Morgan

We had grown into one another somewhere along the way. We were officially a team - Shannon A. Thompson

Morgan followed the sound of cursing, a little warily. He was well aware of the smug, amused looks her team had exchanged when he asked where Harker was. "Had a disagreement with the new photocopier," had been Griffin's bland response, but the underlying air of humour between the three of them was clear. The closer Morgan got to the fancy new combined printer/scanner/photocopier, the more obvious it became that Harker hadn't just disagreed with it, she was still disagreeing with it, and had been for quite some time. At volume, using rather choice language.

"Hunk of fucking junk! Work will you, you piece of shit!"

It didn't sound like she was winning. Morgan rounded the corner and stopped just out of sight in case her frustration extended to those in the immediate vicinity of the copier, as well as the copier itself.

Harker was on her knees, ass in the air, with her left arm buried to the shoulder in the guts of the machine as she swore at it. "I've found every last scrap of paper you shredded trying to print, you useless sack of bolts," she growled to it. "I know I have, so stop…fucking me about!"

Morgan grinned to himself and leaned casually against the wall to watch. It wasn't a bad view, as female posteriors went, and having her vocabulary aimed at someone else was always entertaining.

Harker twitched a little. "Ow! Fucker!" she cried, yanking her arm abruptly out from the copier's innards. "Bastard son of a fucking blender!" She gave the machine a hearty thump and leapt to her feet. "You wanted a tribute, huh?" she snarled to it. "You sure that's the way you're gonna to play it?"

She slammed the cover closed and the multifunction copier whirred into life. Morgan looked on with interest. After quite a long time grinding and procrastinating, a page printed successfully without being chewed. It was pristine…apart from the red smear down one side.

Harker shrugged, like she hadn't expected anything different. "Better," she admitted grudgingly. "Now, how about the rest of it?"

The copier thought about it for a moment before spitting out another red-streaked page, then juddered to a halt, bleeping its displeasure. "Your mother was a cheap toaster oven and I sent her to the scrap heap in pieces," Harker hissed venomously, kicking it viciously in the drawers. "I hate you!"

"Hey, hey, no need for that," Morgan assured her as she swung her foot back for another go, feeling that it was about time he made his presence known, if only to stop her kicking the poor printer to death. "I think it knows already."

She hung her head in almost-defeat. "The engineers are going to laugh at me."

Morgan was already doing that, although he stopped when Harker glared at him. "Why will they laugh at you? For trying to fix it?" he asked curiously.

"For bleeding in it." Harker turned away to hold her hand over a trash can to save dripping on the floor. "Again. It seems to like me."

Definitely a love-hate relationship. Morgan grabbed her hand, which she'd apparently sliced open on something sharp inside the photocopier. "You need to get that seen to."

Harker snatched her hand back and wrapped it carelessly in a handkerchief from her pocket. "It's nothing, I'll live."

Morgan watched as the white cotton rapidly dampened to red. "It's more than nothing. Your handkerchief is ruined."

Harker smirked. "Don't worry, it isn't mine." She flapped her uninjured hand dismissively. "What do you need?"

He'd seen her cavalier attitude towards her own well-being before, when she came out to Alabama to join the rest of the team. Aside from her little show with the knife, the reckless decision to split up in that barn had been hers, and it could have had far more serious consequences.

"I think I need you to take that seriously," he said, pointing to her bloodied hand. "You're no good to me if you're dying of toner poisoning or something."

Harker shot him a genuinely amused smirk. "It'll take a bit more than a temperamental photocopier to get rid of me, Agent Morgan."

Actually, Morgan thought he already knew that. Her bearing spoke volumes about the quality of her previous FBI training, and it was clear she could handle herself in close quarters. She still carried the knife he'd seen in Alabama at her back too, if the shape he'd seen under her shirt when she was bent over was anything to go by.

"At least let me find a med kit and dress it properly," he negotiated. He wasn't much of a field medic, but he was proficient enough for that.

Harker rolled her eyes. "Fine," she groaned. "Lead on."

He wanted privacy anyway, so he took her back to his office rather than heading for the nearest first aid kit in the break room. The cut wasn't as bad as he'd initially feared, something Harker took great pleasure in pointing out. It had bled itself clean, more or less, and Morgan made quick work of binding the wound, happy to let it heal naturally.

