"If we were to wake up some morning and find that everyone was the same race, creed and color, we would find some other cause for prejudice by noon."
George Aiken

"All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords."
T. S. Eliot

07.49

"Good morning darling, what can I get you?"

Almost flabbergasted, Abby Franklin Scott stared at the huge woman before her, her bleach blond hair with four different colours and numerous buttons on her bright yellow shirt. The nickname the woman used was probably one that had filled her mouth million times before. To Abby, it had a different effect than the woman could ever imagine.

A small shiver, uncontrolled and unapproved, ran itself up her back, the hair in her neck rose and suddenly, she became fully aware of the gun on her hip.

It was as if someone had pushed the 'freeze' button of the scenery in the simple café. Already ready to pay, her hand hung somewhere between her chest and the counter. Behind her, she heard the seven year old boy scream at his mother because he didn't get a brownie and the young woman –probably a lawyer – standing behind Abby, tapped her shoe impatiently and annoyingly.

When the woman behind the cashier blinked, Abby was awoken.

"Dubble latté please, extra cream and could you add some walnuts?" The pretty, dark haired woman continued her action and put some money on the counter. She received the change and quickly grabbed her coffee once it was ready, flashing a veneer smile.

"Have a nice day!"

Abby ignored the friendly goodbye from the blonde woman and exited the café. Outside, she waited a moment to collect her thoughts and then shook her head, as if she could shake the thoughts out of her head. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes when she exhaled. She could see the depth of the pit staring at her from below. It beckoned; she made herself oblivious and looked around.

"Bird!"

A fairly large German shepherd ran towards her, wiggling his tail and his mouth open. He greeted her enthusiastic and he sat down next to her, his weight pressing against Abby's leg.

"Where've you been, eh? I thought I told you to stay put."

Abby smilingly petted the dog and mentioned for him to follow as she took a sip from her coffee. Bird ran out in front of her, his nose a few inches above the pavement, smelling, sensing, discovering. She chuckled at the sight of the dog, his long and clumsy legs and fluffy tail.

After she turned the corner and crossed the street with Birdie at her side, Abby approached a large, white, federal building. On the glass doors, she read 'F.B.I. Headquarters'. She looked up at the edifice and sighed. The dog sat down next to her and looked up at her when she looked down at him.

"You ready?" She smiled at the dog and kneeled down next to him. "Ya, I'll just take ya home nacho, we've done all the recon there is to be done. You did good."

08.23

Determined and confident steps filled the hall as Abby took in her surroundings, the sound of her shoes reverberating within the light, pale buff walls of the FBI Headquarters. The elevator closed behind her when she was halfway through the corridor. There was no going back now. She was approaching two large glass doors and behind it, countless of bull pen's and people walking around. Again, she opened the door and entered the office.

This was a church, she could feel it. Within these walls, the agents were safe from the horror that awaited them outside. In here, they could rest and lay down their guard. In here, it was safe. Despite that, people walked around, talked to each other, hands held files, folders, photo's, eyes read and witnessed the cruelty a human being was capable of.

She looked rather intimidating; her gun in plain sight, visible and noticeable, an adamant and composed look on her face and she tilted her chin up slightly once she walked through the large room. Not many people noticed her; they were used to people walking in and out. Her eyes rushed from name tag to name tag, hearing names, but seeing or hearing no name that sounded like the name of the man she was looking for. Abby refused the urge to tuck her hands in her pocket as that would make her seem careless and at ease. A rather handsome, tall dark man looked at her and she walked up towards him.

"Excuse me."

"Yeah?"

There was an immediate spark between them, a mutual attraction. Abby ignored the feeling between them, but the man let his eyes took her in properly, calculation the threat and her purpose.

"I'm looking for SSA Aaron Hotchner. Could you tell me where he is?" Her thick and heavy, posh British accent was clearly audible.

The man, she presumed was SSA Derek Morgan, looked away from her, towards the office a level higher. Abby spotted the features of SSA Aaron Hotchner and made a mental note to tell Miles, her best friend, that the stories around Aaron Hotchner were probably right.

"He's over there, in his office."

"Thank you."

