"I don't know whether war is an interlude during peace, or peace an interlude during war."

-Georges Clemenceau

The airport chair was like every other airport chair she'd ever been in. Hard, cold, and uncomfortable. Still, it was almost like the chair was a piece of home, and Angie didn't want to leave it. Her mother sat on one side of her; her father on the other. Both were beaming, sunlight radiating from their skin. Though she too was excited, Angie couldn't help but feel the wait was bittersweet. Soon she'd be on the other side of the country.

"We're so proud of you," her father said. She almost burst into tears at those words, as they weren't uttered more than twice in her life.

"Thanks," she blushed, squeezing his hand. Her mother said nothing, but threw her arms around her daughter. "Mom, you're crushing me."

The elder woman released Angie, dabbing her eyes with her scarf. "Sorry, mijita."

Angie looked down at her cell phone and sighed. It was time to get on the plane and head out to DC. She'd be starting her job at NCIS in a few days, and she still had to get unpacked. Her apartment was going to be fairly barren for a while, since she opted to sell most of her furniture and buy when she got to DC.

"I'll see you guys for Christmas," she hugged her parents, voice soft and bittersweet.

&&&&

Reid was on top of her before she knew what was happening. For half a second, Angie's mind went to dirty places, but the fear of being caught without her weapon when somebody else had one caught up with her. She patted her sides the way she would on the job, but she was well aware that her weapon was not with her.

"What's going on?" She breathed, unable to see as Spencer was still shielding her. People were screaming, and no more gunshots had gone off, but she knew the situation was not over.

"I don't know. Some guy has a gun."

"Can you see what he's doing?"

Spencer strained his neck to get a better look at the guy, but he refused to move away from his date. He could feel her pushing him off, but he didn't budge. "He's waving the gun around, and he's got some woman by the wrist."

"Spence, get off of me. I can protect myself."

"I know you can. I'm still not moving, not until I know what's going on."

With a huff, Angie tried one last time to push him off. For such a skinny boy, he was heavy. It was cute that he was protecting her like that, but she couldn't help but feel slightly offended. Spencer didn't think she was weak, and she very well knew it, but it was exasperating nonetheless.

A man's voice called out, anger coating each syllable. She assumed the voice was that of the gunman. At first his words were too slurred to make out, but when she listened harder she could understand. He was yelling at the woman with him, calling her a cheat and a liar.

"How did he get that in here?" Spencer lifted himself off of her, but only by a little bit. His body was still hiding her from the man's rage.

"I don't remember a metal detector. The bouncer must not have thought there was a threat. Spencer, please, let me up. Maybe I can negotiate with him."

"No, let me do it. I'm a guy, he's more likely to talk to me."

"Or he could feel threatened."

Spencer wasn't going to argue. In the sternest voice she'd ever heard him use, he commanded her to stay down. She felt him lift himself off of her, and the gunman called out in anger. "Get down," the man slurred. "This is none of your business!"

Angie stared up at Spencer, her heart skipping every other beat. She'd seen Tony shot at, Ziva dodge bullets, and Gibbs stare down his would-be assassin. This was different. They were her co-workers, her friends. Spencer was more. She'd not known him as long, but she cared for him deeply, and it hurt her to see him put himself in harm's way. He did it for his job, and so did she, but it was still hard to see.

"Put the gun down," he began, his hands up. He did not step forward, and his voice was calm. "Let's talk about this."

"Who the hell do you think you are? This ain't about you."

Spencer stepped forward. "I understand that. Why don't you put the gun down and we can talk this over." He looked at the woman, then back at the drunkard. "Did she do something?"

"Damn straight. She's a cheating whore, this one. Came home early today 'cause I was gonna surprise her, but the skank was getting into some cholo's car.I followed her here. Bitch."

The woman, very obviously from the same area, given that she had the same accent, spoke. "Yeah, well, at least Roberto isn't too tired for me. He listens to me."

"Shut up, bitch. He only listens so he can get between your legs."