He stood to put the med kit away and perched himself on the edge of desk facing her.

"You found him, didn't you?" she asked, even before he opened his mouth.

Morgan nodded. That was why he'd involved her in the hunt for Doyle. She knew he'd found Declan, without him even needing to say so. She thought the same way he did, shared the same ability to think around corners that eluded the others. He didn't need to explain all the steps in his deductive leaps to her, she was right there with him, keeping pace as he worked it out. He wondered if her brusque attitude was a result of that in some way. He knew how frustrating it could be sometimes, waiting for colleagues to catch up with him, and it had to be just the same for her. Probably even more so, given that her team weren't field operatives and never had been: there were some things they'd just never understand.

At the start of his search, he tried to learn as much as he could about international arms dealings and the relationships between rivals. It was a logical first place to look for news of Doyle, who would have needed help to vanish in the way he had. Doyle didn't have friends, which only left business associates of one form or another that he could have turned to. Morgan had requested a variety of indirectly related information from different members her team, confident that none of them would put the pieces together and see the whole.

A week later, a thin file had arrived on his desk. Inside were two sheets of paper, covered on both sides with Harker's rounded script. Stuck to the inside cover of the file was a yellow post-it, also in Harker's handwriting.

"Next time, ask me properly."

Those two sheets of paper were more useful than anything he actually asked for. Rather than stacks of goods manifests and airline booking records, she'd given him a detailed breakdown of the complicated web of enmity and favours in the murky world of weapon sales, as far as she knew it or could find out. Notes about who owed whom, who was sleeping with someone's sister, who had turned informant in exchange for immunity. It was essentially a list of people that might be leveraged for information on Doyle's whereabouts, and what form that leverage would have to take. She'd known exactly what he was doing and had given him everything he needed before he knew he'd need it. She'd even told him who to start with first.

He had asked her properly. Before he'd even finished reading what she'd given him.

Looking for Doyle directly hadn't panned out. Too many people had died or retired, some of them at the same time, power struggles between arms dealers being what they were. Doyle was hiding, and if anyone had seen him, they weren't talking. They found nothing.

It had been Harker who gave him his new direction, although Morgan sincerely doubted she'd intended such. She'd scribbled a frustrated post-it note on the latest set of dead-ends from their secretive investigation and the answer had hit him so hard it felt like a hammer blow.

"Nothing! Where is he? What's he doing?"

What was Doyle doing? Because it certainly didn't look like he was buying or selling weapons. That got him thinking. Instead of thinking like an ordinary UnSub arms dealer in hiding, he should be thinking like Doyle. Doyle's priorities were different, weren't they? Then it struck him.

Doyle wasn't hiding. Doyle was looking for Declan.

Morgan could have kicked himself. He'd wasted time looking for someone who knew how to disappear, while the boy was out in the open somewhere under a new identity. It would be much easier to find him, and then simply wait for Doyle to show up.

He had no qualms about asking Harker to research things that might lead him to Declan. She dug out old evidence, retrieved files out of the archives, even ran interference for him when he was late back for a case briefing. Her assistance, subtle and clandestine as it had been, had proved as invaluable as Garcia's.

"Yeah, I found him," he confirmed. "Now I need to watch him."

Harker considered him. Somehow, even though he was in the dominant position towering over her sat casually on his couch, Morgan felt like he was being scrutinised by the school principal. Hotch would give him that sort of look occasionally, and it always made him wonder uneasily what it was he'd done wrong.

"Three cameras," she said finally. "I can't hide any more than that without getting really creative with the inventory."

Morgan nodded eagerly. Three was two more than he thought he'd get. "Live remote viewing, tied into Garcia's babies but otherwise off-network?" She nodded. "And cover as I place them in case we get called out."

Harker shook her head with a smile. "You think I'm going to let you near my cameras? Not a chance. Either I do it or you don't get them."

Morgan clenched his jaw. "It's better if you don't get involved."

Harker stood and leaned forward menacingly. "I made that choice when I called in some valuable favours in exchange for information," she growled. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one with a personal stake in this."

He was looking for justice, which would also be his vengeance. She was seeking to atone for something, although he couldn't for the life of him work out what it might be. Somehow, finding and stopping Doyle meant something to her, which was weird because she hadn't even been around when Emily died, and it wasn't like they'd been friends.

