B for Beck

by Assbitch67

Beck has had her life planned for her whether she liked it or not... But for some reason it all just keeps going to shit. Maybe it has something to do with her ability to kill a full grown man with a paperclip and snipe a grape inside a shot glass from nearly 6 miles away. But, hey, the cute Doctor at the BAU that doesn't know how to carry his Revolver seems to tolerate her.

13. Blurry

A/N: Welcome back! Did I try and write this chapter as quickly as possible? Yes. Did it take me forever yet again? Yes. But I love you guys, so I push through the writer's block. I've set a goal for myself (don't yell at me if I don't reach it, I have like three jobs) to make it to Season 4 Plot by the time the Summer is over. BUT no promises.

Thank you to everyone leaving the sweet and encouraging comments here on FFN and on AO3. I hope you all know I blush, giggle, and kick my feet whenever I read them like a little school girl. Glad you guys are enjoying this lil (FUCKING ENORMOUS) story.

Anyway, here is the Finale of the Season 3 Plot - FINALLY!

It is brought to you in part by one song I listened to while writing this story the past year or so. Valentine, Texas by Mitski; specifically the lyric before the best bass drop in history-

"I'll show you who my sweetheart's never met. Wet teeth, shining eyes glimmering by a fire."

---

Blurry

•••

"A solid answer to everything is not necessary. Blurry concepts influence one to focus, but postulated clarity influences arrogance." - Criss Jami, Salomé: In Every Inch In Every Mile.

—

SEVERAL MONTHS AGO

"What do you think you're doing awake?"

"Jesus Christ!"

From her vantage point at the top of the basement stairs, Beck was able to get a good view of the way Alice jumped so far out of her skin in shock, she'd fallen backwards off her perch and landed atop the oversized leather recliner with a "hmph."

Beck burst out into a loud belly laugh at the sight of her little sister sprawled out on their Dad's favorite chair in his make-shift man cave. "And she sticks the landing!" the eldest Ryder daughter exclaimed with a resounding clap and a few more good-hearted laughs.

Alice righted herself within their Dad's chair. "Screw off," she muttered.

Still laughing, Beck sauntered the rest of the way down the basement stairs until she reached the very couch her sister slouched in. She reached down to give the little Ryder sister a good shake to the head, prompting a quick slap to her wrist that she easily returned with a smack to the back of Alice's head.

"Geez, Al, that was a nasty fall. I sure hope whatever it was you were getting into was import- Oh." Beck grinned as her eyes fell on the half-drank bottle of off-brand whiskey beside a spilt red solo cup.

Alice, following her sister's gaze, immediately moved to defend herself. "That's not what-" But Beck wouldn't hear of it as she waved off her words.

"What? You're gonna tell me you weren't sneaking a drink while Mom and Dad put Max to bed? C'mon, Al, give me a little more credit." She smirked as she made her way across the basement to pluck the bottle of whiskey from it's place on the top shelf her Dad kept it in his liquor cabinet just above the family's washer and dryer units. "This isn't even the good stuff. God."

Alice frowned when she watched her sister gag at her choice in alcohol. Frankly, she'd just chosen the one with the least amount of alcohol missing. She figured the General wouldn't care much if she drank the alcohol he didn't like.

"Ugh, and what is this music you're listening to?"

Beck made her way over towards the radio Alice had set on the cooler nearby, hitting eject and carefully using her nails to pluck the John Mayer CD out. She held the disc up with disdain, looking at her sister as if to ask "seriously?"

Alice grimaced.

"You know Dad's like ten times more likely to take you out back and shoot you dead over playing this on his precious radio than he is when he finds out you've been drinking his cheap whiskey, right?"

"So... he's gonna find out?" Alice peered up at her sister as she walked back towards the wall of CDs and records nearby. "You're gonna tell him?"

Beck shook her head. She could practically hear the panic in her voice. "Pfft- no," she shrugged. Having put away the John Mayer CD, she now scavenged the collection of other burnt discs looking for some actual good music, suitable enough to set the mood. "You think I wanna be there when he finds out? Which- yes- he will find out. He always finds out... What I can't find out is where the Hell he keeps the one record- Aha!"

The younger Ryder sister fiddled with the hem of her aquamarine tank top while the eldest padded her way across the basement back to the radio where she set the new CD inside, hitting play before dropping into a nearby lawn chair.

"You're not gonna tell Dad then? Or- or Mom?" Alice swallowed hard. The General finding out about his daughter's nighttime activities in his man cave would be one debacle. He'd torture her with endless hours of lectures and probably ground her for a few weeks. But if the Colonel found out? Alice shuddered at the thought.

As the beginning chords of Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" played from the radio, Beck took it upon herself to help herself to whatever was inside the cooler beneath it. Taking out a tequila Paloma for herself, Beck decided against her better judgement to throw her sister a bone- a bone roughly the same size, weight, and consistency of a 16oz glass bottle of Coors.

Alice was barely able to catch it in her sweaty palms. Her eyes widened, darting between Beck and the beer. "Are you... are you sure-"

"Don't make it weird."

"Yeah- yup," Alice hiccupped, quickly sitting forward in the recliner to pop open the bottle with a soft 'clink,' taking a long swig before Beck changed her mind.

With a 'hiss' and 'pop,' Beck opened her Paloma and took a long swig of her own. She propped her feet out atop the cooler as she attempted to mimic the affect of the recliner her sister presently took advantage of. Beck smirked as she examined Alice. She looked so out of place dwarfed in their Dad's recliner with a beer in her hand. Beck could've sworn that it had been just last month that she'd been forced to change her baby sister's dirty diapers. Then a week later she'd cheered as she watched Alice skip across the stage at her Kindergarten graduation. A few days prior to that, Beck had received photos of Alice in her Homecoming dress. And now, here she was, sharing a beer with her baby sister.

How time flies.

"You can't tell Mom or Dad about this," Beck stated firmly.

Alice turned to glance back at her, her eyes narrowing in skepticism. "You can't tell Jake or Colleen."

Beck threw her head back with a groan. "God- c'mon! That's playing dirty. You know they have to know every little detail in my life or they'd go stir crazy out of boredom."

Alice laughed. She enjoyed her sister's sarcasm, no one else in the house ever matched Alice in her use of sarcasm the way her older sister did. After all, that was who she got it from. It was one of the many small things Alice missed when her big sister was away, one of the day-to-day things Alice hadn't even realized she'd miss until they were gone.

"Really? Thought those were your only two friends," Alice chided with an evil grin as she gently pushed Beck's legs with her own as she propped them up alongside hers on the cooler.

Beck kicked her in the ankle. "Watch it," she warned with not an ounce of any actual threat in her tone. "And believe it or not, I do have actual friends. Y'know, ones I'm not related to."

Alice perked an eyebrow. "How much do they get paid an hour?"

Another kick to the shin followed by a series of giggles.

"When did you become such a little asshole?" Beck prompted.

Alice chuckled as she massaged her shin. "July 19th, 1992."

Beck rolled her eyes. Fucking smartass.

"Seriously, though-" Alice had a goofy grin on her face as her head flopped to the side of the recliner arm. "Friends you're not related to? Do they live in Canada?" She snorted when her sister's foot came up to kick the corner of the can of Coors in her hand causing a bit to splash up and hit her face.

Beck took a long swig of her Paloma and winced as the tequila stung on its way down her throat. She never was one for drinking, mostly because she never wanted to be sloppy or uncoordinated in the off chance she'd be called in, or ambushed, or attacked. It was a constant state of alertness that kept her alive, she didn't need to impede built in instincts and training by getting sloshed to solve her problems.

However, today belonged to her family. And besides, with a household run by a high-ranking General in the US Armed Forces inside one of three Air Force bases in a Texan city... Beck felt secure enough in her childhood home to pop open a cool one with her baby sister.

Especially after the day she'd had with the Katie Jacobs case the BAU was probably finishing wrapping up in DC, she earned the right to drink and let her guard down for a night. Even a night when her phone was flooding with voicemails and messages from Hotchner and Strauss. They could wait for now. The night belonged to the Ryder sisters.

"Helloooooo?"

The young agent peered up at Alice's question.

"Who are your friends? Or did you really just make them up?" her little sister prompted.

Beck chuckled, shaking her head. "No, I... I do have friends. Work friends- I guess I should say." The agent took a long drink as her eyes failed to meet with her sister's. God, this is so embarrassing. Gossiping with a teenager about BAU work life? Jesus...

"And?" Alice drew out expectantly.

Beck peered across the ice chest at her, her eyes widening as a surprised smile spread across her face. "You seriously wanna know about the people I work with in the stuffy FBI?"

"Yeah!" she threw her hands up in exclamation. "Didn't you used to, like, hate the people you worked with at your last government job? Still the government, but this time- gasp- you're calling them your friends. Aw- AH!"

Alice let out a high-pitched screech when a hand shot out to grip her ankle on the cooler. She started to kick, but the moment she jerked her leg out of her older sister's grasp her knee knocked into the Coors in her hand, spilling a good portion of the bubbly alcoholic residue on her neon blue top.

The sisters froze with simultaneous gasps of shock.

There was a beat of silence just before the pair began to descend into drunk, buzzed laughter.

Eventually, Alice corrected herself and was able to dab a few napkins on her chest to get most of the beer out of the cotton fabric. She was still giggling cross-legged across from her sister perched on the cooler while Beck divulged her recent trials and tribulations with attempting friendly work relationships with her fellow teammates. By the time Beck had managed to get the smell of beer out of their Dad's couch- thorough, so not to get her sister killed if their parents ever found out- Alice's giggles had morphed into all out laughs and the occasionally snide comment or question.

"You know, for someone at the mercy of my ability to clean and rid Dad's precious leather couch of the smell of your spilled beer-" Beck chided her sister, jabbing a finger into her side to illicit a swift snort and swat. "-you sure seem to be laughing quite a lot about this."

"Sorry," Alice chortled- a sign she clearly wasn't sorry in the least. "I just think it's funny you haven't told any of your work friends about your PhDs yet."

Beck pulled a face. "That's because titles don't matter. At least not to these people, not really." She scrubbed hard into the cushion, pretending to concentrate on a specific stain she knew probably wasn't even from the beer. "And they definitely don't matter to me. They're just degrees, really."

"Just degrees?" Alice gaped. "Mom literally still corrects everyone that mentions you on the phone or on Facebook. 'Dr. Rebecca Ryder, this' and 'Dr. Rebecca Ryder, that.' You know how people rent those planes to draw out messages in the sky to propose to people?"

The elder Ryder snorted. "Rent?"

"You know what I mean!" she snapped childishly, a slight slur in her words. "They hire someone to, like, write a cloud message in the clouds. Mom is totally gonna do that one day when you get another degree."

"Pfft- first of all, not happening." Beck ignored her sister's sarcastic little 'mhmm'. "Second, you really think our Mom- a first generation American who still calls the deli inside of Walmart 'la michoacána'- is going to figure out how to rent a plane that makes clouds into letters?"

