Watching Rachel leave for school that morning had been more difficult than Hotch wanted to admit, even to himself. The day before, they had gone into the doctor's office and got the teenaged girl outfit with a bulky, black walking cast that Rachel wasn't allowed to take off for at least two months. She would need an air pressure bandage after that and physical therapy probably up to her date of graduation.

The night before that, Hotch had watched her go out for a night of girl fun, smiling. He hadn't meant to wait up for her, but he had still been awake when her friend, Natasha, had called him with traces of panic and frustration in her voice.

"Rachel's hurt," Natasha told him first. "The FBI was here trying to arrest someone and she got caught in the chase."

"Where are you? Which hospital?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his coat and car keys, his badge was still in his pocket.

"Some forensic woman said Rachel is covered in evidence so the FBI bastard agent took her with them to the Jeffersonian."

"What agent?"

"Booth, I think. He wouldn't listen to me, I promise, Mr. Hotchner, I tried to get Rachel to the ER. The fed wouldn't let me."

"You said they went to the Jeffersonian?"

The location and the name came together in Hotch's mind, Booth was the homicide investigator in DC who worked with the forensic anthropologist from the Jeffersonian. The partnership was one of the more unorthodox, but Hotch frequently heard about the results and couldn't argue with them.

"Yes, the Jeffersonian. I'll meet you there."

"No need," Hotch assured the young woman. Hotch had met Natasha a number of times. He liked her and was grateful for the friendship she offered to his charge. "Go home and get some sleep."

He heard the aborted argument over the phone before she sighed, obviously more tired than she was willing to admit.

"Rachel mentioned a change of clothes," Natasha said instead of arguing. "I think the forensic woman is going to confiscate the ones she's wearing."

Five minutes later, Hotch got into his car and hit the highway for DC. It was late enough that he didn't call Garcia but did call into Booth's FBI office. After briskly rattling off his badge number to the rookie agent stuck answering the phone, Hotch demanded an update on the current case under investigation. It was only after Hotch recognized the case details that Hotch decided that he wouldn't destroy Booth's career.

Then he saw just how badly hurt Rachel was, sitting on an autopsy table under bright lights with lab-coated scientists looking like they were picking her to pieces. At that point, all bets were off and Booth would never know how close he came to destruction, especially when he tried to justify his actions to Hotch's face.

If Rachel hadn't interrupted their confrontation, Hotch likely would have taken things too far. Booth wouldn't have been the first agent Hotch had put back in his place, but Booth was a good agent, a very good agent, and his only real crime was his extreme motivation to catch his killer. But the killer was Booth's to catch and Rachel was Hotch's to protect.

By Monday morning, Hotch had calmed down enough that he hadn't called in a protective detail for Rachel to make sure she made it to school all right and he hadn't called Booth's superiors for a reprimand, but it was a near thing. In any case, he had already told the team about what had happened, including Garcia. No doubt the tech analyst was already hacking into the security cameras around Rachel's high school at the very least.

He was attempting to focus on paperwork when the knock at his door interrupted his concentration. When he recognized one of his visitors, he knew that he would owe Rachel points for her prediction. He might have been half-way expecting a phone call from Agent Booth regarding the case, but he had not been expecting the man to come to the office himself with another young man for company.

"We got MacDonald," Booth announced without waiting for a greeting from Hotch. "The squints at the lab figured out a location from the particulates they collected off of the girl—Rachel," Booth immediately corrected when Hotch frowned ever so slightly.

"Good to hear," Hotch responded after waiting just a handful of heartbeats enough to make the silence uncomfortable. "Was that all you wanted to tell me?"

Booth took the seat in front of Hotch's desk uninvited; the second man remained on his feet and was casually looking over the various awards and books that decorated Hotch's office.

"I looked up Gideon's file before I came over," Booth said unexpectedly. "I'd heard about what happened with that serial killer Frank and then when Gideon took off last year. I guess I never thought about him leaving a kid behind."

"Jason wasn't in a fit state to be a parent at that time," Hotch explained automatically. No matter his strong feelings on the subject, Hotch would never speak negatively about Gideon to anyone outside of his team.

"Well, I can understand getting messed up about what happened, but how could he leave his daughter?" Booth demanded, obviously frustrated. In that respect, Hotch could relate.

"I think that Agent Booth is curious about Agent Gideon's daughter and trying to understand her current circumstances," the unknown man offered, finally taking a seat himself.

"Sorry, Agent Hotchner, this is Dr. Lance Sweets, a psychologist working with the FBI in DC," Booth introduced. "Sweets gives me some profiling help on cases."

"I would like to say, Agent Hotchner, I read the transcript of the Blue Ridge Strangler trial in Roanoke last year and I thought you were totally brilliant on the stand with the defense attorney. I mean, it was so cool the way you stood up for profiling and all."

Dr. Lance Sweets was young, younger than Reid had been when he had joined the team, so obviously in the same IQ class as Hotch's own resident genius. He was also painfully eager. But the body language between to two men spoke volumes. Booth may dismiss the younger man's presence, but he was also protective, sitting forward in his seat and ready to interpose himself between Hotch and Sweets at a moment's notice. The young doctor looked at the agent with the same eager-to-please puppy dog expression but Hotch hadn't forgotten the sharp eyes sweeping around his office.

"I've reviewed some of your profiles, promising work," Hotch said in admiration. "MacDonald's and Gormogon's just to name two."

Sweets accepted Hotch's praise with a smile, but it was subdued. There was obviously more to that case than could be read in the file.

"You were asking about Rachel?" Hotch said, redirecting the conversation back to its original topic to alleviate the tension.

"Yeah," Booth confirmed quickly, taking the change of topic gratefully. "Got to say, I never would have expected you showing up that night. And no way did I guess who Rachel was, even though I knew her full name. So, you've been taking care of her since Gideon left?"