"I'm in it whether you like it or not," she added sternly. Then she grinned, suddenly so cheerful and open that Morgan wondered for a moment if it was for the benefit of someone walking past his still-open office door. "I won't tell if you won't."

The abrupt shift in her demeanour prompted a reflexive laugh from him. "Hotch knows what I'm doing," he reassured her, "but if you want me to keep you out of it, you're going to have to let me install the cameras."

"No. My key, my cameras, my rules," she said bluntly. "We do it together." She held up a small silver key, then folded her arms and jutted her chin defiantly.

"Harker…" Morgan tried to turn on the charm, much as he would with Garcia when he needed something.

Harker shook her head. "Those pleading eyes might work on Penny, but not on me. You want the key so badly, try and take it," she taunted.

She'd offered him that kind of challenge before, but they'd not had an opportunity to spar properly like he wanted to. "But you're injured," he disputed.

Harker shook her head and tutted dismissively. "Fine, I'll go easy on you."

Morgan grinned and darted forward, thinking to catch her off-guard. Harker evaded him neatly, turning her body so that his momentum carried him just past her before he could stop. She grabbed his belt and pulled him backwards, upsetting his balance by sticking her foot in the back of his knee. A sharp point dug into his spine, and Morgan froze. "Alright, you win," he conceded warily, and the blade was withdrawn. "Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked as they separated, a little put-out that she'd bested him so easily, despite the confined space working against him and her cheating by immediately reaching for her blade.

"Two seasons of playing rugby in England taught me the side-step," said Harker. "The Senate finance committee taught me the value of using stationery as a weapon," she added smugly, replacing the pencil she'd stuck in his back to its place on his desk.

She hadn't drawn her knife on him at all. He felt a little silly for falling for it. "Didn't the FBI teach you not to let your attacker get back up after you'd subdued them?" he argued playfully, "especially having surrendered your weapon." He pinned her dominant hand to his desk and ignored her protests about dishonourable tactics.

They laughed as they tussled, knocking over his in-tray in the process. Morgan did his best to get a proper grip on her, but Harker writhed in his grasp like a snake-human hybrid. He was stronger, taller and heavier by far, but it was like trying to catch a frenetic ferret. She squirmed out of his hold once again, and in desperation he attempted to reach for the knife at her back. He'd barely got near it before he stopped, held by a second he hadn't known she was carrying. So busy with trying to restrain her, Morgan didn't see where it came from. The tip rested casually against his throat, held steady despite the dressing around her left hand making her grip awkward.

"Now who's using dishonourable tactics, huh?" he panted, more out of breath than he'd ever admit. The limited space of his office had put him at a disadvantage, unable to use the speed and power his physicality gave him.

"You're both stronger and taller than me," said Harker. "If someone like you was really attacking me, they'd never get up after I subdued them."

If he'd doubted it before, the blade at his neck convinced him. Morgan held up his hands in respectful surrender. "You and I should spend some time in the gym together," he offered, watching closely as the knife was stowed away. "A bra with a holster? Really?"

Harker grinned. "Beats a padded one."

He knew a trap when he saw one, no matter what he said to that, it would be wrong. She wasn't the most well-endowed of women, but her muscular body-shape meant that what she did have was nicely proportionate. "You up for it?" he asked again, ignoring the deadly pitfall she'd put in his path, "see if you can walk the walk without something sharp to help you, huh?" Her style was intriguing, and he wanted to see more of the moves she used. They weren't FBI standard training, that was for damn sure.

"I'm up for it, but clear it with Rossi first," she insisted. "I don't want to get into trouble when I hurt you."

Morgan threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, you are on."

Placing the cameras had to wait as the team got called out on yet another a case, but Morgan could leave knowing Harker would keep as close an eye as she could on Declan while he was away. They'd discussed and agreed that in a split-second of eye contact as he passed her desk on his way out, and he also knew she would have picked out some good hiding places for their cameras by the time he got back.

She had, although she over-estimated her climbing skills again. It was hard to be covert when your partner-in-crime managed to get herself stuck up a tree.

"Can't you just find me a ladder?" Harker complained plaintively, hidden somewhere high up amongst the leaves. "There's got to be one around here somewhere."