Alice hummed in contemplation. "... no."

"Mm."

"Back to the point, though-" Alice attempted to circle back.

Beck smirked. "There was a point?"

"Shut up."

The smirk disappeared.

Alice froze, her eyes widening upon realization of her mistake. "Sorry." Beck's eyes narrowed a fraction before she turned back to her task at hand. The younger Ryder slackened in relief. "But seriously, why not just casually put a sticky note that says 'DR.' on your little desk... name thing-" she made a vague gesture with her hands.

"Plaque," her older sister supplied without glancing up.

"-one day? Ooh- and time how long it takes the Good Doctor and your Warden to notice. Besides, what's the worse they could say? 'Ooh, Becca Ryder has degrees, too- what a slut!'"

Beck glanced up.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why don't you like people knowing about your accomplishments? Is it a-" Alice gasped, leaning in to whisper. "Is it a spy thing?" The younger Ryder shook her shoulders in a suggestive dance. Beck wasn't quite sure she knew what it was she was suggesting.

The agent rolled her eyes.

"It's not a- no," she shook her head firmly. "I just don't think everyone needs to know every little thing about me. I have a few Doctorates. So do several of my current and former colleagues and co-workers. So... who gives a shit?" Alice narrowed her eyes as she watched Beck take a long swig from her third tequila Paloma. "No one cared in the CTU. I doubt it's any different with this new Unit."

Out of the corner of her eye, Beck could see Alice lean her head back in speculation. When she dared to peer up at her sister, she saw her staring back at her intently with a knowing smirk on her face.

"What?"

The small smirk widened into a shit-eating grin. In moments like these, Alice looked nearly identical to the Cheshire Cat. Beck had to bite back a smirk at the irony of her trademark expression.

"You know," Alice began. "For someone with multiple PhDs, you can be pretty fuckin' stupid sometimes."

Beck gaped as her little sister threw her head back in wheezing laughter. "Alison! Maria! Reyes! Ryder!" she emphasized each name with jabs to the thigh, only causing her to shriek with laughter even more.

"Stupid with two 'O's!" she wheezed in addition.

Beck couldn't help but laugh at the way her sister leaned forward to hold up two fingers to highlight her point, nearly falling out of her seat in the process. "You're so fuckin' drunk."

As Alice came down from her nonstop laughter and attempted to catch her breath, she shook her head adamantly. Clearing her throat with a few coughs, she attempted to reel in her laughter at the way Beck merely stared blankly at her.

"Take your time."

Alice fell into a series of even more laughs mixed with coughs. Coughs that quickly became rougher by the second. Beck reached out to pat her sister's shoulder, but what she hadn't expected when her hand came up to rub her baby sister's back was for Alice to abruptly lean forward vomit directly onto the carpet between her boots.

"Oh my God!" Beck staggered backwards, bolting upright and away from the pile of her sister's thrown up beer on the floor. "Holy shit... Alice," she started carefully as she crouched in front of Alice to brush a handful of her hair from her face. She shouldn't have been as surprised as she was to find her little sister laughing as she wiped the corners of her mouth.

"Daddy's def'nitely gon' kill us both now, mhmm-" Alice slurred.

Beck couldn't help but let a small giggle escape from her pursed lips. "Jesus, mèo. C'mon."

It took some tentative leading and a lot of water, but eventually after a few short hours of spitting up and a few more drunk rants followed by infinite amount of giggles and coughs- Beck was finally able to get her sister into bed.

But, of course, it wasn't long before she had to hold Alice's hair once more as she upheaved into the trash bin for a umpteenth time that night.

"Ughhhhhhhhhhh." Alice's miserable groans between each round of vomit bounced off the walls of her room.

While Beck felt she probably should've felt a little more guilty for being the reason her sister was in the state she was in, she also couldn't help but feel a funny type of warmth at the situation. She was actually a little relieved and self satisfied to be able to say she was the first person to get Alice drunk, and also the first to take care of her in the inevitable aftermath. A big sisterly duty.

Beck couldn't help the fond smile that graced her lips as she gently rubbed circles into Alice's shoulder, cherishing even these trashy, dirty, messy moments that came with the end of a fun night.

A wince replaced the smile as she remembered the first time she'd gotten black out drunk after a tough mission. The vivid memories of chunks of leftover throw up in her hair, waking up being unable to withstand even the sky light in her apartment kitchen and thrashing in sweaty, damp sheets all morning as she attempted to push through the stomach cramps and constant dry-gagging for the first 24 hours. Beck was glad to be here to nurse her sister through something not even half as bad as what she'd experienced, grateful nonetheless to be able to just spend this time with her.

But Beck was certain Alice understood the traveling commitments that came with the CTU and then now the BAU. Jacob was the first in the family to branch out towards the military, but he'd only been gone for basic training before he'd come home. Beck was sure it was straining on her family just as much as it was on her to be traveling for so long away from them. But they understood...

She caressed her fingers along the side of Alice's head, pulling a few thin strands of hair behind her ear.

"Mm," her sister moaned. "'m sorry."

"It's alright, mèo," Beck assured her softly. "I'll leave you some vitamins and chilled juice for the morning that'll help with the hangover. And, don't worry, it'll only take a bit of bleach and scrubbing and the barf stain will be out of Dad's carpet by the time he wakes up."

She could hear Alice groan, but it was hard to hear what she was saying as it was muffled through dry-gags and the echo of the bin her head was currently hanging in.

"Hm?"

Slowly, Alice lifted her head from the bin. "Not sorry for that," she repeated a little louder this time. Beck's hands slowly slid away from holding her sister's hair up as she turned to face her. Alice's cheek pressed against the edge of the mattress as she looked up through her bleary eyes and damp eyelashes. "I'm sorry for calling you stupid."

Beck smirked. "No, you're not."

The Cheshire Cat grin reappeared. Guilty as charged.

"I'm not, but-" a laugh escaped. "-it's true! You just can't see it yet."

Lightly, the young woman lifted the wool blanket up to her sister's shoulders as she could already pick up on the tired delirium in her voice and half-lidded eyes. She was beginning to fall asleep, at last. "See what? That you're obviously not sorry?"

"'s not the same." Beck frowned in confusion. What wasn't the same? "They're your friends, Becks. You like your new team. You called them your friends. That's why it's different from the other stuffy government people you had last time."

The elder Ryder nodded in realization. This was about the BAU and her degrees... still. She couldn't quite figure out why Alice was still so hung up on this particular topic. Maybe it's the alcohol-

Still lying with her face smushed in the sheets, Alice giggled with a slight hiccup. "You said it yourself it's different. It's why you should tell them stupid things about your stupid self..." Alice trailed off, her eyes fluttering shut.

Definitely the alcohol. Beck snorted.

"So, you think a rite of passage to indoctrinating my teammates as official friends would be to notify them of my many degrees? Why? Why does it matter so much?"

God, this felt like arguing with Dr. Reid. He was always prying and prodding about stupid, insignificant things. She had come to tolerate it for the sake of a stable work environment and to avoid seeming too shielded. But one thing Beck hadn't expected upon getting her sister drunk- halfway across the country from the BAU Bullpen- was receiving the same treatment.

"'Cause," came the muffled reply from her baby sister. "Those stupid little puzzle pieces are what make up your stupid, pretty picture. What fun is a puzzle already put together? That's boring..."

The slur in her words becoming more prominent the sleepier she got. With a feather light touch, her older sister stroked her hair out of her face as she yawned. "You're boring," she chided softly.

"Mm'no, you're borin'."

Beck rolled her eyes at Alice's antics. Always had to have the last word... "Ssh. Go to sleep, mèo."

There was a moment where Beck's words caught in her throat as an overwhelming swell of emotion rippled within her chest. It felt as though the inside of her ribs had been vacuumed out, leaving behind an empty space that felt so unnervingly like suffocating- from being unable to bear just how much that emotion overcame her. It was easy to pinpoint what that emotion was.

It was the longing pit in her stomach whenever she caught the faint sweet smell of whatever chemicals were put into bug spray; the aroma a constant reminder of the Summer trips the Ryder siblings had taken to the lake and Beck had been the one responsible of ensuring baby Alice wouldn't get bit up by the mosquitos. It was the small sniffle Beck spared when she didn't have her usual partner in crime to finish venti Starbucks Frappuccinos with on the rare occasion she got a craving for one. It was staying up late due to International Time Zones in order to live stream Alice's volleyball games, and waking up early to call to wish her luck before auditions, try-outs, or tough tests.

It was all the stupid little ways Beck loved her baby sister, even when she was away.

"Love you, Al."

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

—

Beck flexed her fingers into fists. Open, close, open, close...

Her shoulders were squared, her calves tight as every muscle in her body coiled, preparing to attack at any given moment. The former CIA agent's eye twitched as she focused on the pointed threat across the dimly lit room.

Like a wild animal stalking it's prey, Beck tilted her head to the side as she eyed up her opponent. She didn't want to fight Prentiss. Frankly, up until this point, she had only ever found her mildly irritating at worst and at best slightly tolerable. But after her fellow BAU team member greeted her from the corner of her room as if she hadn't broken in... any kind of pleasant feeling Beck had towards Prentiss swiftly dissipated.

"Mind explaining why you're in my apartment?" she prompted in a low, dangerous voice.

Prentiss, still partially hidden in the shadows of the room, merely shrugged. "Sure. Right after you explain why it is that one of the world's deadliest underground operatives decided to get a day job at the BAU."

Beck laughed dryly.

"'World's Deadliest' is a bit of a stretch."

The other agent guffawed. "That's- that's all you have to say? You're not even going to ask how I found out-"

"Interpol."

Beck jut her chin out. Prentiss's eyes narrowed, but the young woman didn't even wither beneath the glare.

"What, you didn't think I still had resources outside of the FBI?" she shook her head in dismay. "Didn't they teach you not to underestimate your opponents back at Interpol? Or, I guess, being sloppy is a shared trait. After all, your hacker left bread crumbs for me to follow when they tried digging up my past."

"You mean your other faces."

Beck's glare darkened. Clearly, Prentiss had been keeping up on her for some time. She'd known who Beck was longer than Beck had become even the slightest bit suspicious of her. She was at a disadvantage immediately out of the gate.

The younger woman's fingers twitched in the direction of the hidden bow staff she kept one hand behind her bathroom door. The only thing stopping her from lunging for it now was the possibility that the dark was concealing more than just Prentiss's figure. It could've also been concealing an automatic weapon, and if Beck wasn't careful, she'd have a bullet in her skull before she'd even get a chance to use the bow against the other highly trained operative.

So instead, Beck leaned into whatever conversation that Prentiss had broken into her apartment to have.

Beck took a tentative step away from her bathroom. "What do you want?" Proof. Money. A fight. Someone always wanted something from her.

"Answers," Prentiss replied.

