Chapter 1: Hand in Pocket

FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit Office, Quantico, VA

September 6, 2002; 5:34 P.M.

"Please tell me this is a joke." She said.

"No, ma'am, it's not. I want her on my team."

FBI Section Chief Erin Strauss looked at Aaron Hotchner, the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, like he was senseless.

"There is no way I'm letting an insubordinate, reckless cadet on this team!"

"Dr. Algèrnon is not a cadet." Hotch argued. "She's a Probationary Agent for the Psychiatric Department."

"And you think transferring straight from a desk job to the field is going to be good for this girl?"

"Have you looked at her file? Dr. Algèrnon spent the better part of her cadet training working for Terry Swanson's Strategic Unit. Psychology is her forte which is something that this team needs."

"And I agree, Agent Hotchner." Strauss said. "But not from a child!"

"Need I remind you that you authorized Dr. Spencer Reid's admission to this unit?"

"That was different. Dr. Reid has great intellect."

"So does Dr. Algernon." Hotch defended. "She scored the highest in her defense qualifications at the Academy, her IQ is 184, and she's fluent in 4 languages, not including English. Do you want me to remind you of the age difference between her and Dr. Reid?"

"No, thank you." Strauss sighed. She knew Hotch wasn't going to let this go without a fight. Perhaps this girl is everything what Hotch says she is. And if she isn't, Hotch will look extremely bad. That will make Erin Strauss feel really good. Strauss took the paper from Hotch's hands and signed it.

"Very well, Aaron." She said. "Dr. Algèrnon is a member of your team. It won't be official until another week but I suggest you tell your other members the good news."

"Thank you, ma'am." Hotch thanked, smiling from the inside.

"Don't make me regret this."

Hotch knew that Strauss' warning wasn't idle. Hiring a certified psychologist whose not quite old enough to drink yet was a big risk. But the moment he met her during that lecture in Columbia, he knew there was something special about her. Something unique. It was only a matter of time before everyone else caught on. Well…. someone already did.

Gillespie Ave. Restaurant

September 7, 2002; 7:25 P.M.

The dinner rush barely started within the last hour and the restaurant was already packed. Kimiko Watanabe was impressed. Mondays were usually their slow days but today they were making good business. Of course, being a bartender, everyday is a good day. Kimiko looked up to see a tall, built dark-skinned man walking towards the bar. He came over to Kimiko and smiled.

"What's up, Crouching Tiger?" He greeted.

"Nothing much, Amistad." Kimiko replied. "You want the usual?"

"Yeah, make it a cold one. Is my niece back there?"

"She's getting ready for her number. But she goes on at 8:00 so I guess it's okay for you to go back there."

The man smiled at the sassy, Japanese bartender as he made his way towards the kitchen. If this were any typical customer, the owner would've had him thrown out. But Derek Morgan was not a typical customer.

"Yo, Remy!" He called out.

Remy Laurent looked up from his books when he heard his name. He was a tall, young Indian man well dressed in British couture, black hair spiked. He looked at Derek for a brief moment then went back to his books.

"She's in the changing room, Morgan." He said. "Tell her she's got less than 30 minutes."

"You got it, Bossman."

Derek headed to a small room near the back and he knocked on the door.

"Jesus, Remy!" A voice complained. "I'll be ready in 5 minutes!"

"It's not Remy, Buttercup."

The door suddenly swung open nearly catching Derek off-guard. A young woman looked at him and smiled big.

"Uncle D!" Gatsby Algèrnon squealed. "I didn't know you were coming!"

Derek laughed as he gave his niece a big hug. "Well, I thought I would come over and surprise my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece, Uncle Derek." Gatsby reminded as she stepped aside to let her uncle inside the dressing room. "What's up?"

"Oh, you know: women, work, life." Derek smiled. "Just an ordinary day."

"It still amazes me how you put it in that particular order. But that's not what I meant."

"What do you mean then?"

Gatsby started to respond when she was cut off by a knock on her door. A young girl, roughly 3 years older, emerged from the edge of the doorway. Her skin complexion was slightly darker than Gatsby's and her hair was golden blonde.

"Hey, Remy wants to know if you're ready yet." She said.

Gatsby groaned in frustration. "The gig doesn't start until 8:00, Celeste. It's 7:45 and I got plenty of time so tell him I'm talking to my uncle right now."

"Okay, don't kill the messenger. I'll tell him. How's it going, Morgan?"

"Not too shabby, Celeste." Derek replied. "Tell your crumpet-eating fiancé I said hi."

"Not everyone from England eats crumpets, moron." Celeste Johnson retorted. "And where's my bridal shower present?"

"At Victoria's Secret."

Celeste shook her head while Gatsby just laughed. "Can you give us a minute, Celeste?" She asked.

