a bad group of guys at an FBI dinner, had to make fun of someone, and she was there.” You shrug.
Dave flips his wallet in his hand and smirks at you. “And by ‘bad group of guys’?”
You shrug. “My old boss.”
There’s a soft knock at the door and files spin across the room, landing on Dave’s desk.
“Take a look at that before you leave.” You know that low voice from anywhere, the same boy that had wormed his way into theatre group because he had a crush on your best friend. Well, best friend was a loose term. High school best friend, accidentally replaced in adulthood.
“Hi Aaron,” you say far quieter than you wished.
His eyes flicker up from his files and meet yours, blinking slowly.
“Hi,” he barely breathes.