The moonlight from outside lit up Beck's face as it shone through a crack in her curtains from the window beside where Prentiss had come in from. She could make out the imperceptible crease in her forehead, a tell-tale sign of her confusion.

"You're the Sword."

It was a statement. Beck didn't feel the need to dispute this claim or accusation. So when the younger woman didn't react at the older agent's words, Prentiss took that as all the confirmation she needed. Carefully, she stood from her crouched position across the room.

All the rumors. All the bodies left behind. All the whispers in the shadows. All the myths and stories. They were all true. And the object of all of these dirty secrets of espionage and government collapse and black-market raids... was right in front of her now. The Sword was the underground crime world's best kept secret. A secret no more.

Prentiss shook her head. "A CIA operative. We always thought you'd been a Chinese plant within British Royal Intelligence. Others theorized you'd come out of the woodworks in North Korea, maybe even out of Russia with the KGB. No one was ever sure. You were a ghost story."

Beck shifted uncomfortably. She hated being spoken to this way. Like some living legend. No one in the CTU ever treated her this way. Maybe they treated John Summers that way, but everyone else in that unit only ever saw her as the fresh-faced newbie in their way. But the way Prentiss was speaking to her, about her... in awe. No- in fear. It made her skin crawl. Suddenly, Beck had discovered something worse than being feared for what she was capable of... it was being idolized for the things she'd already done.

"'Were,'" Beck corrected grimly. "How'd you figure it out, exactly?"

"Your rifling. The shells from the shot you took to eliminate Frank Breitkopf-"

The younger agent shook her head. Inwardly, she was kicking herself. What a rookie move on her part. But, then again, how was I supposed to know a former Interpol Agent who'd easily recognize my signature would've already been a fixture in the BAU before I'd even officially joined?

Beck crossed her arms, she cleared her throat to cover the sound of her cracking her joints, preparing herself to pounce any second now. "And lemme guess, that's what you sent over to Interpol? To get my covers?" Prentiss's mouth pressed into a thin line. Beck let out a wry laugh, but her tone was dark and humorless as she added, "You know, Prentiss, I really hoped that the stuck-up bitch act was just that- an act. That you were a little more complex than just another stiff Fed in an overpriced suit. But... I guess all illusions have to be shattered eventually."

Prentiss took a firm step out of the shadows. Her jaw clenched as she hissed through her teeth, "Oh, believe me- I'm under no illusions about who you are."

Exposed, Beck was able to make out the pistol the other agent clutched in her hands. She raised her chin and took an instinctive step backwards, placing herself within close range to a wall on the opposite side of the room she could quickly jump behind for cover if needed.

For a moment, Beck's breath caught in her throat at the sight of the weapon. She'd suspected Prentiss might've brought one, but the confirmation only solidified just how serious the older agent was about attempting to take Beck out. Prentiss seemed the type to think things out more rationally, not resorting to violence unless absolutely necessary, but judging by the slight amount of perspiration shining on the crease between Prentiss's eyebrows, and the slight tremor in her voice, and the desperation in the action of this irrational confrontation itself...

She's afraid, Beck realized. Before the realization could even fully set in, her mind had already begun formulating a plan... I can use this.

"That so?" Beck tilted her head. She narrowed her eyes. On command, she could feel her right eye twitching. She was leaning into her own fear factor, taking on the persona she usually only donned when intimidating criminals and terrorists. "You think you know who I am- what I am? Why? Because you read a few of my files? There's some dark stuff in there. Did you have to step away a few times? Maybe even gag once or twice?"

She watched as Prentiss's face contorted in disgust. "You're... sick."

You're a killer!

"I've got a strong stomach," Beck's glare darkened. Tentatively, the young woman slowly made her way closer towards where Prentiss was, her hand running idly along the bookshelf she kept on that side of the room. "And I'm starting to get a little tired of people telling me what I am. Believe me- I know."

Making sure to keep her pistol at the ready, Prentiss followed Beck with her body to ensure her back was never towards her. She'd seen what Beck was capable of. She'd read it with her own eyes in files. Seen it in what little footage few could salvage from the Sword sightings. Watched it in-person at the Quantico gym when she took out a good portion of the entire Narcotics team.

Physically, Beck would put up a good fight regardless of whether she had the under hand with being the only one between them unarmed. But despite having the gun, Prentiss still took a step back on instinct when the dangerous glint in the other woman's dark-tinted eyes sent a chill up her spine. Something about the tone of her voice- low and unwavering- made Prentiss inclined to believe her and her heavily implied threat.

"Enough answers for you or did you actually plan on using that tonight?" Beck jerked her chin in the direction of the pistol- still in her hands and aimed at the ground.

Prentiss squeezed to test her grip on the handle. Firm. "I don't want to, but I will if I need to."

"Meaning what?" Beck nearly laughed. Was that a threat?

"Meaning- if you don't want a bullet in your kneecap, I suggest you back away from the bookshelf where I know you probably keep a spare gun."

Beck halted in her movements. Her eyes widened. Wow, she has balls, Beck had to inwardly praise the agent opposite her. Her fingers- which had been slowly inching their way towards her third edition of Homer's "Odyssey," where she did indeed stash a secret weapon- paused.

Touchy, touchy...

Still peering up at Prentiss, the young woman cautiously began to lower herself beside the bookshelf until her fingers caught the top of a hardcover's spine. Prentiss slowly began to raise her gun as she kept her eyes glued on Beck, watching her every movement as she carefully pulled the book from the shelf of dozens. Lifting herself back up, Beck exhaled as she methodically flipped through it, her fingers stopping when they hit a large, cut-out portion of the book. She reached in and produced a switch blade.

"Drop it-!"

"Don't worry..."

As Prentiss raised her gun- full on aiming it now- Beck merely held up the end of the blade and flipped it open, the sound echoing off the walls of her apartment.

Beck flipped the blade meticulously through her fingers, twirling it from her right hand into her left before tossing it straight down into the wood of her bookshelf. Prentiss flinched, but held her fire.

The young woman turned to glance down the barrel staring back at her. "... I won't need it."

Before Prentiss could react, Beck's hand shot up to push the weapon up towards the roof. Unintentionally, Prentiss let off a shot- the dust and sediment pouring out from the apartment foundation and falling down onto the pair of women as the brawl began.

It was a frenzy. In a back-to-back combo- Beck kneed Prentiss in the gut, knocking the air out of her. Unable to counter due to how fast the smaller agent moved, this was followed by her aiming the gun back down to the floor as she aligned herself with it, bringing her elbow up to knock Prentiss in the face a few times until she was forced to release the gun and stumble back, allowing an opening for Beck to throw a harsh backhand across her face to send the other agent face-first into the floor.

The gun fell on the floor and before Prentiss could roll over to grasp at it, the other woman kicked it out of reach into the other room.

"Rggh," Prentiss moaned in pain on the floor. Although, she'd taken a couple good hits to the face and stomach, the former Interpol Agent didn't give up that quickly. She pushed herself back up by her hands and knees to spin back around with her fists raised.

Having already started stalking towards the woman on the floor- now at the ready- Beck went in, fists first.

Prentiss swung, but her equilibrium must've been off from how many headshots she'd taken just a second ago because she swung a little too wide. This enabled Beck to slide beneath the punch, easily dodging it and placing herself behind her opponent.

Rolling with the punches- literally- Prentiss spun around on her foot, still trying her hardest not to turn her back on the deadly woman. However, despite the rough start, Prentiss wasn't completely helpless against her. With every throw Beck assaulted her with in an onslaught of back-to-back jabs and hits, Prentiss managed to hit and counter nearly every one.

Overhand jab. Countered.

Underhand jab. Countered.

Prentiss swung her arm backwards against her, in an attempt to spin her out. But it backfired when the young woman allowed her arm to be yanked up and around- using the momentum to spin with her back towards her, crouch to her knees, and yank Prentiss's arm down with her- propelling the other woman's body into a full body front flip, stopping when she abruptly landed on her back with a loud thud.

"Oh-!" Prentiss gasped, the wind knocked out of her lungs. Before she even had time to regain her wits, she had to quickly roll onto her stomach to get out of the way of Beck's incoming foot coming down onto her.

With her elbows on the ground, Prentiss glanced up to spot her gun a few feet away past the doorway of Beck's room.

Beck followed her gaze, realizing what the other woman was doing a fraction of a second after she pushed herself up to grab at it. Luckily, Beck had the advantage of already being on her feet.

The shorter woman launched herself onto Prentiss's body, knocking her down and using the momentum to somersault back onto her feet. Simultaneously, while rolling away, Beck had been able to grab the discarded gun. By the time she'd made it back up onto her feet, she'd already had it aimed and trained back on Prentiss.

The Interpol Agent peered up at her opponent through her bangs. Even in the nightlight of the apartment, Beck could make out the busted lip, bloody nose, and red around Prentiss's right eye already starting to bloom into a nasty bruise.

Unwavering, Beck's thumb came up to pull back the hammer on the gun, listening to the all-too-familiar sound of the bullet securing itself into the chamber. If someone dropped a pen, they'd be able to hear it. But for now, the only sound Beck could hear- other than the sound of Mrs. Stone's annoying ass dog barking- was the pounding in her ears being dully drowned out by the ringing white noise still lingering from when she'd shot the gun so close to her head.

Irritated beyond belief, Beck rolled her shoulders back. God, why did shit have to be hitting the fan now? Can't I have one normal night?

As much as Beck wanted so badly to teach her fellow operative about breaking into her apartment and threatening her with a gun, all Beck saw when she glanced down the barrel at Prentiss was her future at the BAU.

If she killed Emily Prentiss now, she knew none of the BAU would ever forgive her. Hell, they'd probably be pissed enough to find out about the secrets Prentiss had- and seemingly already shared partially with Reid- not to mention the beating Beck had already unleashed enough of already.

Ticked, Beck let out a loud exhale through her nostrils, frustratingly dropping her aim and turning her back towards Prentiss. She threw her head back, turning around only to hiss at the woman staring at her dumbfoundedly on the ground, "I should put a bullet in your kneecap for pulling some shit like this." She gestured between them with the gun still in-hand.

Seven months ago, you would have- a voice that sounded oddly enough like Hawks tsk in the back of her mind.

Had Prentiss not been a member of the BAU Beck wouldn't have even hesitated to pull the trigger. In fact, she probably wouldn't have even granted her the grace of getting any words out before just taking her out had she not recognized just how much she needed to keep Prentiss alive to maintain her position within the Unit.

But Beck also knew, the second Prentiss took this back to the BAU, she would never see a day inside the Bullpen ever again. Strauss's backing and Gideon's recommendation aside, the team wouldn't tolerate violence against their beloved Emily Prentiss.

Pretty much fucked no matter what.

The young agent reset the hammer and hit the safety on the weapon in her hand. When she tossed it against her wall, the sound made Prentiss imperceptibly flinch. Beck presumed the older agent had fully believed she was going to kill her and was only just now processing that she was, in fact, sparing her.

