The BAU's Agent Hale:

RATED T: Violence, language, nongraphic sexual abuse/references, etc.

PART ONE: DARING TO BEGIN

"All glory comes from daring to begin."
-Eugene F. Ware

CHAPTER ONE: AN INTERVIEW (HALE)

I looked at my face in the mirror, trying to figure out if I looked presentable enough for my job interview. I didn't want to come off as careless, but I didn't want to look too uptight and bland, so I went for a business casual look. I was wearing nude stilettos and well fitted black business pants, with a billowy cream colored blouse and a gold watch. I tied my hair back in a loose ponytail and stuck some gold studs into my ears. I looked at myself for a moment, and then deemed the pants far too businesslike. I slipped out of them, and as I searched in my closet for a nice looking skirt I heard footsteps behind me.

I grinned as hands found their way onto my hips and I felt warm breath on my neck. "Underwear and stilettos? I don't think I can let you leave the apartment like this."

I turned around, taking my boyfriend's face in my hands. "You know, I think you're on to something. Maybe if I go to my interview in just this I'll be much more likely to get the job."

Jason smirked, a piece of brown hair falling into his eyes. "Now if you did that, I might have to handcuff you to the bed."

"Don't tempt me," I replied, and he leaned down to kiss me, wrapping his muscled arms around my waist and pushing me into my closet. I grinned and leaned into the kiss, and then I pushed him away. "Alright, Jason, c'mon, I've got a job interview."

"Uh-huh," he said, moving his lips to my neck and running his hands up and down my back, reaching under my shirt to stroke my skin.

"Seriously, Jay," I said, placing my hands softly on his chest. "Job interview. To help us pay rent?"

He didn't listen. He reached to unbutton my shirt, and I sighed. With a quick burst of energy, I pushed him away and said, "Jason, think straight for a moment for me, okay?"

He glanced at me, his eyes seemingly misted over. Then they cleared up. "You're right," he sighed. "You know what those damn shoes do to me."

"Maybe if you let me get dressed we wouldn't have to do this every time I have an interview."

He kissed my cheek and backed away. "Fine, fine. Go to your interview. Knock 'em dead."

"Will do," I said. "Now let me get dressed."

He pecked me on the cheek one more time and left the room. I quickly pulled out a knee length, A-line peach colored skirt and fastened it at my waist. I looked in the mirror again. Much more me, and therefore much better. I quickly retouched my soft pink lipstick, messed up by Jason, and grabbed my purse.

"I'm leaving!" I called to Jason as I got out of my room and headed towards the front door. "Wish me luck!"

"You won't need it!" he called back to me. I smiled and walked out to my car.

I probably looked like an idiot as I drove to the coffee shop where I was meeting my hopefully future boss. I was talking to myself, trying to practice how I introduced myself to the guy. People gave me funny looks at red lights, but I didn't care. By the time I arrived at the coffee shop, I felt ever so slightly more prepared.

I walked in the shop, realizing I was a good ten minutes early. I had seen the man, Chef Seth Mallard, before at his restaurant, where he had offered me the interview. I'd know him when I saw him. I figured I'd get a coffee to sip on while I was waiting. I stood in line behind a tall, suited man with dark hair. His voice was deep as he ordered a medium coffee, with two shots of espresso. I gave a small sound of appreciation, and when he looked over his shoulder, I tried to turn it into a cough.

"Is something about my order interesting?" he asked, his dark eyes seeming to take everything about me in.

I was curious about how keenly observant he seemed. It was almost as if he were profiling me, something I knew a thing or two about. "Nothing," I said after a moment of quick thinking. "I just get the same order."

"Oh," he said, looking equally perceptive as he had been before. "Well, good choice."

"Yeah," I said. The barista gave him his order and he moved out of the way for me to place my order. I did, and as I waited for my coffee I scanned the shop, hoping to see some sign of my interviewer. No such luck.

"Looking for someone?" a voice behind me said.