"It was either me or foster care," Hotch explained.

"Can't believe the Bureau let you get away with that, let alone Child Services."

Hotch could never fully detail all the legal maneuvering he had done to obtain custody of Rachel or the number of favors he had pulled. None of it had been illegal, obviously, but it had been a close thing.

"Given her emotional state at the time between her mother's death and Gideon's departure, I wasn't going to allow her to go into the system," was all Hotch said.

"Totally," Sweets added in agreement. "With that level of trauma, being put into the care of strangers, and likely indifferent strangers, would have been detrimental."

"Quite," Hotch said dryly.

"Sweets, why don't you go play with the other kids?" Booth suggested without looking at the younger man. His attention was fixed on Hotch.

"Oh, um, sure."

After looking back and forth between the two agents, Sweets stood and exited the office. Once he was gone, Booth leaned forward.

"Look, Hotchner, I get it that you're pissed off and you think that I didn't care about Rachel and that I just wanted to find my killer. Well, that's half right, I wanted to find that little bastard, but I wasn't trying to put that ahead of her. From the second I saw her on that dance floor, in pain and still trying to stand under her own power, I thought she was tough as nails. I figured she was tough enough to wait it out while we gathered evidence."

Hotch waited a moment before he said, "You weren't wrong." Which wasn't the same thing as saying Booth was right.

"I wish I could have done it a different way," Booth told him. Which wasn't the same as admitting he was wrong. "But man, I don't think I've known a lot of girls her age like that. She must be a force of nature."

Hotch smiled grimly. "She's certainly unique."

Booth hesitated for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he asked his next question. "How much of her do you think is because of her being the kid of an agent? Only, I've got a son myself and I couldn't help thinking about it."

Hotch sighed and relaxed his posture just enough that Booth slipped out of his defensive posture as well.

"I also have a son and I wonder the same thing."

Booth cleared his throat and stood up. "Well, I think I've wasted enough of your time. I just wanted to say that Rachel was crucial to MacDonald's arrest and I'm grateful."

Hotch stood as well and extended his hand over his desk to the other agent. "It wasn't a waste and I'll pass on your appreciation to Rachel."

The two men exited Hotch's office but stopped short at the sight that greeted them in the bull pen. Both Dr. Sweets and Dr. Reid were standing in the middle of the room, facing each other with identical looks of enthusiasm on their faces as they conversed at the speed of light, and each gesturing wildly with their hands at the same time. Each of the younger men was speaking so quickly and in terms of such technicality that Hotch couldn't follow their conversation even after walking down the stairs. He and Booth joined Morgan and Prentiss on the sidelines and watching in fascination.

"It's like watching a documentary on the natural behavior of geeks in a communal activity," Morgan remarked. "I don't think I'm catching more than one word in ten."

"I don't think I've ever heard Reid jump between technical jargon, profiling terminology, and science fiction references so quickly before," Prentiss added. "And I know this is the first time I've seen someone keep up with him like this."

"Think we should schedule a play date for them again?" Booth asked.

"I'm sure they'll manage on their own," Hotch concluded, but rather than interrupt the two doctors, he continued to watch in fascination.

Finally, Booth placed his fingers in his mouth and let loose a piercing whistle. Without warning, Prentiss and Morgan jumped and clapped hands to their ears while most of the other people at their desks also flinched. Hotch had been expecting it and was grateful that the agent was standing far enough away that his already compromised hearing wasn't damaged.

"Come on, Sweets, time to head home."

"Oh but—" Sweets protested, looking crestfallen.

"Say good bye to the nice agents," Booth instructed him, for all the world acting like an older brother bringing his sibling home from the park.

Farewells were said all around until it was just Hotch and his people left in the bullpen once again. He abandoned Reid to the gentle teasing of Morgan and Prentiss and returned to his office and his paperwork. Before he sat down again, Hotch looked down at his agents, still conversing and joking with each other. For a moment, Hotch imagined he saw Rachel with them, but Rachel grown up by several years and wearing dress jeans and a suit jacket with an FBI shield hanging on one hip and a gun holstered on the other. She kept pace with Prentiss and JJ as female agents, backed Morgan, grounded Reid, and followed his and Rossi's lead.

She was confident, poised, and very good at the job. There wasn't a lot of the job that could surprise her and she was an expert at working with the team. In a way, she had been raised to this. Few other agents could match her for her compassion and manner with victims and their families. She was a master at confronting suspects in interrogation with her instincts and training and was equally strong in confronting unsubs in the field.

Hotch blinked and the illusion disappeared. Rachel was at school and she had no interest in pursuing a career in either psychology or the FBI despite her talent for profiling and investigation. No, Rachel knew herself enough to avoid a lifestyle that would guarantee more of the same horror she had already experienced in her life. Sadly, as long as she called him and the others family, she would never avoid it completely, but Rachel Gideon would not follow in her father's footsteps in any respect.


Notes:

In honor of my dad finally setting up the wireless network for the house (after I've been here for a year and a half!) I give you the anticipated confrontation between Hotch and Booth and Reid and Sweets. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, not only for all that dialogue that's half unspoken, but I also decided to give you a small glimpse of what Rachel might look like as an FBI agent. That's about as close as it's going to get though.

For those who read Sonata in G but don't know Bones, Dr. Lance Sweets is a 23 year old psychologist who works at the Hoover building in DC for the FBI. He is not an FBI profiler nor agent, but a permanent consultant and therapist for federal agents. He's basically Reid without a gun and the eidetic memory but with a better grasp on popular culture among other things. For example, he would never ask, "What's a Twilight?"

I hope you enjoyed, thanks for any comments.

Cantoris