"Why..." the floored agent muttered almost incoherently as she carefully pushed herself up to her knees, at the very least. She coughed, bloody and raged.

Beck fought the urge to wince apologetically for kneeing Prentiss's sternum so forcefully. She figured she'd probably bruised a rib, nicked the bottom of her right lung in the process. It wouldn't be a lethal blow, but it would be enough to hurt like a bitch for a few hours, possibly days without antibiotics.

Able to conjure her words a little better, Prentiss tried again. "Why didn't... you kill- me?" She asked through the hiccups and sharp, labored breaths. "You never- miss."

Beck merely stared back at her with a look that made it seem as though she were bored, agitated. Resolved. "Why waste the bullets?"

Prentiss could only sit back and blanch as she watched the short woman make her way across her room to examine the damage done from the brief fight.

"Besides, being an unnecessarily nosey idiot doesn't exactly warrant a death sentence. At least not in my opinion," she added with a brief side eye in Prentiss's general direction. She turned back with her hands placed on her hips to examine her roof, now with a small, bullet-sized hole in it. "You wanna pick the gun back up to finish what you came here to start, be my guest. But I can't guarantee I'll let you live the second time I hold a gun to your head..."

Beck allowed her threat to linger idly in the tense air between the two. Prentiss- albeit still reeling from the fight- considered her offer a for a moment. Her eyes drifted to the shelf where Beck had thrown her gun. She knew her chances against the woman who'd already kicked her ass and disarmed her... her chances of succeeding the second time weren't looking too good either.

But something made Prentiss falter for a moment.

She hadn't expected this... outcome. Of all the possibilities of this rushed confrontation going, Prentiss figured she might've come back dead, or alive in a jail cell. Very few possibilities had this outlook she could've predicted- the woman she thought had been at least assigned or hired to infiltrate her unit for some unknown reason had spared her. And not only that, but instead was offering her her own chance of turning the tables and killing her once more after having given up her upper hand in a fight. This made little to no sense, yet...

"You weren't hired to kill us... were you?"

Caught off guard, Beck spun back around. "Kill you?" the young agent gaped. "Why the fuck would you think I'd been hired to kill you? On what planet-"

"You weren't sent?" Prentiss stammered.

"No," Beck replied firmly. "Had Gideon not recommended me to Strauss, I wouldn't even be here. Now you think I was hired to, what, infiltrate and eliminate your Unit for profit? Believe it or not, Prentiss, but I've never been a hired gun."

With the idle flame of defiance still flickering in Emily's system, the agent boasted her chest slightly as she retorted, "So I guess the people you murdered for a paycheck with the CIA don't count, do they?"

She watched as Beck's face dangerously darkened.

Almost sensing the cold chill that ran across Prentiss's skin, Beck began to stalk towards her at a painfully slow pace. Prentiss shifted, making a move to push herself away, but couldn't even process the blooming pain that kept her down until Beck was already standing over her. Before she could even shove her away, Beck's hand shot out to press into the spot just beneath her ribs where she'd been kneed- Prentiss let out a yelp as she threw her body back in pain, trying to wrench herself away from the other agent.

"Feel that?" Beck prompted.

Prentiss's gasps and groans served as indication that she did in fact feel it.

"That is the start of a very lethal case of pneumothorax in your right lung. What you feel there is your chest wall rupturing. Which then can cause a nasty case of-" Prentiss let out a literal blood-curdling cough, wracking her body as she spit up crimson liquid from her mouth onto the bed beneath her head. "-coughing up blood and difficulty breathing."

"You've proven-" another cough escaped the woman's mouth. "-your point-"

"My point-" Beck roughly released Prentiss from the unrelenting pain, allowing her body to sink down until she hit the floor in a coughing fit. "-is that if you'd like me to, I could easily show you what me murdering someone fucking looks like- with or without a payoff. So I wouldn't get too cocky just because I didn't pump your brain with lead." Still coughing on the ground, Prentiss only glared up at the woman looking down on her. "Believe me- if I wanted you or anybody else dead, they'd be dead."

On that note of finality, Beck turned to head back towards the living room where her hutch full of liquor sat, untouched and undamaged in the fight. She figured it'd be a matter of time before the cops showed up... or maybe not, who knew how many people in her building minded their own business or could even pinpoint where the gunshot came from.

Either way, the young woman had every intention of getting hammered now.

Her head was still ringing... she wondered if it was safe for her to drink if she had burst her ear drum. Frankly, she didn't care much about anything as she poured out two fingers of her driest bourbon into a glass.

From afar, Prentiss watched her. Was she... drinking? The older agent couldn't believe what she was seeing. Ryder barely even drank coffee and none of the times Prentiss had scouted her had she seen the young agent smoke a cigarette or even pop open a beer. Yet, here she was, throwing back two shots worth of liquor down her throat without even a wince before she refilled her glass.

Still in pain, it was a little difficult for Prentiss to pull herself up to her forearms. It was even worse trying to sit upright, but by the time she was able to fully sit up against the base of the door frame, Beck was already on her fourth drink. She just... kept going. Shot after shot.

Slightly out of breath, Prentiss huffed in indignation at the sight of the other agent across the apartment dump out another half-glass worth of bourbon into her glass. She was practically spinning as she sauntered across the room towards a lit-up jukebox near her TV stand.

Prentiss frowned. What is she doing...?

Suddenly, the speakers in the living room rumbled to life as guitar riffs and bass boosts echoed into the bedroom where Prentiss still sat sprawled on the floor. Was that... the Eagles? Was she playing music right now?

Beck reappeared into Prentiss's line of sight as she padded across the living room until throwing her body into the closest armchair. As rock music continued to fill the apartment, Prentiss had a hard time to hear anything other than ringing as she roughly pushed herself up to her knees, and then eventually to her feet. "Mm," she whimpered, clutching her stomach with one hand as the other reached out to balance herself against the doorway.

With a better view into the living room, Beck was finally in sight. She barely even spared the other agent a glance as she took a long swig from her bourbon. Prentiss nearly blanched as the colored lights from the jukebox gave a better view of the young agent, dressed in her pajamas with full view of her limbs that were typically more covered in the field. It shouldn't have come as a shock to the former Interpol Agent that the renowned CIA Asset had scars that marred her body, but there was more than just an obscene amount... it was how old many of them looked in comparison to the newer ones.

There was a large range in sizes, lengths, color, width, depth- there were even a few with patterns. A few scattered burns and scratches; all with undefinable features that were obviously not just casual wounds, perhaps cuts from barbed wire and burns from electrocution. Prentiss's eye was caught by a series of tiny, pristine circle burns that littered Beck's lower collarbone, going down her V-neck tank top and probably down her lower chest.

Prentiss couldn't help but wince as she took a side step around the chair to get a better view. But she should've known not to push when she accidentally stepped on the broken ceramic pieces of the mug Beck had dropped earlier, a crunching sound alerting the agent of the other's presence.

Beck leaned forward in her chair to peer sidelong at Prentiss, following her gaze to her exposed scars. Shit.

She made a move to pull her knees up to her chest to try and cover what she could, only with how slow time was moving, she had time to think about it for a second and paused... Why hide it? They were just cuts. It wasn't like Prentiss would have any breaking news to report to Interpol or even the BAU break room about. She probably had scars too, so did most of the people in active field duty. So, who gave a fuck? It wasn't like the scars could talk.

"What?" Beck prompted the woman still regaining her strength against the frame of her bedroom doorway. "Y'know, if you're gonna put this in your lil report to Interpol, ya mind adding 'Kickass Liver' under 'Skills and Resources' in my personnel file? It'd make for a pretty good portfolio for any other future "assassination" jobs I take on."

Prentiss nearly rolled her eyes at the sarcasm drenched in the young woman's words as she brought her fingers up to air quote unnecessarily. "Sure," she practically scoffed. "I'll put it right next to 'Durable Skin' and 'Hard Head.'"

Beck did roll her eyes at that, taking another swig of her drink.

Carefully testing the boundaries, Prentiss tiptoed around the spilled wine and broken mug to stand with her back against the wall, fully in the living room now. Beck glanced over the rim of her glass as she watched Prentiss limp her way towards the couch nearby, practically tripping over her own two feet as she kept herself angled in her direction, still on guard as if she had any chance at defending herself even if Beck did decide to lunge from her spot sunk into the cushions- which, she didn't. In fact, Prentiss turned to find Beck had fixated an odd scrunched look at her. Judgement, was it?

Abruptly, Beck set her glass on the floor and pushed herself up to her feet.

Prentiss, immediately alert, attempted to stand upright in a defensive position. Attempted.

Beck scoffed as she lazy walked towards the woman, her hand coming up to forcefully shove Prentiss onto the couch. With a shout of pain, Prentiss went down against the cushions. "Jesus, sit the fuck down before you actually rupture your thoracic wall," Beck told her exasperatedly, bordering on sounding ticked off about the injured agent for still trying to fight her while obviously incapacitated.

Prentiss frowned in confusion, watching from her seat as the drunk woman padded across the living room, around the kitchen counter and towards the freezer. From her spot on the couch, she couldn't tell what it was she had brought from the kitchen, but by the time she came back, she didn't have to wait long to ask before Prentiss was suddenly having to throw her hands up to shield her face from getting hit by a frozen raw steak inside a Ziploc bag.

"What- what the Hell-" she attempted to stammer out, but clamped her mouth when Beck reached down to catch the steak in her hand and shove it against her side with a firm press. Prentiss squirmed, hissing in pain and throwing her head back with a scream. "Sssssfuck!"

"Quit bitchin' and keep that there." Beck was tempted to press harder, but withheld her impulses. Instead, she let go, allowing Prentiss to take over the job of keeping the ice-cold steak to her injury. While the other woman caught her breath, Beck started back towards her room, pausing at the side of the couch. She turned to peer at Prentiss sidelong. "If I come back 'n you're aiming a fuckin' gun at me, I will let you bleed out on my couch. It has a one-year warranty and I have no problem dumping your corpse out with it when I order the replacement."

Prentiss merely glared back up at her.

Beck took that as all the answer she needed before continuing into the bathroom. When she returned, she was carrying a large blue and white case with a bunch of stickers and bio-hazard symbols on it. Eventually, the agent set it on the coffee table before them and opened it to reveal a multi-layered first aid kit. Technically, less of a first aid kit and more of a first aid suitcase.

Prentiss had to wonder- God, did she keep an entire clinic in her apartment or something? It was getting out of hand by the time Beck produced a large needle from her kit, slowly screwing it into an injection tube. Oh shit. "Shit," she muttered, nearly jumping out of her skin as she pushed herself further into the cushions, putting any kind of space between her and Beck.

"Calm down," was all the other woman said. Despite being several drinks in, it looked as though being inebriated didn't fully stop Beck from being capable of operating in high-risk situations. "I'm not drugging you, for fuck's sake."

"What's the needle for?"

"I'm not filling it with anything."

"That's not what I asked," Prentiss bit back through clenched teeth.

