Chapter Text
Your desk is cleared. You are really doing this. A box filled with your personal belongings – three plants and a white hourglass, filled with black sand – you step into the elevator.
A colleague gives you a last wave: “Bye, Byrne.”
You wave back: “See you around.”
Pressing the button to the lobby, you take a deep breath. You already handed in your gun and badge. You are no longer an Agent of the DEA.
The call came three weeks ago. SSA Rossi of the BAU was on the other end of the line. He said he followed your career. He said he would like you to come in for an interview. Of course, you know who he is. You also know the BAU. The job of a profiler always has always been appealing to you. Somehow, you never pursued it. Now it had pursued you.
The death of a team member let to your hiring. You only met your future boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner. And, well, Rossi on the phone. Hotchner was a tall guy with dark hair and only one facial expression: stern. You were nervous about how the team will react.
Early the next morning, you enter the bullpen of the BAU. You walk up to Hotchner’s office, he is the only one already here. “Good morning, Sir.” You hold your box with one hand to shake his with the other.
“Good morning.” Without further welcoming words, he hands you over your badge and gun. You smile at you badge. It has FBI written on it in bold letters. You feel like your icon, Dana Scully. “Your desk is the last one on the left.” Hotchner tells you and points out of the window. Alright, this conversation seems to be over. You nod and step out.
While you are placing your plants on the table, you hear footsteps approaching behind you. Before you even fully turn around, someone tells you: “That’s Emily’s desk.” You close your eyes for a second and wipe the frown off your face.
Standing behind you, is a good-looking blonde man. Maybe early twenties. Pale, a leather bag over his shoulders, wearing chucks and mismatching socks.
“Good thing, my name is Emily then.” You extend your hand: “Emily Byrne.”
He stares at you, blinking a few times. When he snaps out of it, he just gives you a small wave and a tight-lipped smile: “I’m Reid.”
You let your hand fall back to your side. Oh boy.
“Oh wow! Had I known you’re this good lookin’ I had worn something more appropriate.” A fit, dark-skinned man comes over to you. You just stare at him; you don’t know what to answer. He offers you his fist. “Derek Morgan.”
That makes you smile, and you give him a fist bump. “You transferred from the DEA?”
“Yeah. Nice to meet you.”
Reid is still standing next to you, eyeing you up and down without saying anything.
A blond woman walks in next: “Hi, I’m Jennifer Jereau. Everyone calls me JJ.”
You shake her hand: “Hi, JJ.”
Morgan pads Reid’s shoulder: “We have a narc in the building, maybe you want to cut back on that coffee-consumption.”
You smile and say: “As long as the beans aren’t smuggled, we’re cool.” Morgan laughs, but Reid keeps quiet. So, you add: “You may, however, overdose.”
Morgan raises an eyebrow: “You can overdose on coffee?”
“Oh yeah. At 1g caffein it starts to get dangerous. But with 40mg caffeine in 100g coffee and about 12g coffee per cup, you can still drink…”
“20.8 cups of coffee.” Reid interrupts you.
You bite your tongue. You hate being interrupted. “A lethal dose is about 10mg. I don’t know how long you have to stay awake, but that would be a lot of coffee… Still better than cocaine though.” You add.
“Did someone say cocaine?” A familiar male voice says.
“Agent Rossi.” He actually takes your extended hand and shakes it. You hear a door open behind you. “We have a case.” Hotch calls.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Wheels up in 30.” Hotch declares and everyone gets up. “Shit.” You mumble. JJ leans over: “What’s up?”
You shake your head: “I didn’t bring an overnight bag.
Reid seems to have heard what you said, he scoffs at you and walks out. You sigh and rub over your face: “I didn’t expect to fly out on my first day.” JJ smiles understanding: “Welcome to the BAU.” Then she adds: “We’ll figure something out when we land.”
You are visibly relieved when you tell her: “Thank you.”
Everyone piles into the elevator, carrying their bags. You feel somewhat naked being the only one without one. On the way to the jet, Hotchner asks: “You didn’t bring a bag?”
You sigh internally and shake your head: “I forgot.”
“Well, bring one next time.” He tells you.
No shit. You turn your head away from him and roll your eyes.
“What was that?” Hotchner asks.
“I didn’t say anything.” You look at him and furrow your eyebrows. He stares at you for a moment but lets you be.
You don’t know where to sit on the jet, so you just take the seat next to JJ. When Reid stares at you with a grim face and what can only be described as fire in his eyes, you figure that it usually was Emily’s seat. The other Emily.
After you went over the preliminary file, you try to relax. It’s still hours until you land in Texas. Reid keeps shooting you looks when he isn’t re-reading the file. You finally give in and stand up. Mumbling something about coffee, you walk to the other end of the jet. This is not how you imagined your first case.
