Okay, I don't own anything to do with the perfection that is CM or any of its affiliations. I do, however, have the pleasure of owning my OC, Charlotte. Hope you enjoy the story - and have a great day!

Charlotte POV

I stepped out of the cab, paid the man his fare, and walked through the automatic, mechanical door, and was greeted with the warm flush of air that washed over my cool skin, and I tightened the bag that was hanging over my right shoulder, and I double checked that my hair was still in its tight, somewhat neat knot, and I continued about my way to the front desk.

"Hi, I'm Charlotte Lewis, I'm new here, and I need directions to the office of Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner, please?"

My wording was formal, but my tone was friendly enough, and the smile on my face was nothing less than brilliant. The young lady behind the counter glanced up t me, and upon seeing my smile, returned with her own, and replied, "May I see your pass, Ma'am? Both the laminate and the badge? I need you to sign these papers, too, before you are permitted upstairs.. Sorry, it's all protocol."

I nodded, understandingly, and I dug through my bag, and slid both passes to the woman, and took the forms from her hand, and used the small biro pen that was also handed to me, and after quickly skimming the pages, I signed across the dotted lines, and offered them back to her. She glanced over the paperwork, and apparently she was content with what she saw, as she tucked them away, probably to sort through at a later date. She pressed a black stamp on the blank page in the flip down badge.

As I was handed it back, I looked over at what had been imprinted on the page and saw that 'AUTHORISED MEMBER OF THE BEHAVIOR ANALYSIS UNIT UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION' in small, black, professional font. I grinned at the wording, and I felt the tendrils of pride blossom and weave through my stomach, and I thanked her quietly.

She dictated, verbatim, "Go up the elevator, floor 6, that entire floor belongs to Hotch and his team. Well, your team, I guess, right? If anyone asks, just flash them your badge, and that should be enough. Good luck, Agent Lewis, I hope you have a good day."

I nodded, and I grinned, "Thanks, I will.. Sorry, what's your name?"

She smiled, daintily, and responded, "Anna Jarvis, head secretary of the BAU, and yourself?"

"Charlotte Lewis, new to the FBI, I used to work in New York, as a detective. I don't know why I'm here, I still don't know what's going on, but I'm glad I moved."

She nodded minutely, and replied, "Ah, well, I don't mean to seem rude or anything, but you've got to be upstairs soon, otherwise you'll be late. And, believe me, being late on your first day is not a great way to start. I've seen it happen to many a folk, and said agents no longer work here, if you catch my drift."

My eyes widened, and I grappled for my things, tucking them in my bag, whilst simultaneously, waving at Anna, and walking through the, thankfully empty, lobby towards the elevator, which would send me to my fate. I repeatedly pressed the green button which would beckon the metal contraption towards me. There was a pitched 'ding' and the door shuffled open and I stepped inside, hugging the bag closer to my side, and tapped my foot, rhythmically, in anticipation. I fought back the urge to chew on my nails as it was beyond gross, and I rubbed the back of neck, trying to take my mind off of the short ride up to, well, you know, hell on Earth.

As the resounding 'ding' alerted me that I had arrived on the sixth level, and I took in a deep, cleansing breath and released it, once I felt I was relaxed enough. I stepped outside, into the even warmer foyer. I tried to put on a very strong, unwavering front, but inside I felt like I were standing atop a towering cliff face, and I was ready to jump off. There were so many conflicting feelings battling inside my body, and I felt nauseous and more than a little dizzy, however I believed I hid that minute detail well.

I smiled, faintly, at those who passed me, and was glad that I received a few in return - which shocked me greatly, considering I was so used to the affronted annoyance that swarmed through everyone in New York. I was standing on the other side of the glass door, with the BAU insignia printed on, which was separating me, and the rest of my new 'team'. I smiled, airily, at that fact, and I pulled the door open, and was greeted with the scent of freshly brewed coffee, doughnuts and crisp paper and leather seats - all of it giving the office an increasingly proper feel.

I took a giant sweep of the room, and categorically filed away everything that I could see off into different sections. There were the men, at least 23, that I could see, excluding Rossi, Morgan, and Reid. Hotch was seated in his office, with the blinds open, and I could easily see him from where I was standing. There were 14 women, including JJ, but no Prentiss or Garcia, but she worked in a dark, shut off, cave-type office, or at least that's how Rossi described it to me over Skype a few weeks ago. Funny to think that I was in hospital a month ago, and now, here I was, staring a new job, with a new boss, and possibly new friends. All I had to do was just not fuck it up. Why did that feel like such a trial right now?

The structure of the office was simple; each quartet of desks were designed in the symbol of a swastika, making it easy to map out the entire room, with enough space for a long desk along the far wall, complete with coffee maker, doughnuts and other sugary delicacies and two water dispensers, one on either end of said table. From what I could see, there were, possibly, 40 different desks, all in the same foursome style, dotted around the room, ordered and systematic.

I noticed that the windows were high, and made completely of glass, the panes having been painted a cream, to match the walls, and there were lively, effervescent green plants scattered around the room, making it seem more relatable and contrasted with the weighty and serious persona the FBI had taken on as a whole. There were a row of three wooden, simple chairs along each wall, but for the wall with the table along it.

I took a seat in the nearest chair, and noted the cool temperature against my tight clad thighs, and I took in deep breath once more. The faces that passed me were all photographed in my mind's eye and stored for later use, and I smirked, internally, at how quickly my mind had been trained to do this. It happened naturally now, feeling almost as natural as breathing sometimes.

"Excuse me, may I help you? You look a little lost."

I glanced up and into the hazel eyes of a middle aged man I had never met before. He was clearly older than myself, probably standing closer the thirty-five mark,

I stumbled over my words a little, and I choked out, "Mmm, yes, well, wow, yeah, I need some help. I'm new. I wanted to talk to Agent Hotchner, but he looked busy, so I was going to wait here. Is that okay, or have I done something wrong already?"

Nervously, I chewed on the skin of the inside of my cheek, careful to not pierce it, and I tensed in reproach as he chuckled at my behaviour.

"There isn't any need to be so edgy. You can go up and see Hotch now, there should be no reason why you can't. Just knock, and it should be okay."

I nodded, and stood, a little too quickly, and gathered my bag a tiny bit closer to my body.

"Thank you for your help, Sir."

He stopped me, and shook his head in disapproval, and replied, "It's Greg Dew, not Sir, okay?"

I nodded once more, and repeated, "Greg Dew. Okay, thank you."

He stepped out of my way, and walked on, towards what I assumed was his desk, and sat down. His hair was brown, far darker than my own, and his skin was tan and healthy. His face was covered with a thin stubble, and his eyebrows were thick and in need of a good tweezing, but beyond that, he seemed friendly enough. I liked the atmosphere of this office a far cry more than I had the one in New York.

I made my way up the few steps leading to Hotch's office, and I rapped on the doors quickly, alerting him to my presence. I smoothed out my skirt, and simultaneously let out a breath I hadn't realised I had been holding, and I couldn't help but feel the jitters set in my bones. What if he didn't like me? What if he sent me back? Oh God, what if what I'm wearing wasn't appropriate? Shit, shit, double shit.

"Come in," was the clipped reply, and with a shaking hand, I pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

My voice was far steadier than I had been feeling inside as I said, my hand settling on my hips and a gentle smile gracing my lips, "Hello, Hotch. It's nice to see you again."