As she rose back to her feet, Beck examined the weary look on the agent's face as her eyes shot between her and the needle. "It's not gonna hurt. It's why I'm having you numb the area," she stated matter-of-factly, as if Prentiss was just supposed to catch on when she very nearly missed catching the steak being thrown at her face.

Prentiss pressed the steak firmer against her ribs. "You're gonna stick that in my ribs? You're- You're insane- God!" Her words caught in her throat as another wave of pain wracked the side of her ribs where she'd been hit. "Can't- breath!" she managed to get out between gasps of air.

"Yeah, that'll be the air in your lungs going where it isn't supposed to go."

If it wasn't such a dire situation, Beck would've drunkenly laughed at how comically wide her eyes went at that. "What?"

"Oxygen is accumulating within your parietal and visceral pleura. Enough pressure builds and your lung could be fully collapsed within the hour," she explained simply.

Before Prentiss could fall into all-out panic, Beck came over to kneel before her. Prentiss immediately reached out to block her. Beck merely held her hands up in mock-surrender, the needle balanced between her fingers and on display. "You're not- coming near me- with that thing," she said between chest-wracking coughs.

Leveling herself, Beck made direct eye contact with the woman opposite her. "If your chest isn't decompressed soon, you're going to die," she told her firmly. Without taking 'no' for an answer, Beck's hand shot out to yank the steak away from her lower chest. "Don't be stupid just because you're stubborn, Prentiss."

Those were the last words Emily Prentiss heard before feeling a tight pinch directly between two lower ribs. Feeling as though the expanding balloon in her chest had finally popped, she let out a heavy exhale as her lungs refilled with breathable air. She was so relieved to be able to breathe again, she didn't even feel when Beck pulled the needle back out, pressing a piece of gauze to it before taping it down with a bandage she'd set on the couch beside her earlier.

After fixing up the injury, Beck shoved the frozen steak to the place she'd previously had it and made her way back to her seat. She didn't bother putting away any of the first aid crap still out on the table before she picked her drink back up again.

"Mm," the young agent sighed after taking a long swig of her bourbon, just about finishing the glass. "Want any? Helps with pain sometimes."

Prentiss gaped. For a moment, she floundered for the proper words to express just how... outlandishly ridiculous this entire situation had turned out to be. Somewhere along the way of trying to think of reasons to turn down the liquor being offered by the international assassin- who'd gravely injured her in a fight, only to treat her wounds immediately after- Prentiss eventually settled on the only reasonable action to be taken.

Prentiss shrugged. "What the Hell," she huffed exasperatedly.

—

Damn Beck Ryder.

Prentiss had never wanted to throttle the young agent more than this morning as her throat contracted with a painful swallow, chasing her aspirin pills down with a swig of hot coffee. She hoped it would be enough to subdue the hangover symptoms. It was, after all, a work day. Why she'd even taken Ryder up on the offer of bourbon, Emily wasn't sure. What she was sure of was how much she regretted it now that she could barely stand being inside the office with all the bright lights and bustling sounds.

Through the crowd of agents, Prentiss weaved her way towards her desk, careful not to spill any of her coffee or draw too much attention to the poorly done concealer job over her blossoming bruises and open cuts. Ryder had put up a fight, that was for sure. And if the aches Emily felt wrack her body as she lowered herself into her seat were any indication of anything, it was that she'd be facing the consequences of last night for far longer than her hangover would be around for.

"Mm, looks like somebody had a night," the all-too smug male voice chided as more of Prentiss's co-workers came into the office. She glanced to her right to find Derek Morgan beaming back at her. It might've just been in her head, but her fellow agent looked a little too happy to see her so miserable. "Now don't tell me you finally went out and didn't invite me." Morgan's hands came up to clutch his chest in mock-hurt.

Prentiss rolled her eyes.

A gasp travelled across the office space as the BAU's resident bubbly blonde entered. "Did you finally check out that new fancy bar I told you about on 9th Street?" Garcia prompted excitedly. Her eyes darted from Morgan to Prentiss before widening. She leaned forward to whisper, "What's the, uh, hunting ground like?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Prentiss chuckled, running a hand down her face. What a question.

She rolled her shoulder with a wince. "Unpredictable."

"Hm," Garcia frowned.

"Pretty bold of you to go out drinking on a work night," Morgan jested in his overly-dramatic tone he always carried when jokingly gossiping aloud with his partner in crime, Penelope Garcia.

The Tech Analyst mockingly gushed, "Aw, our baby bird has finally spread her Social Butterfly wings and left the nest!"

"It's like I don't even know you," Morgan tsked.

Prentiss rolled her eyes. "Okay," she said, finally putting her foot down. "It is way too early for you two to be teaming up on me right now. Where's JJ? Isn't there a case or something?" God- has this place always been so bright? Prentiss winced.

"Oh-ho, somebody's eager to get back in the field," Morgan huffed, bringing up his own mug of coffee up to his lips to take a sip. In the light, Prentiss could make out the light traces of dark spots beneath the agent's eyes. Clearly, he was less than eager for a distraction as much as she was in need of one.

"Yeah, didn't we just wrap up the Blue Ridge Strangler case," Garcia prompted from her perch at the end of Emily's desk. "Don't you sleep?"

Prentiss scoffed. "Not really," came her wry reply.

"Yeah- well, some of us need our beauty sleep." The other agents shook their head as Morgan tossed himself behind his desk.

Prentiss's eyes darted to the glass double door entry where JJ normally sauntered in with her packet of manila folders and case of nightmares. It was coming up on 8:30am now. Surely, she'd be delivering a case to them by now. Or maybe Garcia was right. Reid, Hotch and Beck had only just gotten back from Roanoke.

She sighed. Maybe she was just on edge and overly eager.

"Okay, what's going on?"

When Emily peered across the walkway, she shouldn't have been too surprised to find Morgan was already glancing back at her. "What?" she asked lamely.

"You've been staring at that door like you're about to make a run for it." He gestured towards the office entrance, his lips pursed in a thin line. He was analyzing her. No- he was profiling her.

Prentiss frowned. "I'm not itching for an escape, or whatever it is you're accusing me of," she huffed as she busied herself with the stack of unfinished case work from the Matloff case. "I'm just... bored."

Jesus Christ, Emily, when did you get so terrible at lying? A voice that sounded awfully like Clyde Easter annoyingly teased in the back of her mind.

She knew neither Penelope or Derek bought whatever lie she'd lamely given to them as an excuse for her odd behavior this particular morning, and she knew it probably wasn't very settling to see her avert her gaze so noticeably to the stack of files she was now paying acute attention to. But she was desperate to wave the not-so-subtle white flag of social conversation, mildly hinting to the others to drop the subject and leave it alone. The last thing she needed was two of the most notorious gossipers in the Bureau poking and prodding about her bad mood and stumbling onto something they didn't need to get involved with.

And speaking of that something...

Emily's eyes drifted across the walkway to the empty desk beside Morgan's. Scattered across the dark driftwood were small, dead leaves that had fallen off the slowly wilting Bonsai the Agent kept beside her name plaque. And while REBECCA RYDER still hadn't come to empty out her belongings, the day was still young and Emily knew Beck was subject to still change her mind.

—

Emily took a long draw from the whiskey Ryder had poured for her. She was so drunk at this point, she barely reacted as the tart taste of the liquor trickled down her throat and set deep into her chest. The freeing feeling that came with intoxication lit her from within at the sensation, like a match to fuel.

It was at this point in the night that the words began to flow just as much as the drinks were.

"So, what now?" The words fell abruptly from Emily's mouth before she even realized she'd been withholding the question. It was a good question, though. Where did they stand? What happened next?

Ryder didn't really seem to have an answer anymore than she did. Still drunk and dejected, she shrugged. "'Could fake my death and flee the country," she suggested nonchalantly.

Emily's hair swished as her head spun to face the woman beside her. "Don't even joke about it." Ryder's eyes narrowed as she glanced over the brim of her glass at the agent. She took in the warning tone behind Prentiss's words, but didn't seem to react. Or maybe she had. It was difficult to read micro-expressions in the dark while drunk. "Seriously. What's going to happen now? What, are we just supposed to go back to work?"

"Mm, depends."

Emily's frown deepened. "On?"

Ryder took another long drink, cleared her throat. "Uh, on whether or not you're gonna try an' shoot me when I walk into the Bullpen."

Wincing, the former Interpol Agent brought her glass up for another swig. Low blow. "I'm-" she paused to lower her drink. "I'm sorry. For attacking you. In your apartment. In the middle of the night..."

Carefully, the younger agent pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Yeah... not your most well thought out plan, Prentiss. Prentiss is your real name, right? I mean, deep cover is one thing, but I doubt you could fake an American Ambassador's name as well."

With a sharp huff from her nose, Emily forcefully set her glass down. "Okay- I'm trying to have a serious conversation and you're- you're throwing information you know about my family in my face as if- as if-"

"What?" Ryder shot back. "As if you're what, my enemy? As if you're someone who attacked me in my apartment and accused me of being a double agent? Get used to it, because if there's one thing that should be taken seriously it's the threat that we pose to one another. Do you understand that?"

Emily reeled. She hadn't expected such an outburst. She hadn't expected being put in her place so forcefully either from someone so very drunk. And while her words were slurred, it was hard not to feel the weight behind them.

Slowly, Ryder leaned forward in her seat, leveling her steady gaze with Emily's narrowed, mistrusting eyes. "You know who I am, what I am. And I know who you are."

Suddenly, the knowledge passed between the two in the past seven months, give or take, flashed before Emily's eyes. Every small detail, every micro-expression. The amount of carnage Emily had taken off a page from any personnel file attached to The Sword was only the result of just a small amount of parameters given to the former CIA operative on her missions. Prentiss couldn't imagine the havoc Ryder could wreak on her life with a fraction of the information she'd gathered on her while in the Unit.

Chills ran up her spine.

"I don't want to hunt you any more than you want to face the consequences of what hunting me would bring. So, I suggest a solution," Ryder stated. "You tell Interpol to lay off my trail and you scrub me and all my aliases from every database you might've kept it on, and you burn every paper file that they might've given you."

Without meaning to, Emily shrunk slightly in her seat. "And what will you do?"

"Disappear."

Emily's eyes shot up to meet Ryder's. "You'd leave the BAU?"

After taking another sip of her bourbon, Ryder replied, "Isn't that what you wanted? Or was this little-" she gestured wildly to the damage done to her apartment from their earlier flight. "-stunt all just to startle me, not scare me away? You did think I was hired to infiltrate your Unit when you came in here, guns blazin'."

Emily found herself shaking her head adamantly. "But you're not. You said so yourself."

"That doesn't change what happened today. There's no coming back from this. You had to have known that when you broke in."

She had. But she'd expected to be fighting and eliminating The Sword. Emily hadn't expected Beck Ryder or her mercy.