"Breaking and entering. Yeah, why didn't I think of that?" Morgan scoffed, rolling his eyes even though he knew she couldn't see him. "We're supposed to be…"

"Dog walker!" she hissed, and he fell silent, fiddling with his cell; checking his emails as he waited for the man with a dog to walk past.

"Can't you just come back down the way you went up?" he asked when the coast was clear.

"If it was that easy, I would have done it already," she retorted sharply.

"Speaks Russian, hides a knife in her bra but can't climb trees. How exactly did you manage to join the FBI?" he mocked, before taking another worried glance at his watch. If she didn't work out how to get down soon, he really might have to resort to burglary otherwise their absence from the BAU would be noticed.

"I can climb up trees just fine!" she spat with an accompanying shower of leaves. "It's getting down…that's the problem!" More leaves started to drift down, accompanied by the sounds of movement. "I wasn't trained for…such excessive foliage."

Morgan took a step backwards as a hail of twigs was added to the leaves still falling like rain. There'd be none left to conceal the camera if she kept it up.

"And I joined the FBI…" growled Harker, nearer than she had been and rapidly getting closer, "…because after the Marines…" she landed in front of him, "…I fancied a rest."

He grinned smugly. "I told you to get down the same way you got up there." He'd been right, and he'd played her perfectly. Harker had scampered up the tree like a hyperactive squirrel but had faltered when faced with picking her way carefully back down. She needed to attack the descent with the same gusto in order to get down safely and goading her temper had worked like a charm.

Harker rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. "If we're going to get back without anyone being any the wiser, we need to get a move on."

"And why is that?" teased Morgan as he folded himself gracefully behind the wheel of his car. "What delayed us, I wonder?"

Harker thumped him good-naturedly across the shoulder and laughed as she climbed in beside him. The more he talked to her, the more she felt like a teammate he'd never known he was missing. Reid was the best lil bro a man could wish for, and he loved JJ and Garcia and the bossman like family. Even Rossi had grown on him, after a rocky start. Harker was different. She understood his mix of brain and brawn, where others, even the team on occasion, forgot he had the former when he used the latter. She understood that he wanted to pummel Doyle into paste, but she also understood that he wanted to be smart about doing it so that Doyle would get either locked up or dead, all nice and legally.

Harker was loud and boisterous and certainly not your typical female agent, if there was such a thing. She was one of the guys, in a way he'd not really seen before. She didn't overcompensate for her gender like others he'd seen in the Bureau, or make allowances for it like Seaver had; she just ignored it entirely. She would return any banter with interest, taking enjoyment from skating right up to the edge of being inappropriate, accompanied by that megawatt smile that probably had scores of guys walking around with a semi in their pants. She was respectful to Hotch, but the way she handled Rossi was barely short of bullying; although Morgan had noticed that Rossi actually seemed to like it and would often go out of his way to provoke her.

She was happy to hand out chastisement yet while she never pulled her punches verbally, she would physically. Like he did, wary of hurting others if he let himself get carried away. As the leader of a team of guys, she would engage them occasionally in a sort of teasing roughhousing, but she was always very careful not to go too far.

That was why he wanted to test her in the gym. He wanted to see just what she was capable of when she let her hair down.

Harker nudged his elbow. "It took us over an hour to get here. If you don't get going, I'll have to drive to get us back in time."

"You reckon you're better than me?" he asked doubtfully, as the engine purred into life. "I can have us back in the office in less than forty-five minutes, you watch."

Harker sat back and folded her arms. "Go on then. Impress me."

"If you weren't trained for foliage…" he chuckled in remembrance of her indignation, "…what were you trained for?" Morgan asked curiously as they turned onto I95.

"Languages, actually," she replied. "Mostly middle-eastern. Certainly not trees."

He laughed. "I could tell. So why the BAU, if languages are your speciality? I doubt we have much call for your skills, I would have thought you'd request an overseas office rather than Quantico. You didn't even seem happy about joining us." She'd been a complete bitch actually, and had only mellowed with time. It had taken more than three years before she started to properly chill out and be approachable; a change that coincided with both Gideon's departure and Rossi's arrival. He pondered that for a moment, wondering if there was a connection.

She hesitated before replying, then evaded his curious glance across from the driving seat long enough that he had to return his eyes to the road. "Long story," she muttered finally.

"People's lives always are," he disputed.