Reid was quiet for a moment. Angie took this moment to crawl around one of the tables. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw this, and wanted more than anything to tell her to be still. Since he couldn't, he had to trust that she knew what she was doing and distract the offender. "That sounds terrible," he began again, stepping away from Angie to pull attention away from that area. "I know how you feel. You give a girl everything, and she messes around on the side."

The woman, not catching on, took offense to this sentiment. "You skinny little bitch, you ain't got no idea what you talkin' 'bout."

"Shut up," her soon-to-be ex screamed, shaking her. "Let the little man talk."

Angie smiled a little to herself. The exchange would be funny in another circumstance, but for now she was more concerned with getting around the bar. It was only a few feet away, but she had no idea if she would be able to get to it. There was nothing to shield her once she got past the table, so she'd have to get up to make it. If Spencer could distract the man for a second, she might be able to do it. Then again, it could all be in vain if the bartender didn't keep a gun. Since the woman who had been bartending earlier hadn't said a word, there was no way Angie could be sure.

The exchange between the young FBI agent and the ese seemed to be flowing along nicely. If Angie didn't do it now, she would lose the courage to do so. With a quiet prayer to herself, she pushed herself up on her toes, took a deep breath, and in one quick leap was behind the bar.

"What was that?" The ese, whose name was revealed to be George, waved his gun around in the direction of the sudden movement.

"I didn't see anything."

George was not very bright, and took Spencer's word for it. They continued woman-bashing, but it was getting clear that Spencer was running out of things to say. He was attempting a conversational approach, but stayed away from his safety statistics. This man was definitely on a path to prison, but not in the way the unsubs Spencer usually chased were. George was not intelligent, and had a very limited vocabulary. If Spencer treated him the way he would a normal unsub, he would just confuse the man and make things worse.

The bartender was pressed up against the shelves beneath the counter, trembling, eyes wide and staring at Angie when she appeared. "Do you have a gun?" she mouthed, forming her fingers into a gun shape and twitching her thumb like she was pulling a trigger. The bartender nodded and pointed at a small box beneath the cash register. Angie crawled over and pulled the box out, slowly and soundlessly. "Why haven't you used it?" Her voice was not above a whisper.

"I-I d-don't know h-how to use one." The young girl, no older than twenty-two, would probably not be returning to work the next day.

It was best, Angie thought, that the bartender did not pull out the gun. If she didn't know how to use it, George would probably kill her. Angie knew how to, though, and very well. Even Gibbs had given her a compliment during a team expedition to the firing range.

After a quick check to make sure the small revolver had bullets, Angie popped up from behind the bar. "Federal Agent, put down the gun." She pointed the revolver straight at him.

Startled, George let go of the woman, but quickly regained composure and pointed the gun at her. The sound of a single gunshot filled the room. George lay on the ground, screaming away in Spanish about the pain in his shoulder. Moments later, the familiar sound of sirens grew louder as the police drew near.

The next hour or so was filled with flashing lights and protocol, but eventually both Spencer and Angie were allowed to leave. Given that they were both special agents, Hotch and Gibbs were called to inform them of what had happened. Both offered to come down, but the offers were turned down. Neither Spencer nor Angie wanted to deal with their bosses.

The drive home was quiet. Not awkward, but exhaustion filled the air. Eventually, Angie sliced open the silence. "What an interesting date this turned out to be."

"Oh yeah. That's the last time you're talking me into clubbing."

"Hush now. I'll still talk you into it, we'll just make sure to have our weapons next time."

Spencer frowned. "If you say so."

She slapped his arm and laughed. "Don't be so serious. It sucks, but nobody got her. Well, except for the gang-banger, but he deserved it. Ugh, I just don't want to go home now."

At the stoplight, he set his eyes on her. "You're free to stay the night with me."

"No, no. After all the trouble I got us into today, I couldn't."

"It's fine if you do. I'd like it."

Angie smiled and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Okay then. I'll stay with you tonight, and head out early to shower and get a change of clothing."

"Or we could just stop by your place first. It's not too far from here."