—

Emily was so caught up in her own twisted, convoluted thoughts that she nearly missed the entrance of her blonde saving grace, rushing into the office... without any files in her hand. Huh. It was a rare, but not an unusual sight. It was a sight that typically meant this was a last-minute case, also highly urgent one.

Good. Prentiss rolled her shoulders. She needed something urgent and high-risk to take her mind off things.

"A case?" she asked just as soon as JJ got into earshot of the trio standing beside their desks.

"Another one already?" Reid prompted, obviously sounding not as eager to get back into the field so quickly as he returned to his desk with a fresh mug of coffee.

Morgan glanced up at the Press Liaison. "Where we headed?"

JJ threw her hands up. "No clue. Hotch just told me to gather everyone in the conference room. Sounded pretty urgent."

The group frowned collectively. Emily's frown deepened ever so slightly at the hint of exasperation in JJ's tone. Clearly, she wasn't too happy about a brand new case either. Suddenly, Emily felt guilty for being so desperate for one.

Not one to waste time, Morgan was the first one out of his seat, Reid not far behind him. As Penelope dragged her feet on her way to her lair, Emily kept a considerable distance behind her two male co-workers as she aligned herself with JJ on her way up the Bullpen walkway.

"Hey," she said softly, catching the crook of JJ's elbow gently. "Is everything okay?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm- I'm fine." The blonde shook off, a quick shake of her head paired with a bright smile, clearly plastered on for affect. "Really," she added with an implied sense of gentle pleading.

Emily let it go. For now. But she'd be sure to come back to what was obviously bothering her blonde friend later.

Inside the conference room, Rossi and Hotch were already waiting for the other agents.

Hotch didn't even turn around to address them as they filed in around the table. "Don't get comfortable. There'll be time to debrief on the plane."

No one made a move to take a seat at the table like they usually did. As soon as Emily's eyes caught what Hotch was looking at, suddenly it all made sense why. On the screen was a rewinding video of surveillance footage. Grainy black and white imagery replayed the same few frames, capturing the exact moment a hooded man slowly walked behind another unsuspecting man on what looked to be a platform before firing a single shot into his back, murdering him in cold blood.

"Where are we headed?" Reid asked.

"New York."

The shootings. It had been all over the news these past few weeks. Random, unexplained shootings in the middle of the street, in broad daylight. People were getting itchy. And when people got itchy, things escalated, which was never good.

"Five shootings in two weeks. It's about time we got the call," Rossi spoke up.

Hotch turned around to face them finally, "I want to take Garcia with us. Hopefully, they'll give us access to their surveillance systems."

Crossing her arms, Emily mentally prepared for yet another uphill battle. "What do we know?"

The agent had been desperate for a distraction, Hotch was more than obliged to give it to her. "All the killings are mid-day. Single gunshot to the head with a .22."

"Any witnesses?" JJ tossed out.

"No." Emily bit back a groan at Hotch's answer. That definitely didn't help them. How was it even possible to shoot someone broad daylight without a single witness? Prentiss nearly asked aloud before her answer presented itself.

".22-Caliber Pistol's only 152 decibels. New York streets and subways are routinely well over 100. It could be people aren't even registering the gunshot until the Unsub's already leaving the scene," Reid chimed in.

Morgan offered up the team's first theory, "They sound like Mob hits."

"Except none of them have ties to Organized Crime," Hotch shot it down in the next breath.

"Do they have any connection to each other?" Emily wondered.

"None they've found." Yet, she added inwardly, making note to pay close attention to that angle.

"How about communication with the police?" Morgan prompted. "Has the Unsub tried to make contact?"

Turning back to the screen, Hotch continued. "Surveillance cameras have captured video of three of the murders. This is the latest." Using the remote, he replayed the footage Emily had watched over his shoulder earlier.

"That's the best image they have?" JJ asked, unimpressed.

"They're all the same." With another click of the remote, identical videos and images captured in grainy black and white from far-off distances cluttered the screen. "He wears a hood and keeps his head down." The videos played out the same three scenarios as followed.

"This guy's bold," Emily deduced, immediately digging into the first few details she could pinpoint thus far. "Crowded areas, broad daylight."

"So they're completely random?" Rossi asked, still analyzing the videos.

"Seems that way."

Across the table, Reid frowned. "Son of Sam all over again."

Emily's chest constricted at the thought. She'd read a book in college about the Son of Sam. The man who'd gone out onto the New York streets and shot people with a .44 at random. He was volatile, unpredictable. His satisfaction from the initial crime was one thing, but the lingering fear he left on the city... it was a daunting effect, to say the least.

But the Son of Sam was caught eventually, and unmasked, his name was David Berkowitz, yet another man with just a whole lot of problems. This man was no different. And Emily and her team would be the one to stop him.

"JJ, tell Garcia to get a go-bag ready. Wheel's up in thirty," Hotch exclaimed, taking in his team before pausing. Emily could nearly pinpoint the exact second the Unit Chief realized he was missing a member of the Unit. His eye twitched and his jaw clenched. He looked almost... worried. "Has anyone seen Ryder?"

Reid was the first to spin around, doing another once over of the room as if maybe Hotch had just missed the small woman somewhere in the sea of taller agents in the Bullpen or even in the conference room. But it was to no avail. Prentiss would know.

"She made it back to her apartment last night after you guys got back from Roanoke, didn't she?" Morgan prompted.

"I'm not sure," Hotch answered. "I assumed she went straight home after we made it back from the drive."

Rossi glanced between Morgan and Hotch, mentally calculating the importance of both situations: the one in New York or the one they were facing currently with their missing agent. "She's a tough kid. She couldn't have fallen off the face of the Earth in a night. Maybe she just slept in, missed her alarm." Taking up the mantel of The Voice of Reason, Rossi took it upon himself to reach for his phone to start dialing her up. It was on the second dial that Ryder's line went straight to voice mail. "That's never a good sign."

Emily's eyes dropped to the floor. Maybe she really did leave...

"Keep trying her cell. If she doesn't turn up by the time we touch down in New York, then we'll discuss possible next courses of action. Until then, we operate under the assumption that she's safe."

Emily bit the inside of her cheek so hard she could taste blood.

"We won't let this distract us from the task at hand. Lives depend on it," Hotch added with a note of finality.

—

"You seem surprised. Like this wasn't what you were expecting," Ryder stated the obvious, taking in the dumbfound look on Emily's face as she tried to search for some kind of... resolution. One that maybe didn't make as much sense as The Sword going back underground with her aliases, but one that would keep Ryder within the Unit, at least where she was in a dim lime light and didn't pose as much of a threat out of the shadows.

It sounded a lot easier than it would realistically be. Ryder was right, Emily had changed everything when she came in looking for a fight. She'd exposed a former operative, brought her and her secrets out into the light. It wasn't something to be taken lightly. And it wasn't something that could be so easily forgiven and forgotten.

"You could stay," Emily suggested. "We could... try to forget this ever happened."

"And go back to glaring at each other from across the jet while you make passive aggressive jabs at me all day? I doubt either of us would enjoy that type of work environment." Ryder shook her head. "No. No, I worked in one shitty workplace. I'm not about to let whatever issues you have with me poison another one. I'll go. You stay."

As the shorter woman pushed herself up from her seat, Emily attempted to push through the pain to sit straighter. "Wait! Just- just wait. It doesn't have to be this way!"

"Why do you care so much?" Ryder shot back, throwing her arms out dramatically. "You attacked me. And now that I let you live after kicking your ass, you suddenly think that you- what, that you owe me? I'm a danger. You didn't come into this apartment armed for nothing... Not that it really helped you all that much in the end."

Emily's eyes narrowed into a glare. Her deadpan look asking her unspoken question of disbelief- Really? You had to throw that jab in there?

Ryder merely shook her head. "You're trying to make this situation work out now that you've found out that your predictions about me were wrong. It won't work out. Trust me."

"I don't trust you."

"There ya go! Another reason to trust me about this situation not working out," Ryder exclaimed. "Teamwork is about trust. You will never trust me, and I will never trust you. And after today, the Team will never trust me either. So what's the point of staying if I'd only make things worse, for everyone?"

Emily deflated. Ryder was shooting down all of her points. And perhaps it was the effects of the alcohol, but she was having trouble thinking up new arguments to try to change her mind. Even as a drunk, Ryder put up a good fight. This time, more verbal than physical.

"What if..." Emily faltered. This sounded ridiculous in her head, it'd probably sound even more ridiculous aloud. "What if I didn't tell the Team? What if neither of us told anyone?"

"You wanna keep this... meeting under wraps? Why, don't wanna have to explain to Hotchner who gave you that shiner or the busted lip?"

Wiping off the blood from said busted lip, Emily simply shook her head. "Consider it another secret added to the pile."

Something shifted in the air. Something Ryder immediately picked up on. It was like a switch went off in her brain the way all the puzzle pieces fell into place and her eyes lit up like firecrackers. A dawning look of realization appeared in the form of a slack jaw and wide eyes. "You..." Ryder gaped back at her. "They don't know about you, do they? The Team. They don't know about Interpol."

It wasn't a question, so Emily didn't see the need to answer.

That was all the answer Ryder needed really.

"Wow. The Original BAU Spy," Ryder practically purred in satisfaction as she shook her head mockingly. "Impressive. And a little hypocritical."

Prentiss let out a heavy exhale. She dropped her head in shame, her hair falling to cover her face like a shield.

Gently lowering herself back into her seat, Ryder clasped her hands together in front of her. "Who else knows?"

There was a beat.

"No one."

Ryder shook her head in mild disbelief. "Where do they think you came from? Didn't they ask what the multi-year gap in your resume was about?"

Emily shook her head. "They, uh, the Team doesn't know about where I came from or any of my previous work with Interpol. All anyone knows is that I came from a desk job. And that I'm good at compartmentalization."

Ryder huffed. "Yeah, that's for sure. Gotta hand it to you, Prentiss, you definitely didn't seem even a little suspicious until the end. You held out long enough. But... then panicked."

There was a moment where the cogs in Ryder's brain seemed to stop momentarily, as if a curveball had been thrown and struck the machinery inside her mind with a brief clarity.

"What happened?" When Emily didn't immediately answer, on the account of not understanding the question, Ryder reiterated, "I mean, why'd you suddenly decide on today to act? You had months to prepare. You could've even just taken what you'd discovered and handed it off to Hotch, tipped off Garcia, or even Strauss. But you didn't. Why not? What changed? What happened?"

Caught like a deer in headlights, Emily floundered for a suitable response. Her mouth opened, only to clamp shut again. It was painfully obvious she wasn't going to give up her answer with ease like she had been doing thus far.

This, of course, only made Ryder more perplexed. Her eyes lit up as if she'd struck gold with the latest topic of discussion. "Oh, come on," Ryder nearly whined. "Don't shut me out now that it's finally getting interesting. C'mon-" Emily nearly blanched as she watched the younger agent practically jump out of her seat to grab another bottle of liquor from her hutch nearby. "Have another drink and tell me everything."

