A/N: Alright, I'm back for another chapter - and hopefully you are too, which, now that I'm thinking over it, is a dumb thing to say, because how could you be reading this now if you weren't ... okay. Anyway, this chapter is on Gideon - keep in mind that I chose to focus less on his backstory and his story of his 30 years of being in the Bureau, and more on his person-in-general-ness, if that makes sense. I wanted to do a pov of a character that I saw Gideon as, and I think it went ... pretty well? Eh, just see for yourself.

I don't own them, blah, blah, they're not mine, blah, blah, read and review, blah blah, you know the drill. enjoy!

Jason Gideon was the first in the team, and therefore the most important building block for the group. At age twenty-three, he had been approached by a man, soon to be known as his mentor, named Max Ryan. Quite notorious in the criminal world, Max Ryan was primarily known for the capture and subsequent deaths of many of the FBI's top agents, and even some agents in the Private Sector; this, of course, was unknown to Jason, who, at twenty-three, wasn't the most social of people.

Not to say he wasn't a criminal; quite far from the opposite, he had been killing since he was ten years old, coming back to his house bloody and tired, washing himself off with his garden hose then slipping into the shower to reduce suspicion from his mother. He was an intelligent young man, an unfortunate characteristic for his victims, who were always kids his own age, still leaving room for a year or two in the ledger, if ever he preferred a challenge.

His stressor, to many people, remains still unknown, just as most of his personal life; he does not speak of his life, and when he does, it is always personal experience that reveals almost nothing. Should he be categorized in sense of his words and meaning, he is always described as deliberate and fastidious, crafting his words as if they were a stream of light, filling the mind as if it were a dark room and dissipating the darkness around, to any open eye. Should one look closer, the analogy of light shall be lost, as his words are simple chess pieces that conceal the darkness in his meaning, the tangible wood of the pieces simple shells of representation that stand for the pieces themselves - his words work in an analogous manner. If Bundy's ability to charm passengers into his car was his art, than Jason's art was twisting words just as similarly, but instead merely as a distraction to hide the real meaning he is conveying.

He was approached by Max with these abilities already sharpened and moulded for his own uses, leaving him an intelligent, studious man and killer, or, in short, not a man to flippantly accept proposals at first mention, especially when said proposals could potentially change his life. When Max had offered him a position, Jason had been less than enthusiastic to the visible eye; he knew in that moment that if he were to fully secure a position in the organization (which, in fact, he was entirely enthusiastic about, though he couldn't show it, much to his chagrin), he would have to be as difficult as possible, yet not to the point of inducing reluctance to disallow him inside the organization. So, naturally, he asked for a week-long internship with pay, just to test it out. In the meantime, he would submit his applications for other places, and see how those go.

Of course, that's what he told Max to tell his superiors, while actually he would be taking his time before his internship to do his own research, finding what he could about this organization from the outside. Max had stared at Jason for a moment, probably to evaluate the younger one's sincerity, and when he found no ridicule in his expression, he began to laugh, then informed Jason of his blatant impudence. Jason smiled, played along, resisting the urge to respond seriously that that was the entire point.

Jason didn't tend often to rely heavily on rumours, and disliked the notion of only gathering information through word of mouth, but it seemed to be the only pool of info about this organization. There didn't seem to be anything substantial on the organization itself; the members, on the other hand, could fill cabinets at the FBI - and probably do. And one can learn much about an organization by the type of people invited to work there.

Taking from the rumours that he had heard, Jason compartmentalized each piece of information in his mind. First of all, the organization was completely secret, and completely opposite of the Natural government, both in motive and in assembly, alike to the Third Law of Motion; for each Natural organization, there was an equal and opposite Criminal organization. Jason had been recruited into the BAU equivalent, though they covered a multitude of purposes. Inside of this organization, there were sections put together by each member of the main team.

That was all of the information that Jason could gather from rumour that was, at least, somewhat reasonable. He didn't gather much more from the files of the employees or employers of the organization.

All that was left was the internship.

His first day, Jason was given the immediate tour of the organization; it turned out to be a labyrinth of rooms and hallways that he was sure would take him more than a few years to completely memorize. He followed Max's footsteps by ear, attuning the rest of his senses to pick up things around him, smelling and tasting the musty cabinet air change to clear, almost sharp air, feeling the draft as people pass by and running his hands along the rough concrete walls, and last but definitely not least, peering as intently as possible at everything while walking at the brisk pace Max had set.

Many of the rooms Jason could get a glimpse inside of looked to be training rooms; at least, they looked like training rooms until you caught sight of the blood staining the walls and floor and ceilings and the bodies similarly scattered around, creating the visual of a killing room. Max apparently noticed his curiosity, as he glanced back at Jason with a smirk.