- - - - - - - - - -
You mostly keep quiet and try to follow the other’s lead when you arrive at the police station.
“The tox-scan shows that every victim at fentanyl in their system.” Reid declares. “That’s an opioid.” You explain.
“Yeah, I know.” Reid counters. You furrow your eyebrows, but before you can say anything Morgan says: “I didn’t, thanks.”
Hotch’s eyes dart around the room until he proposes: “Maybe the unsub didn’t want to feel the victims what he was doing to them?”
You extend your hand towards Reid: “Can I see the tox-screen?”
He stares you down, not moving his hands. Stubbornly, you stare back, not letting your hand sink this time.
Eventually Hotch says: “Reid.”
After another second, he finally hands you the papers. “Thank you.” You tell him without breaking the eye-contact.
You go over the toxicology reports, comparing the doses that were in every victim’s body. You shake your head while you’re reading in silence.
“What’s taking you so…” Before Reid can finish his affront, you explain: “The unsub didn’t use the fentanyl to subdue their victims, they killed them with it. The doses are so high, it was lethal within seconds.”
You lift your head to look at the others: “You don’t get fenty this pure on the streets. It has to be someone with access to medical supplies.”
The others are nodding, Morgan is calling Garcia: “Baby Girl, can you send us a list of medical personnel in the area that has a record of stealing medical supplies or similar offences in their file?”
“Sure thing, Chocolate Thunder.” She chirps and hangs up.
The corners of your mouth twitch, but you don’t comment on it.
“Are you sure there isn’t a local dealer that distributes pure fentanyl?” Reid questions your former statement.
You clench your jaw but manage to answer calmly: “In my experience, there isn’t.”
Hotch looks at you, then at Reid and says: “We will check out the list Garcia sent, you two track down local dealers and try to get some information on that.”
“Alright.” You state and holster your gun. Without waiting for Reid, you leave the room and make your way to the SUV in front of the police station. Before you open the door, you see a cop standing outside, smoking.
You walk over to him and ask: “Can I have one?” He smiles and hands you a cigarette, leaning closer to light it for you.
After the first few puffs, Reid walks out, wearing his FBI jacket. You roll your eyes: way to go get meet some dealers. The cop notices and raises an eyebrow. You sigh and tell him: “We are trying to track down someone who deals fentanyl. The jacket won’t help with that.” The cop lets out a laugh and gives you an understanding smile.
Reid looks around for you and sees you smoking: “You coming?” He yells in a condescending tone.
“I see why you need that cigarette.” The cop comments.
You give him a smile: “Oh yeah.” After a pause you ask: “Do you know where I could get something stronger?”
He side-eyes you: “Aren’t you about to arrest someone?”
You nod: “Yeah, but I won’t arrest someone I buy from.” He laughs and leans closer to your ear. Whispering, he tells you about an apartment on fifth street. You thank him and walk away, turning around for a moment to wink at him.
- - - - - - - - - -
When you get in the driver seat, Reid is already buckled in and waiting for you. He turns to look at you: “Could you organize yourself a hook-up after we solved the case?” Now he starts to seriously piss you off.
“What the fuck is your problem?” You snap at him.
“My problem is you.” He barks.
You really tried to stay calm, but now he pushed too far. You hit the steering wheel and turn to him: “Listen, I try to do my job here. I understand that you are angry and sad about your friend dying, but that is not my fault!”
He huffs: “You don’t understand anything.”
You grip you’re the steering wheel tightly and take a deep breath: “Get out.”
That surprises him: “What?”
“I said: get out.” You point to the door of the car. He doesn’t move. You fasten your seatbelt and start the engine. “If you say something like that to me again, I will push you out of the car. Do you understand?” Your voice is quiet but aggressive.
Reid doesn’t answer you, but you can see him shift in his seat and lean away from you. You speed off without another word. You drive to were you assume the main street is and park in front of a clothing store.
“You want to go shopping now?” Reid asks. At least his voice is less patronizing this time.
“Do you want to talk to dealers wearing your FBI jacket?” He shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.”
You get out and Reid follows you quietly. With a basket in your hand, you walk through the store.
“What’s your size?” You ask him casually. “Small.”
It makes you grin for a second, but you don’t say anything. You get a sweater and black jeans for him. A loose tank top and dark slacks for yourself. At the checkout you grab an eyeliner and hair ties.
Outside you rip the labels off the clothes and throw them on the ground, dragging them through the dirt. When you’re satisfied with how they look, you throw them on the backseat and get back in. You park a few blocks away from where the cop told you about.
