a/n: I just realized how similar Bell is to Ziva from NCIS haha. I swear i didn't mean it, i only reached season 3 of ncis four weeks after i started writing this fic. Don't worry, there's no inspiration of any kind, the character will be different.

Quantico, Virginia | 6:22pm, November 27th

After the Tristan Wallace fiasco, the Deputy Director of the FBI had personally put the BAU Alpha Team on mandatory stand-down for three days during the week of Thanksgiving and for two full weeks in the holiday season. The BAU had never had that much time off before, showing just how much bad publicity the incident in Omaha garnered.

It was everywhere, being touted as the worst FBI disaster since Waco, let alone since Bale blew up six agents in a Boston warehouse. Photos of the burning Nebraska neighborhood circulated on Twitter and Instagram like wildfire, and headlines from every possible news outlet (Fox, CNN, Reuters, The Times) were all disparaging of the handling of the situation.

Bell didn't blame them. To be honest, he didn't quite understand how they had let Wallace give them the slip. He had DHS, FBI, NSA on him! And if that wasn't bad enough, the bastard had managed to sneak through a three-level federal agent perimeter without anyone knowing he had gotten there. If Bell were press, he'd be crucifying himself right now.

Now, the FBI had 23 dead people plus 7 consequential deaths, 13 of whom were law enforcement, with almost 20 more in intensive care, and a serial killer turned domestic terrorist on the loose. Not to mention the fact that they had no fucking clue where in the country he was, if he was even still stateside.

Being a US Marshal meant a lot more than just a job. It meant contacts. It meant survival skills. It meant knowing the workings of a system designed to capture the very people Tristan was. Wallace had every upper-hand in the book; and it didn't matter how many damn agents the BAU gathered.

In the days since the attack, the somber mood had lifted from all but one member of the team. All of the progress Bell had made with the rest of the team was thrown at the window as the normally passionate man withdrew into a sullen, laser-focused agent, hell-bent on only one thing. Catching the son of a bitch who decided it was okay to terrorize a residential neighborhood.

No one could quite understand why Tristan had affected Bell so much. The attack was terrible, sure; the BAU knew that and felt that for quite a while before they'd become normal again. Unfortunately, they'd seen it one too many times: unsub evades capture, takes innocent lives with him, vanishes without a trace. And with Bell's Interpol experience, they'd assumed he'd take it at the same pace the rest of them did.

Unfortunately, they did not account for one thing. One very important thing.

The team was currently discussing their Thanksgiving plans, considering tomorrow was the holiday.

"I'm going out with Savannah, I'm going to get blackout drunk, and then I'm going to watch football with her and Clooney. Easy as pie," Derek said.

"Yeah, Will and I are going to be watching the Thanksgiving Classics as well," JJ related. "Henry has suddenly decided he's a Falcons fan, so apparently he and Will are betting on who's going to win tomorrow."

"Football." Garcia said the name with disgust. "No thank you! Sam and I are going to be watching movies by the fireplace all day."

"I second that!" Rossi yelled from the catwalk. "Pasta, wine, and 60s films-I don't need anything else!"

Reid, for once, was excited for Thanksgiving. "There's a Russian film marathon at the Classico all week! Emily's coming too, we're gonna watch them all."

JJ swallowed a pang of jealousy as she listened to Spencer go on and on about how him and Emily would be together practically all weekend, even though she knew it wasn't fair. For the first time, Spence had something to look forward to this week, and she should feel happy. But she couldn't, so she cut him off abruptly. "Bell, what about you?"

The Officer gave no indication of having heard her, sitting a few desks away, focused intently on a scattering of files on his desk. He seemed to be furiously figuring something out, gaze moving from one paper to the next as quickly as his pencil jotted down observations on a notepad.

"Bell? My sweet?" Garcia pressed.

The man in question jumped, startled, and dropped his pencil. "Hm?"

"Thanksgiving plans? Black Friday shopping?"

"Ah...well, not to offend, but I'm not American. Plus, I don't celebrate the genocide of the natives regardless of whether or not I had plans."

"Okay, so what does the mystical Officer Bell do in his free time?" Morgan asked jokingly.

"Um…" Bell scrambled, "I'll probably be up in New York City taking care of some Interpol business, and if I'm done with that before we get called back in, I'll probably come in to finish up some extra work."

The team couldn't help but notice how he said the words Interpol business with some disgust, as if he expected something particularly nasty to be greeting him at the end of that proverbial tunnel. They also were incredulous at his statements.

"Kid," Rossi started, "You really need to get a life outside of work. How do you even have extra work?! You do half of ours anyway."

Bell shot Rossi a death glare. "How I spend my time off is not open for debate. And if you must know, I do have plans to do something non-work related Sunday afternoon. As for the extra work, you all might be surprised to know that there is a mass murderer out there, one we let escape, and I intend to find him before he finds us."

"That's just it kid; we let him escape. It's not only on you to find him. Take a break. You'll be no good if you burn yourself out and we're an agent down!"

Bell shot up angrily. "Foreign Intelligence Officer Bell does not burn himself out!" He said indignantly. "And I don't see any of you sacrificing anything to find this sack of shit!" Bell then grabbed a key card and stormed off.

"I still don't understand why he's taking it so hard…" JJ said softly.

"Well, think about it," started Reid. "Most casualties he incurred, they were of war, or they were unavoidable. This was one hundred percent a law enforcement failure-that's enough to crush a probationary agent on his first day. Couple that with such a high death toll, and it's a miracle his psyche hasn't cracked yet. 17 civilian casualties."