"Ah, the poor, young, trainees. You see, usually, any and all applicants coming into this organization are required to undergo a training process; but, to shed all pleasantries, it's a killing contest, down to the core. The one trainee that happens to come out on top, and doesn't die, is evaluated by all members of the team, and then considered to either join the team or be transferred to another organization.

"Well," he chuckled softly, looking far too pleased to Jason's eyes to be talking as casually as he was. "I say transferred. Naturally, we could never let the competition get our wastes, could we? Especially if our judgement is compromised, for some reason.

"Anyway," he continued, the mirth fading only slightly from his face. "It seems that you're a special case. Your blunt brashness and previous criminal history - off the books, now, of course, we've already burned everything the Natural government has on you - makes you a Very Important Potential employee, apparently."

"A paid intern for a week, and you've already burnt any kind of case the opposition had on me?" Jason remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Max smirked back at him. "Like I said: VIP employee. Besides, even if you did join the Natural government, you would most definitely be recruited by us as an inside ear."

"Hm," Jason hummed in contemplation, oddly enough not concerned with how much control this organization seemed to have over his life Perhaps he would've been more bothered about it if joining this organization wasn't what he had planned to do with his life in the first place.

Max continued the tour, presenting the training rooms, the cabins and personal rooms, the conference rooms, the bathrooms, and even the entrance hallways to the different sections. Jason couldn't help but notice how each section's hallway melded into its own style, ones that Jason assumed could characterize the sections' leaders. Max's was rather grey and bland, though the rough concrete smoothed out considerably, and the corners of the hall curved inward, as if one was walking through a cylindrical tunnel. If Max noticed that Jason was already profiling his possible teammates, he didn't say or do anything about it.

The end of the tour came when Max lead him down a couple of hallways, the passerby becoming more scarce as they proceeded; a place not many frequented, and, judging by the overly musty smell indicating more dust than in the other halls, a place not even the janitorial staff liked to visit, meaning it was probably the hall for officials, dealing with the politics of other organizations or the higher-ups.

They finally arrived at a door at the end of the hall, and Max turned to Jason, placing two hands on the younger man's shoulders. He looked him directly in the eyes, donning the most serious expression Jason had seen on him as of yet.

"Listen closely. Through that door," he indicated with a tilt of his head to the door behind him, "are the people that will eventually judge whether you live or die. Keep calm, use your manners, speak only when spoken to, and if you have any common sense in your being, behave."

He sighed, raising an eyebrow. "But, knowing you, you'll do your own thing, huh? Well, let it be known that I tried. It was nice knowin' you, kid." His hands fell from Jason's shoulders, and Jason thinned his lips into a line, narrowing his eyebrows.

"You assume that I won't be coming back," Jason says, more as a statement than a question. "Well then, old man, watch and learn."

He ignored Max's indignant snap of, "Hey, I've only got four years on you, smartass!", and sauntered into the door in front of him, preparing himself for the worst.

The first thing he glimpsed was the blood smeared in a violent splatter on the opposite wall. The cause of the spectacle was obvious enough; of five chairs placed in a horseshoe formation around a table, only four were filled by living bodies. A bullet hole was prominent in the dead man's forehead, blood seeping in various streams down his face, making the illusion of tears of blood streaming down his face. Jason was not perturbed in the slightest by this, though he did offer a moment of hesitation of abrupt silence, it being his equivalent of a mourning pause.

He took the nearest seat that was obviously meant for him, in the top of the curve of the horseshoe-shaped table. He understood at once why the seating arrangements were placed as such. It was designed to show just how well one worked under heavy amounts of stress, with the equivalent of executioners surrounding the guest; however, Jason could not determine whether or not the recently killed man in the fourth chair from the left was another attempt to place stress, or, rather, fear, upon the guest, but either way, he was intent on staying objective throughout the meeting.

And so, as he placidly took a seat, he gazed at each member in front of him in turn, profiling each as much as possible simply on looks; two remaining men sat on the outside edges of the table, each domineering a stance that would make any submissive cower and bow their heads upon visual contact. One seemed to be nearing his sixties, while the other looked more near his thirties. They were dressed quite formally, though not as formal as to wear clothing that was outright garish, like a bowtie.

