xiv. The Bay
It's her first official case and of course she's in the roundtable room before him. She's wearing a fucking pantsuit, of all things, when he and the rest of the team walk in. He watches for a look of discomfort with Morgan, because Morgan was there four years ago in that godforsaken underground bunker.
Deep down, he thinks he wants to see her crash and burn. She barely stumbles as she stands to shake Morgan's hand and introduce herself, smile plastered on her face like an excited new friend.
Morgan doesn't blink at the new addition to the team, but he knows the man well enough to know he won't trust her automatically. No, she has to earn that. But if Morgan doesn't recognize her from the Lisette Geroux case now, it's possible he never will.
If they weren't hunting terrorists, he would have considered trying to make it worse for her.
"We can make nice later," he cuts off instead, ever the professional. "What do we know?"
The rest of the team discusses the case, and he's not surprised when she jumps right in and contributes her endless knowledge.
She astonishes the team with her Arabic, but he knows Gideon is going to be more difficult to impress. She already knows she has to prove herself, and dammit if she doesn't do just that.
Gideon is still hesitant to take her to Guantanamo Bay with him and Reid, but it turns out to be unnecessary reluctance, because she helps crack the case wide open. They take down the terrorists just like they're supposed to.
They walk through the door after flying back from Gitmo, and he can already tell that Gideon accepts her and Reid is nothing short of smitten with her. There's a lot to admire about her, he has to admit. She handles herself well out in the field, even for a new profiler.
Gideon closes the door to his office, presumably to continue working for the rest of the night. Even he doesn't know what Gideon does most of the time since he doesn't have a family or anyone resembling friends outside of work. He wonders if he will end up like Gideon, because he has nothing and no one to come home to either.
It isn't the worst thing, he tries to tell himself when his house creaks at night and he is truly and utterly alone. The worst thing, he thinks, is coming home to a life he hates. He's had too much of that to consider going back.
"You did good work today," he says simply from his place at the top of the stairs. She looks up from her desk without a hint of urgency.
"Thank you, sir," she replies and he wants to laugh at her formality.
"Report at oh-six hundred for marksmanship training."
"Yes, sir."
And so it begins.