"We don't know enough about his past to say that for sure, Pretty Boy, but I think you're right."

UN Building, NYC | 2:31pm, November 29th

"You will address me with the proper respect, Officer Bell!" The man thundered.

Bell groaned internally. Of course. They were engaged in an actually productive conversation about his task, then when they reached the point of no return, when he'd actually figure out why the hell he was working for the FBI, the Secretary of Interpol Affairs in the United States would simply pivot away over semantics.

"Sorry, The Honorable Mr. Secretary," he said mockingly.

"Look, Bell," SIAUS sighed. "I cannot tell you why you're here. Because I don't know! The order came from above my head."

Incredulously, the Officer asked, "From above you, Simon? There are only three people who have the authority to issue me a relocation-you, the Director of Interpol, or the Secretary General of the UN. You can NOT be seriously telling me DI or SG ordered me to do this."

"One of them did, and they also told me to issue this formal reprimand," Simon said wearily.

"Reprimand?! Freeman, you have got to be kidding me! I've done everything right!"

"For what happened in Omaha. As a ranking official in your unit, you've been audited and your actions were deemed inappr-"

"Oh, piss off, Mr. Secretary!" yelled Bell over his shoulder as he strode out of the room with fervor. On the way out of the room, in sight of Simon Freeman, Bell threw the reprimand file in the trash forcefully.

As soon as Bell had left the room, a man emerged from behind a pillar in the back of the room. Still slinking about shadows, the voice that could only be described as slimy commented, "That went well." And there was not a hint of sarcasm to be found.

Quantico, Virginia | December 10th - December 23rd

Bell had come back from the team's Thanksgiving hiatus more withdrawn than he had ever been. He spoke only needed when it was demanded, keeping responses curt and efficient. Very rarely did he let his mask down now, and in those faltering moments, only an internal fire the likes of which even a devil would live in fear of showed.

He completed more and more work, reducing his already astoundingly short amount of time asleep to sneaking moments here and there. No one could tell, but Bell was teetering on the edge of the abyss. Emily did, however, notice something else.

As Unit Chief, she had to read every report that came through. With the amount of work Bell put in, oftentimes it was his, and Prentiss subconsciously psychoanalyzed his word choice. Seeing as it was the only way to gauge his mental state, she broke the moratorium on intra-team profiling.

Every day that the calendar edged closer to the holidays, Bell's wording showed more and more turmoil. It was very worrying. She was able to tell that he was working himself to the bone, overcompensating for some perceived mistake he'd made. She also briefly wondered if Bell would collapse again from his obvious lack of sleep.

She was adamant on not losing another agent to the horrors of the world, especially not such a good one. Even if Bell technically didn't work for Emily. And so, she devised a plan. She knew he would come in to work all two weeks they were off and would complete anything he could. She also knew he wouldn't disobey a direct order.

As she had said on the first day Bell had arrived, he was a stickler for rules.

So Prentiss rolled out Phase One, and waited for the perfect opportunity. It arose when everyone was gathered in the bullpen late one night. A subtle conversation was being had, and she deftly steered it toward holiday plans. Everyone reiterated various mentions of family, the cliched trope Bell hated so much.

"Your turn, Bell," said Prentiss.

He knew he wouldn't get out of this one, and in order to avoid some stupid pity they'd feel for him, he lied. "I'll be flying out west, maybe catch up with some old friends. Nothing serious."

"No Christmas celebration?" asked Reid with a smirk, already aware of the Officer's opinion of the holiday, he, too, not celebrating it.

"Not Christian, not a corporate shill, not a compulsive buyer-no celebration." This was the truth.

Great, Emily thought to herself. She'd seen through his lie, but her plan depended on him sticking to whatever half-truth he brought out.

A week later, Prentiss had sorted out everything she needed to get Bell's mind off Tristan Wallace and his all-consuming solo manhunt to find him. Everyone she'd talked to had agreed to do what she'd asked, and Cruz had even generously offered to regroup this into vacation time for later use.

She waited until the last possible moment so that Bell wouldn't find a way to weasel himself out of it. Early on December 23rd, the final working day of the year for the BAU, she got her chance. Bell was already in, of course, because he always was.

On an evidence board behind him stood proof of the countless hours Bell had spent trying to find Wallace, and he was now staring intently at it. There would be no better chance for her to spring her plan on him.

"Hey, Bell, you know how you said you were flying out to California this week?" she started.

Bell jumped, startled, before he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I never said California. I only said out west."

Ignoring what he said, Prentiss continued, "Well, I know that was a lie, and I also know you'll be running yourself into the ground working every day for the next 14 days trying to find Wallace. That is why," she took a deep breath, "I took the liberty of contacting all four California field offices, and offered them your services as a teacher of a forensic law course. All of them graciously accepted. I already know you weren't going to vacation, Bell, and this way you help yourself and let someone else go home to their family. It's a win-win."

Bell glared at his Unit Chief for a solid minute before he realized he had zero argument. "I concede. I'll do it."

Jareau-LaMontagne Residence, Christmas Day

JJ lay awake long before Henry's squeal of excitement of "SANTA CAME!"

All day long, she was bombarded with images of the same.

Her contemplations.

Her wishes.

The one gift she wanted.

A way to turn back time, make a different decision.

How pathetic that sounded.