The two women at the table seemed to balance the power-field in terms of gender, but the general persona of the younger woman (dressed much more formally and affluently, and despite the make-up, Jason could still tell she was only a few years older than him) suggested she was of higher ranking than anyone in this room, and therefore probably not someone who frequents working in this organization; that, and Jason figured that teammates don't make habits of shooting each other in the head, even in a criminal organization. She was obviously responsible for the dead man, her fingers curled around her gun, recently used, as obvious by the scent emanating from it. She held an expression of professional curiosity and great indifference to the murder she had just committed. Jason fleetingly wondered what the motive was behind killing the man, but then realized there wouldn't have to be; if the woman was as high-ranking as suspected, no one would dare question her in the slightest. In fact, even the dominant stances that all three other people held in the room were rather dulled down compared to the control this woman held in even a glance; Jason understood.

She was the only candidate that mattered, at the moment. Had she not been there, Jason probably would have been judged by every other person in the room equally, but now that she was present, the general opinion would be swayed to meet her standards. She was in control.

She was who he needed to impress.

"Jason Gideon," she started, beginning to stand. Jason did as well, knowing that if he crossed this woman, he would not live to see the light again. She extended her hand, and Jason took it with more confidence than he felt - of course, saying that not to minimalize the amount of confidence Jason held in the situation, for the only thing he currently lacked was a sure and intimate understanding of the person he was to impress. "My name is Erin Strauss; you may call me ma'am while addressing me directly. I'm the so-called, man-behind-the-curtain's assistant, if you prefer, and I oversee the organizations in the Criminal government, specifically the equivalent of the FBI."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Jason articulated clearly, shaking the woman's hand with a strong grip, notifying her that he had nothing to hide; and indeed he didn't, for he knew with almost complete certainty that the organization had already put together every single detail of his life for this woman to review.

"Please, I'm sure the pleasantries are unnecessary," Erin waved a flippant hand, taking her seat once more. Jason hesitated for just a moment to make sure she had sat down first, before he followed suit. And, while Jason was fairly certain that pleasantries were, in fact, necessary, for he only knew the strict core details of his job, he knew that first impressions were significant, and he would have to conform to whatever social restrictions this woman set. Of course, he wasn't too upset, as he was a man that preferred to cut the unnecessary out of social encounters, and in fear of being incredibly hypocritical, he figured it was essential to follow Erin's lead.

"You're much quieter than I expected of a man with your … temerity," Erin observed, and Jason shrugged nonchalantly, glancing pointedly to the dead man with the hole in his head.

"Hm, I fear my self-preservation tends to override my personality when faced with a fatal threat."

Erin paused, tilting her head in a somewhat amused consideration. "You see me as a threat?"

Jason hummed in quiet contemplation. "Not a threat, no. More an … obstacle, that I shall have to accommodate in my analysis of, what will inevitably become, the lasting length of the rest of my life."

"You believe you will be accepted here, already?"

"I don't see many other paid interns around here, ma'am," Jason noted. "That and, I have been informed by a source I can only assume to be reliable, that I will either be accepted here, or killed in a manner not so direct as to be phrased as an 'execution'. Perhaps it is that aforementioned self-preservation speaking, but I would very much like to at least be able to consider the rest of my existence as an available option.

Erin paused for a moment, pursing her lips and leaning to one side, seeming to contemplate Jason with an intent gaze. "I'll make you a deal," she started, and Jason nodded slightly, politely, for her to continue. "I will cordially invite you, personally, into this organization, with a full job starting today with full pay, on one condition."

Jason raised his eyebrows, knowing the gravity of her offer, and raised his hands-palm upward, dropping them back onto the armrests of the chair a moment later. "Name it, ma'am."

Erin smirked slightly, leaning forward and clasping her hands in front of her, on the glass table. "You can have the job, right now, if you can tell me why I killed that man to my immediate left."

There was a moment while Jason made sense of this concept and then pondered all of the obvious, generic answers: Revenge, Jealousy, Compulsion, Anger, Mental Affliction, Belief, Mercy, Greed, and Self-Defense. Eliminating Jealousy, Mental Affliction, Belief, Mercy, Greed, and Self-Defense, which seemed to be far out of the question, Jason was left with Revenge, Compulsion, Anger, and Greed. Revenge wasn't as likely as the other three, as there was only a single shot to the forehead, with no indication of overkill, or a crime of extreme passion - which also ruled out Anger. However, it could've just been that the woman was incredibly organized and trained to not leave any visible evidence to specialists such as profilers. Compulsion wasn't a viable option to choose, because of the woman's amount of organization and control; if she had to feed a compulsion, she would have done it somewhere more private, to elicit the most pleasurable fix. Unless she got off on the reactions of others at her victims' deaths; considering percentages, it was probably on par with Greed. And Jason was beginning to sense Greed was the one gaping hole in the woman's authoritarian-like control.