Harker grunted her grudging agreement. "When my field creds were medically rescinded, Gideon paid me a visit. He made me an offer that I would have been stupid to refuse, and here I am." She hesitated. "He was on his way back when he ran across Footpath."

Why had he never bothered to really talk to her? Even the hour's drive to Reston had been mostly silent apart from the odd work-related exchange. She'd been part of the furniture for five years and yet he'd only just learned why she was part of the BAU in the first place. Her post had been vacant since before the debacle in Boston that had broken Gideon, and her arrival so swiftly on the heels of his return should have made him more curious.

Her posture, what little he could see from the corner of his eye, was defensive and closed-off; her wording and intonation evasive and filled with old hurt…

"You were close to him, weren't you?" Morgan breathed in amazement. "Why didn't the rest of us see that?" Nobody ever paid much attention to her or her team, but somebody should have noticed. "Because that's the way you both wanted it," he said after a moment's thought. Why would that be? "Just how close were you?" he asked suspiciously.

Harker spluttered indignantly. "Not that close."

That was a relief, given everything that happened with Sarah. "But you both got something you needed, didn't you?" he asserted.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Urgh, profilers. Is nothing sacred?" She folded her arms defensively. "You're all the same, you all want to exhume every little detail, don't you?"

Morgan shifted in his seat. It hadn't immediately occurred to him that she'd be uncomfortable with his inquisitive train of thought, and Harker looked away again when he tried to catch her eye. Gideon always had a way of asking the uncomfortable questions, usually when you couldn't escape. Somehow, he'd managed to do the same. "It stays in this car, alright?" he promised her, "I'm just so surprised nobody knew." Not to mention he had a terminal case of curiosity.

"Fine," Harker grunted unhappily after a moment. "He helped me. He's the reason I knew someone in Narcotics Anonymous when…" She stopped. "Well, you know."

He did know: when Reid had gone off the rails after Hankel, the open secret none of them ever talked about. Gideon had helped her through a drug problem.

"Did you know he was going to leave?" he accused. Two people working together to battle addiction would be more than just friends, and Morgan unhappily re-visited his previous thoughts that something inappropriate might have been going on. Had there been a quarrel of some sort, a lover's tiff, perhaps?

She didn't try to evade him when he looked over a third time, and the expression on her face prompted an immediate retraction of everything he'd thought or said in the previous few seconds. "I'm sorry. I guess we're all still a little touchy about the way he left."

Harker nodded grimly. "Yeah. Feels like a betrayal, doesn't it?"

It did, a bit. That was the uncomfortable truth about the matter. It had been the best thing for Gideon, leaving. They all knew it. He couldn't handle it anymore, and it was better he went before he did something else that put others in danger. It was the way he'd done it that meant the anger still smouldered under the surface, occasionally fanned into flame. Even after everything that happened, to just abandon the team without a word, to leave poor Reid hanging like that, with only a letter…

"Did you get a letter too?" asked Morgan. None of them spoke to Gideon, or at least never mentioned if they did, and he always had been an unknowable enigma. The curiosity, the drive for more information about his abrupt departure overruled compassion for a moment. "Did he give you a better explanation than the happy endings bullshit he gave Reid?"

"No," she growled angrily. "I just got a post-it stuck to my front door. He made it quite clear our association was at an end, and added that I wasn't to go looking for him. I didn't."

Morgan winced. That was worse than Reid's letter, although the fact that Gideon bothered to let her know at all spoke to the depth of their relationship. Nobody else had got so much as a backward glance. "I'm sorry," he repeated, meaning both for what happened and for prying into it.

"You need to pick up the pace if we're going to get back in time," Harker replied, and just like that, the subject of Gideon was emphatically slammed closed.

Morgan knew better than to object, and honestly, he didn't want to talk about Gideon either.

"Clear!" barker Harker from the passenger seat. She grinned at him when he glanced over. "You need to drive properly. Put your foot down, I'll spot you."

Morgan changed down a gear and revved the engine, darting into the gap she'd seen. "Yes, ma'am."

