Loyalty

In Quantico, Virginia, under a burning hot sky at the very end of summer, there was a muted activity within the BAU.

Derek Morgan always enjoyed the quiet days, in which he could read through independent research and share a laugh with his teammates. It was rare for them to enjoy what they were doing. Usually, the pleasure came later, when they had cuffed and sent down whoever it was they were chasing, and made the streets that little bit safer for the world. On days like this, so calm and unhurried, it was as though they could forget what lay beyond them, what their next psychopath was plotting.

"You know, we haven't been called up for a case in a while," he pointed out to Prentiss, who was sat a little further behind him at her own desk, itself in front of Spencer's; "If we're not careful, we might actually start to relax."

"Don't say anything! You might jinx it," she scolded, though her voice was light, brushing her neatly cut black hair from her eyes so as to better see what she was writing.

"I doubt that," Spencer cut in while he sat at his desk, coffee in hand and speaking through a hum; "The reason we think people can 'jinx' things is because we're not paying attention to it before they point it out, so we're more aware when the thing in question happens."

The pair just rolled their eyes as he went off into a tangent, either not realising or not caring that both of them had stopped paying close attention. Spencer was a fact-machine, and so it was in his nature to reel them off when he heard something incorrect. Asking the man a question was opening up a world of pointless titbits of information, not all of it for the situation at hand.

"Hopefully it lasts for a while," Emily eventually piped up, when the man had become distracted by something else on his desk; "That last string of cases bled me dry. I've seen enough crime scenes to last me a lifetime."

That was when Rossi appeared, late, and with his usual look of guarded responsibility as he went towards his office; "You're in the wrong job, then. Crime scenes are our studios."

"I think I'd prefer one!" she called in reply, and she caught the slight upturning of his lips when he reached his office door, which he promptly vanished into. It was unusual for him to be late. It seemed the day was ripe for the peculiar.

"Hello, my darlings," it was Penelope who appeared next, dressed from head to toe in a bright and outgoing outfit, all of which never failed to surprise them but had lost at least some of their punch over the years. She carried in her arms a stack of papers, and it was Derek who jumped up to help her.

"What're all these?" he asked. There was enough to make the 'Save the Rainforest' campaign cry.

"These, my dark knight, are the illegal websites I have to go through for all that nasty stuff that keeps us in work," she told him, that smile on her face never wavering; "They're as gruesome as you would expect."

"How did you manage to get through them all?" he asked.

"Sheer will and a large collection of fluffy toys surrounding me," was her response, and she gestured for him to help her carry them into her office, where she had just implemented a new hierarchy with her toys. They stood now huddled around a proverbial King and Queen, themselves dressed in gowns of grand jade, and with tiny crowns atop their head to further seal their power. It was a strange thing, to walk into a Technical Analyst's office and find what could only be described as playthings.

Outside, in the bullpen, Spencer was going through what he had left neglected on his desk the day before. He had much research left for his upcoming book, but he was confident it would make fine reading, should the right person pick it up.

"What you got there, Reid?" Aaron Hotchner asked when he went past, stopping on route to his office. He also wore a guarded face, but there was a sort of genuine curiosity to it, something innate within the man that made him both approachable and respectable.

"A pet project I've been doing between cases," he replied, though he didn't look up, marking off sections of the book for future reference; "I've decided to write a book about the relevance of monarchies and how they affect global standing, economic status and the overall political well-being of their countries."

Aaron raised an eyebrow at Prentiss, smiling at her as she gave her own; "Look out – we might lose our resident genius to politics."

"You don't have anything to worry about," Spencer reassured; "Politics doesn't give me the same sort of mental challenge I get from the BAU."

His words were met with laughter, and he laughed too, though he wasn't sure what was so funny. He had learnt to simply mimic them in that regard, for he himself had no idea what made him so amusing to them, other than the idiosyncrasies they found endearing.

Derek returned, and with him came the muted activity that had been at large. Reid was going through one of his many reference books when he heard the door that led to their department opening, and he looked up at the same time as Morgan, who looked to have been reading through something more pertinent to their job.

From the door, a young girl came through. She was no more than eleven, her hair long and brown, and her eyes, though interested, seemed to hold within them an impish spark. She wore a pair of faded jeans that were patched with butterflies and a long coat that hid her shirt, red and with oversized buttons, and apparently deep pockets in which her hands were buried. When she caught sight of the confused stares – belonging now to Prentiss, Reid and Morgan – she smiled.

"Hey, sweet-pea," Derek was the first to speak, and did so with warmth in his voice, though not without bewilderment; "Where's your Mommy?"

"Are you the BAU?" she asked. Her voice was confident, unlike what they expected a lost girl's to sound like, and Spencer's brow furrowed. It held a firm English accent, too, which only served to raise more questions.

Aaron, who had apparently caught sight of her from his office and had left it to ask what was going on, caught the tail-end of the question, and answered in his guarded tone; "Yes, we are."

She smiled, pulling her hands out from her pockets.

"I think you might want to talk to me."

The room at large were stunned as the sunlight glinted from the blood on her palms.