I didn't need to look behind me to know it was the same guy I'd been behind in the coffee line. "Hopefully, my future boss," I said, keeping my eyes glued on the door. I glanced behind me right as the barista was about to call my name for the coffee. I took it out of her hands and took a sip. "I'm here for an interview," I said, finally looking over at him.

He was handsome in a classic way, with dark hair and eyes, tall and muscled. Very superman-ly. He wore a standard black suit with a red tie and a white shirt. But I could see beyond that. He was withdrawn, intelligent, and if I wasn't mistaken, a pretty take-action man. I gave a slight grin. I was really too good at reading into people for my own good. "Why the grin?" he asked.

"Maybe I'm just confident about getting my new job," I said.

"I'm sorry for prying," he said. "I don't normally approach people at coffee shops. But you look very familiar, and it's not common for me to not remember a face."

"Well, I'm sorry, I don't recognize you," I said. At that moment, Seth Mallard walked through the door. "Excuse me, that's my guy." I watched as the dark-haired man looked in the direction of Mallard, a look of almost surprise on his face.

I walked forward and plastered a smile on my face. "Chef Mallard, it's great to see you again!"

"You as well, Miss Hale. Come on, let's sit."

I glanced once more at the dark-haired man, who was still looking in my direction. He was watching Mallard like a hawk. Then I turned around and walked over to Mallard, who opted for a seat outside. We sat down at a tiny two seater table. "Are you going to get coffee?" I asked.

"That won't be necessary," Chef Mallard said. I looked at him in confusion, trying to read into his expressions. He was behaving coldly, and he was acting distant. His blonde hair was slightly disheveled, and his blue eyes were completely focused in on me. He didn't seem like the nice, joking mid-forties man I'd originally hoped to work for. My eyes wandered behind him, glancing at a couple drinking coffee before looking back at him.

"Is everything alright?" I asked.

"I just have a few questions for you, Miss Hale," Mallard replied.

"Of course. Absolutely," I said, smoothing my skirt nervously.

"You've lived in the D.C. area for how long?"

"A couple years," I replied.

"You graduated from Yale, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir," I said, taking a nervous sip of my coffee. He was so emotionless. Almost static, or procedural. I crossed my legs, needing to move myself.

"And you spent twenty weeks in the FBI Academy?"

"How do you know—"

"I make it my business to know who I'm employing, Miss Hale," Mallard said. "And you seem highly overqualified."

"With all due respect, Chef Mallard, I'm overqualified for a government position. Not a job as a chef's assistant." Now I was on my guard. Something was wrong.

"True," he replied coldly. "One more question, Miss Hale. Are you the daughter of Samuel Hale?"

Immediately I understood. "You're not really a head chef at The Vine, are you?" I said slowly. I moved to slide my chair backwards when I heard a familiar, sickening click.

"Don't move, or I pull the trigger," he said. He had the gun low on the table, covered with a napkin.

I tried to keep my breathing calm. "Who are you?" I asked.

"I need you to come with me, Miss Hale."

"I don't think so," I replied. I moved a little further away, and he reached across the table to grab my arm.

"If you move one more little bit, I will blow a hole through your head."

"There are far too many witnesses for you to go through with that."

"Then you obviously do not know me, Miss Hale."

I looked at him harder. And he gave me no indication that he was lying. My heart fluttered in terror. "Fine. I'll go with you."

He stood up, his grip on my arm iron tight. I followed him up, taking two steps. "Quickly," he said, pushing the gun into my side.

"Wait," I said. He pushed the gun harder, and I winced. "Let me at least get my coffee to go."

"Are you serious?"

"Trust me, you don't want me sans caffeine."

"Fine," he snapped. I reached backwards to get the coffee from the table. As I did, two things happened. First, through the glass panes of the coffee shop, I made eye contact with the dark-haired man who had the same coffee order as me. A witness I couldn't avoid. I assessed the risk of him seeing this, and figured that as long as I could outrun him I wouldn't be caught. After I did so, I grabbed the coffee and threw it in Mallard's—if that was even his real name, which I realized was doubtful—eyes. He cried out as it burned his face, and I quickly began to sprint away as fast as I could in heels.