He accelerated, starting to weave through the traffic. It was the perfect conditions for such a run, mostly clear but with enough obstacles to make it interesting. With Harker always scanning his blind spots he could be more creative than usual, and Morgan whooped aloud as he drove. He loved going fast, he always had, ever since he got his first push-bike as a boy. The thrill of speed, the possibilities of an open road had always lured him. He'd signed up for every additional driving instruction course the Bureau offered, and a few more besides, honing his love into a formidable skill that was all the more enjoyable because it could occasionally be used to terrify his passengers.

Not Harker. She was enjoying herself immensely as they all but flew down the road, her eyes sparkling whenever he caught her gaze. Her love of speed obviously rivalled his and he pushed the car faster and faster, just because he could. The miles and the minutes streaked past, each bringing them closer to home.

"Clear!"

Morgan moved before he thought, nearly forty minutes of their driving partnership having instilled implicit trust in her judgement. Once he did think however, he realised they didn't have enough room. "Fu-"

Harker just laughed as the RV pulled aside, giving them precious yards to escape the semi-truck bearing down on them. It blasted past, blaring its horn.

"He's speeding," said Harker conversationally. "Where's Highway Patrol when you need them?"

Considering the speed they'd been going a minute previously, perhaps it was a good thing they weren't around. Morgan had more pressing matters on his mind, however.

"You're crazy!" he yelled. "Are you trying to get us killed?" He cut across the highway to the outside lane and slowed down. "What the fuck was that?"

Harker shrugged negligently. "We're alive, ergo, I wasn't trying to get us killed."

Morgan exhaled heavily, grateful to see their turn-off approaching. "Am I glad I didn't let you drive," he muttered, feeling his shirt stuck to his back by a layer of cold sweat. "I'd have needed a clean pair of jockeys." There was a possibility that still might prove necessary, because for a moment there he'd really thought they were going to be the cream filling in an RV-semi pileup.

To his disgust, Harker just laughed at him again. "The RV was always going to pull over, we had another few seconds." She waved a dismissive hand, settling back into her seat properly. "Loads of time."

He shot several furtive troubled glances across at her as they approached Quantico. He felt like he'd just been through a near-death ordeal, something that didn't happen all that often despite what he did for a living; and especially not in his own car while he was driving. His mouth was dry and the thudding of his heart reverberated through his ears. His balls were still somewhere up near his kidneys, having bolted north in fright.

Whereas Harker didn't seem affected by it at all. As if that kind of life-on-the-line experience was a frequent, and recent occurrence. He'd seen something like it before, usually in UnSubs or former military personnel. A form of PTS, an addiction to risk and adrenaline that could override good sense, as all addictions could. You could get PTS just from extensive reading of distressing casualty reports, or so they said. Perhaps her job at the Pentagon had involved something like that?

"I'll help you watch Declan, otherwise you'll never sleep," said Harker as they shared an elevator up to the BAU. "I can probably manage up to three evenings a week without arousing suspicion."

"You don't have to do that," Morgan disputed, still in the dark about why it was so important to her. "I can manage.

"I'm sure you can, Agent Morgan," she replied easily. "But if you fall asleep on the job, we're all in trouble."

He couldn't argue with that. "Why do you always use my title?" he asked curiously instead. "It's not like I'm your supervisor."

The look he received in response came with a healthy dose of distain. "Respect. Think about it."

Morgan nodded. He didn't need to – it was the same reason Reid was introduced to outsiders as "Dr Reid". Her team felt like outsiders within the BAU, and addressed their colleagues accordingly. He held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Derek."

She looked a little startled, before placing her smaller hand in his. "Hi Derek, I'm Pip. Nice to meet you." She giggled. "Don't think that gives you an extension on your paperwork."

Morgan chuckled as they exited the elevator. He watched as Pip belittled Rossi and convincingly lied to him about her absence in one single sentence, then get on with her work as if she really had only been out for coffee and lost track of time. Given what he had only recently learned about her relationship with Gideon, so recently the lustre of surprise had yet to wear off, Morgan watched their interaction very closely.

There was nothing immediate to indicate she had formed a bond with Rossi any deeper than respect for a co-worker, much as she had for everyone else. It was a thin veneer of respect in Rossi's case, the acid and scorn she used to spread around with such generosity all got aimed at him these days, whether he deserved it or not.

Morgan slunk back to his office to finish up the paperwork he was late with. Harker…no, Pip was unusual, and he'd keep an eye on her. As useful as her skills were, the last thing the BAU needed was another loose cannon.