"I'll give y'all all the time you need."

As Celeste left the room, Derek got himself comfortable on the couch while Gatsby was styling her hair.

"So, what's the verdict?"

"Verdict?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Derek Morgan." Gatsby said. "You know what I'm talking about. How did the meeting go with Agent Hotchner and Chief Strauss?"

"I wouldn't know," Derek replied. "I wasn't there."

"But you know something right?"

Derek sighed. Gatsby was stubborn; she was never going to let this subject go.

"Shouldn't you wait a couple more years before you get out there?"

Gatsby turned around and looked at Derek. "You think I'm too young for this job?"

"That's not what I'm saying…"

"Then what is it? Come on, Uncle D, give it to me straight."

Derek exhaled and came over to Gatsby.

"It's hard enough being an FBI agent," He began. "But an FBI profiler is a whole different ballgame. You have to be prepared, not only physically but also mentally and emotionally. We're chasing some real sickos out there."

"Don't you think I know that?" Gatsby replied. "I've seen worse things while I was overseas."

"This isn't boarding school, Gatsby."

Oh if you only knew, Uncle Derek. Gatsby thought.

"So, you think I'm not mentally and emotionally mature for this?"

"Personally, yeah. But it doesn't matter what I think, it's Hotch's decision."

"And what did he say?"

"He fought for you and won. You start next Monday, girl."

Gatsby let out a big squeal and gave her uncle a huge bear hug.

"Thank you, thank you so much!" She cheered.

"Don't thank me, sweetheart." Derek laughed. "You earned your place in the BAU. But you have to work hard to keep it. Don't count on your uncle to bail you out."

"Don't worry, Uncle D." Gatsby assured. "I didn't get four degrees and become a Rhodes scholar for nothing. I got this."

"I guess that boarding school was worth Mama working two jobs."

"Ha-ha."

Suddenly, the door burst open and Remy waltzed in with an impatient look on his face.

"Gatsby!" He exclaimed. "Are you finished talking? You're on in less than 5 minutes!"

"¡Oh dios, Remy! ¡Pare el ser un dolor en mi asno, yo están listo!" Gatsby snapped.

"Don't snap at me in Spanish!"

"Do you prefer French?"

Remy gave Gatsby a steely glare, and then he turned to Derek.

"You know, what we called girls like her in the French Quarter?" He whispered.

"No, what?" Derek smiled.

"Chiennes têtues."

Before Remy knew it, a brush was hurled at him. He saw a fuming Gatsby narrow her honey brown eyes at him. He just smiled.

"You know I love you, right?"

"You better be glad Carmine is your boyfriend," He said. "Otherwise, I would've slapped you back to New Orleans."

"I know. But all joking aside, you're about to start."

"Okay."

Gatsby put on her blue polka-dot wedges and took one last look at herself in the mirror. She started to follow Remy before Derek stopped her.

"Don't think I was against you being on this team with me." He said.

"I wasn't for a second." Gatsby objected. "Well, maybe for a millisecond."

"Anyway, I know you're a tough girl, you're related to me. I just worry about you."

"I'm 19, Derek, I'm can take care of myself. If any Unsubs try to touch me, I'll shoot them."

"You do know you're not supposed to get your firearm until you're 20, right."

Gatsby made a face. "Oh. Well, I can still fight. I can do this, Uncle Derek."

Derek smiled. "Then prove Strauss wrong on Monday." He said. "Now get out of here before Remy hunts you down again."

Gatsby gave Derek a hug and a kiss on the cheek before leaving the dressing room. Derek let out a long breath he didn't know he was holding. It finally dawned on him- His niece was going to be working in the FBI alongside him. He knew Gatsby was smart for her age. She has two doctorates in Psychology & English, a BA in Sociology and a Masters in Criminology. Not to mention she was a Rhodes scholar and graduated summa cum laude from Columbia. There was no doubt Gatsby was intelligent. But with being a profiler, that can only get so far. He watched his niece sing a jazzy version of Alanis Morrisette's Hand in Pocket:

"And what it all boils down to

Is that no one's really got it figured out just yet

'cause I've got one hand in my pocket

And the other one is playing the piano

And what it all comes down to my friends

Is that everything's just fine fine fine

'cause I've got one hand in my pocket

And the other one is hailing a taxi cab"

And Derek Morgan wondered if his niece, Dr. Gatsby Cecilia Algèrnon, was truly ready to be a profiler?

Translations: ¡Oh dios, Remy! ¡Pare el ser un dolor en mi asno, yo están listo!= Oh God, Remy! Stop being a pain in my ass, I'm ready!

Chiennes têtues=Stubborn bitches

Gatsby speaks fluent Spanish and French and her friend, Remy, speaks fluent French as well so...There will be a lot of translating in the Spanish and French languages. Just so u know.