You get in the backseat and stat to take off your clothes, changing into the new ones. Before Reid can turn around to look at you, you throw his clothes at him: “Change.” You order. He sighs but does what you tell him.
You smudge the eyeliner around your eyes and put your hair up in a messy bun, revealing your undercut. Reid sees it and his hand twitches. He doesn’t say anything. “Let me do the talking.”
He follows you down the street: “How do you know of this place.”
You don’t answer him but keep walking. “Oh.” Reid quietly says. “That’s what you talked to the cop about.”
You give him a look: “What was your plan? Drive around in an FBI car and ask about drug dealers?”
Reid looks to his feet, kind of admitting his defeat.
- - - - - - - - - -
You knock on the door. A man opens it, door chain still locked: “What?”
“A friend recommended you.” You whisper. “Can I come in?”
He looks at you, then at Reid. “Yeah, but the pipe cleaner with eyes has to wait outside.” You raise your hands: “Fine by me.”
Reid is smart enough to not object.
You go inside and look around. The apartment is a mess. Empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays and needles everywhere. “Sit.” The man points to a sofa. Reluctantly, you sit down. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you have any fenty?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have taken you for the opioid type.”
“And what type do you take me for?”
He shrugs his shoulders: “I don’t have any anyways.”
“Do you know where I can get some?”
He shakes his head: “All you’ll find is spiked with some other shit.”
“No one has it pure?”
He shakes his head again. You rub your face and clear your voice: “You have some white girl?”
“Ah, that’s what I thought. What do you want with fentanyl if you do cocaine?”
You shrug your shoulders: “The party has to end eventually.”
He kneels down by a safe and gets a small bag: “Wanna try?” You nod, but before you can take it from him, he says: “Sixty.”
“Fine.” You grab into your bra and get out some money. You hand him sixty dollars and he gives you the cocaine. “May I?” You point at a key on the table. “Be my guest.”
Picking up the key, you clean it with your slacks and pour a small amount onto it. You snort it up with your nose and lean back into the sofa. With closed eyes you wait for it to hit. Your heartrate increases, feeling the cocaine pumping through you. Taking a deep breath, you stand up: “Nice making business with you.” He gives you a smile: “My pleasure.” Before you open the door, you put the bag and the money back in your bra.
- - - - - - - - - -
Reid follows you to the car quietly. You feel your body tense up and it hard for you not to fidget. You hand him the key to the car: “Drive.” He looks at you in surprise but gets in the driver’s seat. Getting in the backseat, you close your eyes. You try not to show how high you are right now. It was an impulse. You didn’t want to raise suspicion by questioning a dealer and then leave without buying. Taking some of the drug however… that was just stupid.
But it’s too late now; you might as well enjoy it. Should make it easier to deal with the asshole that’s driving you right now. When you feel the car stop, you open your eyes and jump out. You do it a little too enthusiastic and stumble. Reid clears his throat while you catch yourself on the side of the car. You ignore him and get your FBI jacket out of the trunk, throwing his jacket in his face.
When you enter the conference room with Reid, only Hotchner is standing there. “Where are JJ, Morgan and Rossi?” Reid asks him.
Hotchner turns around: “They went to question pharmacists with a record of stealing drugs. Did you find anything?” Even though he is addressing the both of you, he is just looking at Reid.
You get out the small bag with cocaine in it and throw it on the table: “As I said, no one deals pure fentanyl.”
Finally, Hotchner takes a better look at you. His eyes dart between you and the bag on the table: “Did you pose as a buyer?”
“Yeah.” You shrug your shoulders. “Did you know this?” Hotchner points at the table and raises his voice, looking at Reid. Before Reid can say anything, you answer: “No. He had to wait outside. I talked to the dealer. I couldn’t just question him and leave.”
“And your solution was to buy cocaine!?”
You stare back at him without flinching at his angry voice: “Yes.”
Hotchner clenches his jaw, then he points at the adjacent office. You follow him inside. Loudly, you shut the door. He just looks at you for a moment.
Then he talks with a calm but evidently angry voice: “You can’t just go off on your own like that without back up. And you certainly cannot buy an illegal drug while you’re on the clock!”
You narrow your eyes: “So, off the clock it’s alright?”
He crosses his arms: “I’ll do you the favor of pretending that I didn’t hear that. I don’t know how you handle these things at the DEA, but you will never do such a thing again while you’re a part of my team. Understood?”
You take a deep breath and try to focus: “Yes, Sir.”
You finally answer and go to open the door. “And bag the cocaine as evidence.” Hotchner yells after you.
You salute him and walk back into the conference room.