—

By the time the Team had made it to the jet, there was still no sign of their missing member.

No one had been able to make it through to Ryder's cell without getting her voice mail first, and after sending Agent Packard and Agent Morales to check at her apartment to no avail, Morgan was starting to get antsy as he was now leaving his fifth message on her cell.

"Beck- it's Morgan. Listen, we've got something big in New York we need you on. I don't know what's going on with you right now, but just know... just know we need you here with us right now."

There was a pause, and for a second Emily thought maybe Morgan might've hung up by now. But then he cleared his throat, only to continue.

"Just call us back when you get the chance. And hurry the Hell up. Hotch's getting antsy and Garcia's geeking about the jet cabin."

Finally, there was the tell-tale sound of his phone snapping shut as the call ended. Emily felt a twinge of guilt at eavesdropping on her teammate and his conversation with the woman she knew was long gone by now.

If the empty apartment Packard and Morales walked into was any indication, Rebecca Ryder had left. She'd packed a bag, locked her front door, and left. And as much as Emily hadn't wanted to be the reason why, she couldn't help but feel responsible for this unfortunate outcome.

"How come I only get to travel with you guys, like, once every two years?" Garcia pouted as she sauntered into the jet cabin with a few more of her many bags she had loaded onto the small plane.

Morgan was quick to jump from his seat in the back to help his Baby Girl with her luggage. "Trust me, Mama, it can get old," he assured her, taking a large bag from off her hands and setting it beneath one of the cushioned seats.

"Oh, right," the blonde retorted sarcastically, her ruby red lips dripping with sarcasm. "Like the way that spa treatments and five star hotels can get old."

Emily chuckled from her seat across the aisle. "Remember the time we got on board and they hadn't chilled the Cristal?" she teased.

Playing along, Morgan added, "Ooh, I almost quit the BAU that day."

"Okay, you know what? You guys can joke all you want 'cause I am never leaving this plane," she gushed over the jet for the fourth time that morning since having been notified she'd be getting to join the team on their trip to New York.

"Take my place, 'cause I can't wait to get off already."

The cabin stalled at the sound of a new voice.

Emily froze in place. No... it couldn't be.

Sure enough, when she peeked around the corner of her seat, Prentiss caught sight of none other than Beck Ryder standing at the end of the jet aisle, go-bag thrown over her shoulder and no sign of any injury from the night before visible to the eye. She had actually showed up. Emily had to school her shocked expression, attempting to seem more surprised than terrified over the implications of what the young agent's presence could mean for her.

"You're late," were the first words out of Hotch's mouth upon her arrival. On brand, of course. Despite expressing genuine concern for her whereabouts earlier, the neutrality of his facial expressions didn't give away any signs of distress.

Beck shrugged. "Traffic." A blatant lie.

No one questioned it as she packed away her bag and threw herself into a seat across from JJ. Morgan didn't take long to pounce on the young woman in a series of worried lines of questioning as he jumped into the chair across the aisle from her. "Alright, let's see... Washed hair, baggy eyes, frown lines, and a long sleeve shirt. Something tells me someone had a pretty rough night."

Brushing him off, Ryder merely shook her head in good nature. "Rough nights don't excuse busy mornings," she replied, quick to turn her attention to Hotch and Rossi seated at the nearby table, looking over a series of files. "What've we got today? I heard we were going to New York."

Emily frowned at how disarmingly normal she sounded. There didn't even look to be a trace of evidence that she'd gotten into an altercation that night; not a hair out of place, not a mark on her face, and if it weren't for the black, long-sleeve shirt the agent was dawning, Emily doubted she'd be able to see any bruises or injuries that marred her skin from the night before.

"Five shootings in two weeks. NYPD is calling it a tribute to the Son of Sam," Rossi explained, pushing the corner of one of the folders towards the edge of the table for Ryder to pluck up.

The young woman began to skim through the pages and pictures in her lap, vaguely noting each face and image to her memory. "The victims?" she prompted without bothering to glance up.

Hotch was the one to answer. "Each killed in a completely different neighborhood. Hell's Kitchen, Murray Hill, Lower East Side, Chinatown, East Harlem."

As Ryder's frown deepened, across the aisle, Reid chimed in from his spot beside Rossi. "It doesn't make any sense. There's no common victimology, no sexual component, no robbery, no geographical connection."

"Well, the randomness of the crimes are what make them that much more dangerous, isn't it? The unpredictability of who'd they target next," Ryder remarked, finally lifting her gaze from the folder. "The key component of what made the Son of Sam thrive was that there was no one to rule out in terms of targets. Nothing to go off of to catch the guy other than shell casings and a random make up of a victim pool."

Reid's eyebrow crease deepened. "Do the police even have any leads?" he prompted Hotch.

Emily turned to peer at Ryder from the corner of her eye. She was... talkative today. Typically, she'd have little to nothing to add. Always watching, listening. Only ever really chiming in with witty remarks, sarcastic comments or the eager corrections she'd make- particularly when it came to Hotch, sometimes even Reid.

Ryder's neutral expression was nearly impossible to read, her eyes only slightly narrowing in reaction to whatever Hotch was regaling to the group about Press coverage on the matter and the setting they were about to fly into.

What Emily wouldn't give to know what she was thinking of currently.

"It's a Joint FBI-NYPD Taskforce?" Rossi asked, prompting Emily to quickly re-attune herself with the conversation at hand. She was, after all, still on the job.

Hotch imperceptibly jerked his head in response. "Kate Joyner heads up the New York Field Office. She's running point on the case and called me directly. JJ-" he raised his voice to grab the attention of the blonde seated near the front of the cabin. "-would you tell them we're ready to go? Our remaining member has joined us."

"Right," was her quick response before rushing off towards the cockpit. Emily's eyebrows snapped together at the small catch in JJ's voice. Okay, something's up. But- Emily sighed heavily. But, she'll tell you on her own time.

"Kate's starting to butt heads with the lead detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes," Hotch continued. Kate? Emily had to refrain from smiling at the fond way her Unit Chief referred to the head of operations at the New York Field Office.

That was until Morgan had to go and pop the beautiful bubble that might've been Kate Joyner and Aaron Hotchner. "Joyner, I know her. She's a Brit, right?"

"Well, dual citizenship," Hotch was all-too quick to correct. "Her father's British, her mother's American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau."

"I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass."

The jet cabin stilled at the comment.

Anyone listening to Hotch's words could've picked up on the friendship, maybe even companionship the older agent had with Kate Joyner. He obviously knew her well enough. Emily had to clamp her hand to the bottom of her seat to keep herself from smacking Morgan upside the head, like she occasionally got the strong impulse to do when she felt it got a bit too big.

"I didn't think so," was all Hotch replied.

"You know her?" Emily prompted innocently, maybe even a partial bit prying.

"Lemme guess-" Ryder chimed in. "Scotland Yard?"

Hotch nodded minutely. "We liaised when she was still there, yes."

"And she's good?" Rossi asked.

"Good enough to be a 'big deal.'" Emily heard Ryder mutter just loud enough for her to hear from the other side of her seat.

"I think," Hotch cut in. "We're lucky to have her."

Mm, Emily's lips pursed. Code for: I'm lucky she called so we can have a Scotland Yard reunion in New York.

Suddenly, just as JJ had returned from the pit, the pilot came over the intercom to announce their clearance for takeoff. Pressed for time, the remaining members still lingering leisurely around the table were quick to get to their seats and buckle in for their flight. While Morgan slid past Emily to join Penelope in the back- already pouting about having to set aside her in-flight crochet pattern- the brunette started down the opposite side of the cabin where Ryder remained opposite of the Unit Chief and the remaining two other men at the table. From standing in the aisle, Emily got a good view of JJ, sitting in her seat near the front of the jet and peering intently out of the small oval window at something unseen in the distance with her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. As tempted as she was join her friend, Emily knew what JJ looked to need more than comfort was some time alone. Something was eating at her. And from the guarded expression and the way JJ so distinctly held her face away from the rest of the group, it was clear it wasn't something she wanted to open up about just yet. So, Prentiss left it alone.

She took the bold route and dropped into the seat opposite of Ryder's. The young agent glanced up, her eyes catching hers in a short, intense moment where a look of recognition washed over both women's faces. It was a silently shared moment that passed just as quickly as it came, so not to set anyone else in the close-quartered plane of the shift in attitudes nearby.

It was a look that not only communicated what both Beck Ryder and Emily Prentiss knew, but more importantly, what the others didn't.

—

"Gideon."

It had been ten minutes of silence before Emily finally found the nerve to answer Ryder's initial inquiry.

"I panicked because I found something out about Gideon's disappearance."

Exasperated, Ryder threw her head back against her seat. "I already told Reid- I had nothing to do with that."

Emily's eyebrows snapped together. "I- I didn't say that you did. Wait a second, did Reid ask you about Gideon before?"

"Yes," Ryder carefully answered, side-eyeing the other agent beside her. "Why? What does Gideon have anything to do with me? Other than the recommendation..."

"Well, what did Reid have to say about it?"

"What does it matter what Dr. Reid had to say about Gideon? I'm asking you."

Alright, Emily shrunk slightly in her seat like a scolded child. "It's just that... it's something Reid had said a couple weeks ago. I asked why he'd called you a killer, back in West Bune. He'd referred to a recommendation Gideon had left along with his journal, a journal of people he saved." The expression on Ryder's face was unreadable. She barely even reacted to any of what Emily was giving her. She'd trained herself well. "His recommendation referenced the people you killed. The sacrifices you made with your humanity in order to maintain the security of this nation... or something along those lines.

"You could tell he admired you. That his words were personal," Emily continued, a little woozy and perhaps overly emotional in her confession. If she could even really call it a confession. "It was easy to tell- at least from the way Reid recited it."

In the darkness, the brunette agent could've sworn she heard a small chuckle. "Of course that nerd memorized it."

He admires you too, she almost commented.

"That's what did it, though? Hearing about my kill count? Not even after finding out about my aliases and all the-" Ryder cleared her throat. "-details in the personnel reports?"

Emily bowed her head. "I nearly went to Hotch when I first read the reports. It was... difficult to digest. But I had someone that talked me down the first time. I, uh, I probably should've listened to him when he told me not to pull on the string attached to the..." she trailed off, a smile lingering at the edges of her lips.

Ryder leaned forward. "To the what?"

"... The string attached to the handle of The Sword."

The young woman rolled her eyes. "You people at Interpol all make me sound like some- some fucking Boogeyman. Ngu vãi."

Emily huffed. "With your rap sheet? How could you blame us? If it weren't so disturbing, some people in our community would almost call you 'legend-'"

"Please-" Ryder swiftly cut her off. "-don't. God! I'm not... I'm not some fucking legend. I'm not a ghost story, either. I'm just someone who was assigned to do a job and I just so happened to be damn good at it."

"Because you were trained to be a killer."

"Well, I didn't ask to be fucking made! Did I?!"