Derek Morgan followed Abby with his eyes, still unsure of what to think. He had never seen her face before, perhaps she was here for a case, or some other reason? Recreational, maybe?

"Who's that?" Agent Prentiss leant against Morgan's desk once the brunette was out of hearing range. She sipped on her coffee, one hand in her pocket, seemingly at ease and comfortable in the still early morning.

"That's Abby Scott." Doctor Reid, whom had also been sitting behind his desk, leant back in his chair as he watched Abby enter his supervisor's office. Prentiss and Morgan broke their stare to look at their younger colleague.

"How do you know that?"

"I read some of her scripts. She's from the Special Crime Unit in Atlanta. They do all kinds of things, serial, kidnappings, unsolved cases. Her and her team hold the highest record of solved cases, ninety-one per cent. I sort of worked with her a couple of times on lectures and classes, with several other people."

"She teaches?"

"Well, teaches. We gave some lectures about our work, cases, you know."

Morgan opened his hands in slight confusion as he spoke. "What is she doing here?"

Spencer Reid frowned, but then shrugged and he focused his attention back to his paperwork, leaving Morgan confused and worried. He knew, he could feel it. Bugs crawled under his skin, tickling his senses, making him restless and uncomfortable in his own church.

08.30

"Aaron Hotchner?"

A tall, tired looking but still handsome man's head turned to look up at the dark haired woman. He recognized her face and immediately stood up before closing the file he was reading. He held out his hand. "Abby Scott, I presume?"

She nodded and shook his hand. Hotchner motioned for her to take a seat whilst he sat down himself. So she did and glanced around the room in the meantime. It held a reddish, brownish glow, it was neat, organized, clean. Typical F.B.I. agent behaviour. Three short piles of case files on his desk, which was dust free. Meaningless objects in the room to fill it up and make it cosier. There stood a framed photograph behind him, in the open bookcase; a young boy smiling next to Hotch. She reckoned it was his son.

"How was your flight?"

"Okay, I guess." Abby's head leant on her left hand, carefully observing the older man. Her other hand was placed loosely on the chair's arm and she crossed her legs.

"I read your file." He hesitated as he sought for the right words. "It's quite impressive."

"Thank you. Sir."

He grabbed the rather thick file he earlier put down on his desk and opened it again. "You're twenty-seven, dual citizenship; your father is American, your mother English. You were born in England, immigrated to Atlanta when you were six. You have an IQ of one-eighty-one. Hold PhD's in Psychology, Criminology and Mathematics. You got an undergraduate degree World History. You served in the Army for three years before joining DEA. Joined the bureau when you were twenty-three after you worked with Scotland Yard for eight months, you were accepted in the Special Crimes Unit after a year, all in Atlanta. That's quite a list for a person your age."

"Yes, it is sir."

Hotchner nodded as if asking her to tell him more, his eyes studiously observing her.

"I got graduated university when I was seventeen, with a master in Psychology. I got my PhD's Sociology and Criminology in the four years after that, Mathematics a couple years later. I don't have a lot of friends, don't date much. I'm not afraid of a new challenge, I like to read, don't sleep much, got a lot of free time on my hands as you can guess. I joined the Army when I was eighteen, as said. I was asked for a special sniper training program, but I was discharged long before I completed that. After my last tour in Iraq I joined the DEA, based on my experience in the Army I was accepted into a fast track training course. After a year an old friend got me in with Scotland Yard where I worked for less than a year, and also completed my undergraduate degree in World History. I turned twenty-three and joined the FBI. I did all sorts of different things that fell under CIRG and after a year I was accepted into the SCU. That was almost four years ago now."

Hotch closed the file and let it rest on his desk. He looked at Abby, whom had been looking at him.

"I teach a lot too, with this group of weird scientists and crazy geniuses."

Hotch smiled at this comment. "So, is it professor or doctor?"

"Well, Supervisory Special Agent doctor professor Scott is a tad long, I'll settle for Frankie or Scott."

"Frankie?"

"High school nickname. Kinda stuck."

"Your boss told me you weren't really happy about the transfer."

Abby smiled slightly and placed both her hands in her lap. "Yeah, no offense, but I like my work in Atlanta."