- - - - - - - - - -
It’s hours later and the cocaine hasn’t fully worn off yet. Good stuff. Pity it’s registered evidence now. You’re restlessly pacing around the room until Rossi tells you to stop because you make him nervous. When you sit in a chair, you bounce your leg up and down until it hurts. You hyper-focus on the pictures in front of you. They show the crime scenes and bodies of the victims. Eventually, you declare: “It looks professional. I think someone ordered to have these people killed. Someone with access to medical supplies. Maybe even someone who produces fentanyl.”
When you look up, everyone is staring at you. “What?”
Reid shakes his head: “There is no evidence for that.”
“Of course there is! Look at the crime scenes!” You forcefully slide the pictures towards him.
“The victims have nothing in common. They never crossed paths. Why would someone order to have them killed?” JJ tries to defuse the tension.
“I don’t know.” You rub your face.
“And why use fentanyl?” Reid adds.
“I don’t know.” You say again.
Hotchner gets up: “That’s not enough to back up your theory. It’s late. Let’s get to the hotel and get some rest.” You look at your watch, it’s merely 11 p.m.
You shake your head: “Go ahead, I’m not tiered.”
Hotchner stares at you but eventually nods. The others pack their things. You collect all the material off the table and put it in front of you.
“Good night.” Morgan tells you and you give him a small smile.
Reid lingers a little longer and leans down next to you: “Are you high?”
You turn your head: “Unfortunately, no.”
He raises an eyebrow: “You mean, not anymore?”
You sigh and turn your attention back at the files in front of you. There has to be something the victims have in common. You push the table to the side and put the chairs on top of it. Then you spread out every single piece of paper on the floor and sit down in the middle. You sort the victim’s files from first to last victim and go over everything again.
You pick up your phone to call Garcia. When she doesn’t pick up, you look at the clock: It’s 3a.m. Sighing, you throw your phone away. You get up and look around. You’re the last one in the station, except for someone at the reception. In the bathroom you wash your face and drink from the faucet. You put your hair back up and take off your jacket.
Turning off the lights, you take off your boots and lay down under the table, using your jacket as pillow. Your brain finally calmed down and exhaustion hits you like a truck. You get your phone again and set an alarm for 7 a.m.
- - - - - - - - - -
Just when your alarm goes off, you hear someone enter the conference room. “Byrne?” You hear Hotchner’s voice.
You crawl out your makeshift bed and get up. “Did you sleep here?” His eyes are wide, and he sounds surprised.
“Barely.” You answer and yawn, stretching your arms and legs.
He looks at the files on the floor. The others pile in and stare at you just the same. You take the coffee Reid has in his hand: “Thanks.” You down half of it before you tell them: “I figured it out. At 3 a.m. I tried to call Garcia, but she apparently was asleep.”
Morgan walks past you to look down on the chaos on the floor. “What the hell did you do here, Byrne?” He laughs and sounds kind of proud.
You hand Reid his coffee back and step between the files. You pick up everything you need and walk to the board. You pin the papers with the statements of family and friends as well as the medical records to the board. “We thought they don’t have a connection, but they do: they all got a flue shot about two months ago.”
“A flu shot. That’s your big insight?” Reid has that condescending tone again.
“Is it a habit of yours to interrupt others?” You bark at him. His mouth falls open and you continue: “As I was saying: they all got flu shots. They were all made by the same lab. And now guess what that lab is also manufacturing.”
“Fentanyl.” Hotchner mumbles. You already have your phone in your hand, dialing Garcia’s number. You want to find out if the shots were administered by the same person.
- - - - - - - - - -
You’re sitting at the back of an ambulance, holding an icepack to your head. The unsub hit you with a metal bar. You blacked out for a second but luckily don’t have a concussion, only a laceration. You persuaded the EMT to stich it on sight, so you don’t have to go to the hospital.
Hotchner walks over to you: “Are you okay?” You shrug your shoulders: “It’s fine, Hotchner.” That’s the first time you see the corners of his mouth twitch: “Hotch.”
“What?”
“Everyone calls me Hotch.”
You let the icepack sink to properly look at him. His eyes dart to the bloody bandage above your eyebrow.
“I like Hotchner. It’s a nice name.” You state.
He offers you his arm and you grab it to pull yourself to your feet: “You did good.” He says quietly.
Letting go of his arm you grin at him: “I’ll put that in my diary.”
Hotchner shakes his head: “Don’t push it.” But his face betrays his stern tone: He gives you a genuine smile.
You punch his shoulder lightly and walk away. Before you get in the car, you yell: “Hotchner!” He turns to look at you. “Let me know when you need some cocaine.”
He sighs and walks away.
I put out a reworked 2nd Edition if you're interested!