I made it just far enough to be out of sight of the coffee shop before a hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backwards. "Miss Hale, I'd highly recommend not trying anything else," Mallard growled in my ear. He curled an arm around my neck, cutting off my air, and shoved the gun into my side. "The car is right here. If I have to shoot you to get you in, I will."

"You won't kill me," I choked with what little air I had. "You want me alive. Your employer wants me alive."

He slammed the gun against my forehead, dazing me. He dragged me backwards towards a white SUV. I slammed my heel into his shin, and he cocked his gun as he yelled out in pain.

"Drop the gun," a deep voice said from behind us.

Mallard turned around, still keeping me firmly in his grasp, and he moved the gun to my temple. I saw the dark-haired man from the coffee shop. He was pointing a gun directly at Mallard's head. I felt him rumble as he laughed. "Who are you? Her bodyguard?"

"Agent Hotchner, FBI. You should really let go of her."

"FBI. Huh. Well this is an interesting development. He a friend of yours, Miss Hale?"

"I don't know him," I said. The gun dug further into my head.

"Don't lie," he hissed into my ear. I could smell his breath, and it reeked.

"I said I don't know him!" I repeated sternly. "But I think he knows me."

"I do now," Agent Hotchner replied. "I remember your face from files of prospective agents. You went through twenty weeks of FBI training, you were recommended to many different units, and then all of a sudden you backed out."

"Change of heart," I choked out. Mallard's arm tightened, and I closed my eyes. "Damn. For a man who wants me alive, you're doing an excellent job of ensuring the opposite."

"Let her go," Aaron Hotchner said calmly. "I've already asked for backup. They'll be here any minute."

Mallard hesitated. Then I felt the pressure of the gun release on my temple. "Did you know, Agent Hotchner, that if you sever a major artery, and pressure is not directly applied and held until immediate medical attention arrives, then you die in minutes?"

I watched as Agent Hotchner's face lit up in worry."Don't do it—"

The bullet entered my leg almost immediately and I screamed as pain exploded inside me. Mallard let me fall to the ground and ran to the car. Agent Hotchner, to my surprise, watched him escape and then quickly ran over to me. He took off his suit jacket and pressed it into my thigh, causing me to moan. "He nicked your femoral artery, and at close range I have no clue what else it's done. We need to call a bus."

"Yes, please," I panted.

He pulled out his phone with his free hand and mumbled into it, asking for an ambulance. He hung up and pushed on my leg.

"I guess telling you that what you're doing freaking hurts wouldn't get you to stop?"

"Well, it's either this or die," he replied. "Sorry your interview didn't go as planned."

"I should've known better," I groaned. The feeling of terror began to build up in me when I saw the dark pool of red that I was sitting in. "God, that is a lot of blood. Am I going to die?"

"Not if I can help it," he said, placing more pressure on my leg as I gasped. "You're probably not going to be conscious for much longer, and I might not see you again, so I'll ask now—why'd you decide against the FBI when you were so highly qualified? It could help us catch this guy."

He was right. My vision was swirling and I was starting to feel tired. "Wasn't for me," I muttered.

"That unsub seemed to think differently," he replied.

"He's not the first," I whispered. Everything was a blur of colors.

"The first to what?"

I turned my head, trying to look in the direction of his face. "To try to make me tell them where my father is," I breathed. I groaned again as the pain shot through my body, slowly dulling to an all-encompassing throb of agony.

The pain in my leg was fiery, and my vision glazed over in red for a moment. I moaned, and Agent Hotchner pressed his hands more firmly into my leg. "According to your file, you are too valuable to die, Miss Hale. Just hold on," he said, and I heard sirens in the distance.

"Call me Nat," I mumbled. They were the last words I remember saying before everything turned into black blurs.

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