Hotch noticed an immediate change in Abby's behaviour as he started about the subject. He had known about what happened to her team and he knew she had been pulled away in the middle of an important case.

"You're familiar with what we do?" He asked.

"Pretty much the same as what I did before, right?"

He ordered some files and put them together on a small stack as if he was trying to clean up his desk. At some point, he wondered why he suddenly felt the urge. He pushed the thought away and looked back at Abby, whom had been watching him closely. "From what I read, it's pretty much the same. You took the seminar and classes before starting in Atlanta, we'll be working a little differently, mostly because we focus only on the behaviour, but it'll be pretty much the same. This is why I agreed to the transfer. You'll be a great asset to the team."

Abby wondered why Hotch mentioned that they focused mainly on the behaviour. She sensed an underlying meaning, but wasn't sure. With the Special Crimes Unit, she was mostly tracing them, chasing them, kicking down doors, yelling 'F.B.I.!', taking names and interrogating perps. Still, her old team used the behaviour analysis, whereas not as good or intense as they did with the BAU, to narrow down their suspect pool whenever needed.

"I didn't know there was an opening." Abby remarked casually.

"There wasn't."

"So you did my boss a favour."

Hotchner almost sighed, he knew this was going to be far from easy, but Abby seemed somewhat aggressive towards him, hostile. Apparently, it had been an understatement when she said she wasn't happy about the transfer. "He felt you'd be putting your qualities to a better use with the BAU."

Abby snorted. "Which is just a fancy way of saying he wanted to get rid of me." Her eyes didn't seem very moody or dark, quite the opposite. They were light and almost sparkling.

"Basically." Hotch smiled back at her and figured he must have misread her impression of holding back.

"I read his evaluation."

The female nodded, not replying to the comment.

"I reckon you read it as well."

"I have my ways." Abby tried to hide the playful, small smile around her lips, but didn't succeed completely. When Hotch returned her smile again, she figured he wasn't as austere and stern as she thought. Or, perhaps, he was just playing along with her.

"Is it a problem?" He looked at Abby, switching to a completely different mood, with a strong, piercing and almost stern glare, reading every emotion that flashed on Abby's face and interpreting her body language.

She interlaced her fingers, still leaving her hands to rest on her stomach. "I am who I am. I respect my superiors but that doesn't mean I won't trust my instincts or do my job as protocol tells me to do it. I do it my way. I keep others from harm but that doesn't mean I won't put myself on the line. I can't help what I do or how I do it, it's instinct."

"I can understand that."

"Of course you can."

Abby's remark was quick and the light and comfortable air that was created between them, disappeared like vapour dissipated in the air. His eyes immediately sought her face. Though her body language said otherwise, the comment could cut through steal, it was sharp and vehement. It was right on and the air in the room dropped in temperature.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you'd read my file. That would normally have people decide against asking me to come. But you did. We haven't worked together so you can't say that I can do my job and that the way how I do it is only questionable. That would imply that you've talked to my supervisor, my mentor. She would have told me if you had. So you must have talked to my boss. Despite our mutual grudge against each other, we respect each other and know that we can do our jobs and do it well. He knows me as well as my old team." During Abby's explanation, she looked calm and controlled. She was confident and determined, constantly having eye contact with Hotch.

"Impressive."

She had listened to every word that he had said, but also managed to link and combine that with his expressions and body language. She was doing rather well. She picked things up quickly, put them to use, she was a worker and liked to get her hands dirty.

"As said before, I have a PhD in Mathematics."

The air in the office lit up again, and Hotch jumped right in. "You can do the math."

"Exactly." Abby smiled again. This time it was Hotch' time to be straightforward. He leant forward and rested his arms on his desk, hands folded into each other as Abby's. "You mentioned you weren't really happy about the transfer, yet you refer to your team in Atlanta as your old team."

"I was only given a one-way ticket."

"Are you up to it? I need to know if I can count on you, rely on you."

"I'm ready."

"Then let's get started." He stood up from behind his desk while he grabbed a file and headed for the door, Abby following close behind.

"It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial."
Edgar Allan Poe