Her need to be dominant over every person in her general vicinity indicated a need for control - perhaps a compulsive need, but if so, it was hidden quite well under all of her organization - and those who defied her were most likely done away with, probably by Strauss herself, because of her obsession to be in control. Meaning Greed was the most likely reason for the man's death; perhaps the now-dead man had challenged her in some way, purposefully or not, or maybe he had been conspiring against her, and she caught on.

But something in Jason's brain told him differently. Something … something was off with that explanation. Of course, it fit completely and logically, but something ate at Jason, telling him that couldn't be it. He was missing something.

"No," Jason responded. that couldn't possibly be it, for if he said it and was wrong … Erin paused a moment, before tilting her head.

"No?" she echoed in a dangerously smooth voice.

"Excuse me, I mean to say there was no reason," Jason rectified hurriedly, continuing as Erin propped an eyebrow - a sign for him to go on. He sighed internally, and continued his line of thought. "There was no reason for you to kill him; no personal reason, anyway. When I first entered the room, I realized that you would need to set me in a controlled environment in order to accurately assess me; but your curiosity got the better of you.

"Obviously you've heard something of me from whoever could possibly be higher ranking than you - and I doubt there are a lot of people in that position - and what you heard from rumour or something else was nothing less than extraordinary. To be honest, it's a bit disheartening to know I was recommended as good enough to bring you here, as I would always rather be underestimated than overestimated, but the point still stands. You were curious to see if I was as good as you had heard, so you set up a scenario where I was to be put in a position of great stress; you shot the first person you saw in the face - an overall indicative gesture, a shot to the face, implying some sort of anger or resentment on a personal level - to watch my reaction closely.

"And it seems I've lived up to your expectations, by the expression on your face. Either that or I've completely missed the mark, and you are just generally appalled at my attempt to predict your motive, and quite possibly offended to the extreme," he finished, making sure to keep his expression as blank and innocent as possible as he casually threw in an afterthought of his own mortality.

Erin hesitated for one moment, before standing (Jason did as well), and plucking the gun from the table, clicking the safety off and pointing it straight into Jason's face. He held his calm persona and expression, maintaining strict eye contact, even as Erin's eyes crinkled at the edges and she turned the gun around, holding it by the barrel and offering the handle to Jason. He took it with his left hand, and took the hand that Erin offered to shake with his right.

"Welcome to the rest of your life," she said, and Jason nodded politely. "If you'll follow David Rossi, the man right outside, he should direct you to your office and living quarters."

Jason smiled, a lopsided smile that he would come to use many times later in his life, and walked out of the door, leaving the four people in the room to clean up the corpse by themselves. Jason paused for a moment, seeing the man, David Rossi, just outside, and instantly allowing the profiling thoughts wash over him.

He was a rather handsome man, and Jason momentarily wondered if everyone he was going to meet was only going to look a few years younger than himself. However, David's persona seemed different than the others; he seemed more relaxed, more smooth. He was probably as suave as he looked with slicked-back obsidian hair, and a fair smile that more resembled a mocking smirk than any expression of contentment. His overall elegant demeanor was likely to leave a clear impression on many minds, both male and female; Jason figured, perhaps that was rather the point. A slick criminal may be the most stereotypical kind, but there was no denying that they were effective.

"You made it out," the man remarked immediately, with just a hint of his underlying respect showing and faux shock covering the rest of it. He extended a hand for Jason to shake, and began to lead him down the hallway, beginning his introduction. "Name's David Rossi, you can call me Dave. Welcome to the Syndicate, your new home. I suspect you're going to like it here; we've got all the types: serial killers, serial offenders, dirty cops, you name it, we've probably got it. I'm gonna introduce you first to the team, and we'll start from there, but I'm telling you now, we're less like a team and more like a group that meets every other month and occasionally comes to another for help. Anyway, first you've got Max Ryan, who I'm sure you met earlier … "

Jason smiled his lopsided smile, and mumbled under his breath, "Welcome home, indeed."

A/N: Well, that's it for this installation. Erm, I wouldn't expect a new chapter soon, because I can already feel myself slipping out of Criminal Minds and back into Sherlock, and the chapters that I will write aren't going to be the most exciting for me; Elle is going to be difficult, J.J. is my least favorite character, and Garcia's too ... bright, for my taste. But I bet I can put my own spin on that.

Anyway, you don't wanna listen to me blather on about the entire plot I've got set up for this ... so R&R, and I'll see you guys, hopefully sooner than later!

~IsomorphicTARDIS

P.S., yes, I know that Strauss is technically younger than Gideon, but I want her to be seen by Gideon as a figure that's not necessarily intimidating, but someone not to mess with, simply because later if he had trouble with her, he and the team could just make a plan to execute her, y'know? And it's easier to do that if she's older than him when they meet. We can't have her being executed, right now. I'll be needing her later. *mischievous grin*