The room fell silent at the abrupt out burst. Emily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Even through the drunken haze, she could feel the heavy shift. She'd struck a nerve, clearly. What nerve exactly, Emily wasn't sure. But despite what she'd implied in her words regaling her mistake in not listening to Clyde Easter before, she didn't regret pulling on the frayed knots she'd happened upon in this meeting with The Sword. In fact, she was eager to get more answers at the end of these strings.

"God..." a heavy, exasperated exhale huffed sharply out of Ryder's nostrils as she pushed herself from her seat and began to pace. With the sudden movements came a weak, abrupt laugh. "Difficult to let go of those deep-rooted Interpol interrogation techniques, isn't it, Prentiss? Beautiful work, truly. Getting me to break down like that?" The tired laughs slowly turned into gasps between delirium fits of soft giggles. "And to think- I thought I was the one in control with the alcohol. Sneaky, sneaky."

"Reid was right," Emily remarked.

"He typically is. About what this time?"

"That you aren't who you pretend to be."

—

The tension was palpable in the cramped elevator, going up from the lobby to the main floor of the New York Field Office. Beck could practically taste the ashes of the burnt bridges from the night before lingering in the small space now occupied by the other six members of The Team.

Her eyes darted to the left. Prentiss's eyes immediately fell to the floor as she shifted her weight beneath her boots.

Her eyes darted to the right. Reid turned to meet her intent stare with one of his own. He frowned as if to silently ask: are you okay?

She didn't have time to even consider answering before the elevator bell rang and the doors opened up to the bustling office space.

Led by Hotchner, the group filed out in the middle of a series of desks. Meeting them at the center of the office space was a thin blonde sporting an all-black pencil skirt and blazer combo. But it wasn't this woman's clothes that made her stand out, it was the way in which she commanded the room as she sauntered into it with all the jaunt and confidence someone could fit into such a small body.

Beck pursed her lips. I see the appeal now, Hotchner.

"Kate," the Unit Chief greeted with an out stretched hand.

"Aaron," she returned the gesture, catching a few bystanders off with her very crisp and polished British accent. Then again, she had been a big deal at Scotland Yard. What had they expected? "How have you been?"

"Well, thank you. Uh, this is my team-" he began his usual introductions. "Kate Joyner, this is David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Rebecca Ryder, Derek Morgan, and Spencer Reid."

With an uneasy smile- clearly, she'd be remembering every one of our names- Kate Joyner expressed her gratitude to the group. "Thanks for being here. Anything that you need, just tell me. Please don't stand on protocol."

Without wasting any time, Garcia jumped right into it. "What can you tell us about the city's surveillance system?"

As the conversation about Garcia's task on this case continued, Beck found herself tuning it all out. Instead, she found her focus being drawn towards where Prentiss stood a few people away near JJ. The young agent made sure not to make it look obvious that she was sizing her up, analyzing any tiny detail about the other agent's behavior that could've given her a clue about what she was planning to do next now that she'd actually showed up.

She was clearly off-put. She'd been biting her nails since the plane took off. A nervous tick. Her shoulders were drawn back, eyebrows furrowed, and nostrils flared. Uneasiness. Fear. She'd made sure to angle herself to ensure her back wasn't fully to the younger Agent. Ready for an attack. The signs were there and they were adding up. If Beck didn't know it before, she knew it now- Prentiss was planning on making a move.

"Detectives Brustin and Cooper," Joyner cut in, abruptly bringing Beck from her skewed attention span. "I'll let you do the introductions."

Tuning back into the conversation, Beck quickly realized that Detectives Brustin and Cooper were the two men beside Agent Joyner. One tall, one shorter. One older, the other younger. But one thing they both shared was the collective look of wanting to be anywhere but there.

"You caught the first shooting?" Rossi prompted.

"Uh, they've all been in different precincts," Detective Cooper- younger- nodded. "It wasn't until the third murder that anyone even made the connection."

"But you did," Beck made sure to note, eyeing the other detective as if to acknowledge the due respect for having done a good job. "Well done." Beck knew from the demeanor of the two local NYPD Detectives that they hadn't been all too happy about being placed second-in-command for a serial murderer on their own turf. So, she had no intention of pissing them off anymore than they probably already were with just their presence on this case.

Not swayed by the young woman's feeble attempts at expressing respect, Detective Brustin- older- huffed. "So, I guess this is where we play nice and ask you what you need."

With a nervous laugh, Joyner concluded this awkward interaction, "I'll let you all figure out what that is. I just ask that you run everything back through me. It's been my experience that having one butt on the line is enough."

Beck nearly wanted to chuckle at how thinly veiled her words were. Don't make me look bad. I'm in charge. Her message couldn't have been clearer.

"Yes, ma'am," Detective Brustin huffed, obviously a tad bit sarcastic in his address.

The young agent fought the urge to roll her eyes at the antics. Well past middle aged and still acting like petty children. The blood from the inside of Beck's cheek as she bit back the remark swirled around on her tongue with a sour tang. Behave, she had to internally remind herself. One step out of line and what little semblance of a plan she had for getting her life back on track would be derailed in an instant.

As the two Detectives padded off elsewhere with Rossi, Beck couldn't help but notice the way the rest of the team's attention was on the two people throwing off the most sparks in the room currently. Their Unit Chief looked almost smitten as the shorter blonde stepped towards him, her words soft as she spoke, "Can I have a word with you in private?"

The BAU members all behind Hotchner began exchanging knowing looks between each other, their eyes darting back and forth between the floor and the pair as they made their way towards the other end of the office space where Joyner's office was.

When they'd made it out of earshot, Beck was the first to break the tense silence. "Everyone was picking up on the vibe between them, right?"

A series of collective hums of agreement sounded off around her. "Yeah," JJ said slowly. "What's with that?"

"They, um, liaised when she was at Scotland Yard," Prentiss explained slyly.

The blonde nodded in understanding, a smile stretching across her face. "Of course."

But while the humorous antics subsided, Beck couldn't help but note the way that Morgan's gaze lingered just a little bit longer at the departed Unit Chief and NYPD Agent, almost as if he were trying to put something together in his head. But from the way his forehead was creased and his jaw was set, she doubted it was something involving Hotchner's romantic escapades and more than likely had something to do with the comment he'd made about Joyner on the jet. Clearly, Morgan knew more than he was letting on. Or at least he suspected more was going on.

The young agent peered between Morgan and the office where Joyner and Hotchner now conversed behind closed doors. She could already sense that this was going to become a problem for them later on.

Starting to become bothered by the silence lingering between the idle agents, Beck began searching for something, anything to throw herself in to next. Garcia had already been escorted out to her play room. Maybe it was time Beck found her own toys...

Her eyes didn't have to search through the desks and drawers for long. Standing just a few paces away, finally separated from his older, grumpier partner, was Detective Cooper. He looked a little lost... Beck sidestepped around Rossi and Detective Brustin. Maybe she'd see if he needed help finding his way.

"Hey, so, uh" she began as she approached, catching his attention with a friendly smile and approachable demeanor. He seemed like a guys guy. What he needed was someone to level with, not hush him with harsh words and barely contained bigotry. "What do you think about all this? I mean, for real. You seem like... I don't know, someone who maybe has a little bit of a better understanding of what's going on here. At least, better than some." She purposefully let her eyes travel across the room, first to his partner and then a little further past him towards Joyner's office.

As Beck slowly turned back to face the Detective, she noticed the way the crease between his eyebrows deepened in worry as his eyes strayed from Joyner's office and fell on his partner still in conversation with Rossi.

"I do, do I?" he shot back slowly. Eventually, his eyes fell back down to her. "What does it seem like I might know, Princess?"

Immediately put-off by the use of the nickname, Beck's entire demeanor shifted. He didn't want to play nice? Fine. She would oblige by playing dirty.

Dropping her façade, the young woman's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as they focused in on Detective Cooper. "I don't know..." Carefully, she leaned forward with her palms pressed onto the surface of the desk he stood beside. "Maybe what your partner's issue is. Mind explaining why we're getting the "stick-in-the-ass" treatment?"

The cocky grin that had been on Cooper's face immediately fell. "Uh, well..." His eyes widened a fraction when he realized that a few other members had begun to gather upon catching tidbits of the interaction already, specifically Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid. It looked as though he had an audience now. "Well, by the fourth murder the FBI was brought in. Good. We can use all the help we can get."

Beck nods, grateful that leveling with him was finally getting somewhere.

"But, uh, all of a sudden she's taking meetings with the mayor-" The agents followed his gaze as he gestured towards Joyner's office. "-and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

"So we're stepping in your territory unwelcome and unannounced. You and your department are rightfully ticked about it. I get it. If the roles were reversed, trust me, I'd be pissed to be in this situation too," Beck stated as she crossed her arms over her chest and took a step closer, her eyes leveling with his despite being several inches shorter than him. She held her ground. "But this isn't about you and your partner. Or your department. Or us. Or even Joyner. This is about keeping the people of this city, your city, safe. You get that, right?"

Swallowing hard, Cooper nodded. "Yeah. I get that," he answered stiffly.

Lowering her voice, the young woman shot back, "Then put the rulers away and play nice."

With her clipped tone and anger in her eyes, Beck had made it known where she stood in the hierarchy within this case, at least for the Detective. She wasn't going to be taking shit. Anyone's shit, let alone a mouthy NYPD detective's shit. Even despite the lingering stares she was getting from Prentiss and Reid, Beck didn't regret setting the tone early on.

—

Everyone had been given a task. Everyone had a role to busy themselves in.

Hotchner had wasted no time in splitting the team up into sectors. While he stuck with Joyner back at the field office, of course, Prentiss and Cooper were told to stay behind with Reid to help with the geographical component of the case. Beck was nearly grateful for Hotcher sending her off for once, happy to be away from the three members who'd given her the most grief thusfar.

So with Hotchner, Reid, and Prentiss stuck back at the office, Beck felt at least slightly less suffocated out in the field on the streets of New York City with Morgan, Rossi, JJ, and Detective Brustin. After an already tense altercation between the grumpy Detective and the Agents, Beck had taken it upon herself to begin her examination on her own along the subway platform where the scene of the last crime was.

Upon leaving Prentiss's apartment last night she'd taken up what she considered the John Summers façade. Focus on the job. One case at a time. Don't let vulnerability cloud your judgement. Unnecessary distractions are weaknesses that can be exploited.

Focus, Beck repeated to herself every time she felt one of her team member's staring at her. They were probably all wondering what her problem was. What had happened on that trip to Roanoke, maybe even what happened on the way back. No one would ever actually suspect the true story of what happened just a few hours earlier.

"You're the Sword."

"You weren't hired to kill us... were you?"

Beck pressed her palms into her eyes as if trying to physically dig the memories from out of her brain. She was starting to regret not taking up Mrs. K's offer of off-brand Adderall a few weeks prior now as she tried her hardest to draw her focus back to the markings along the subway walls.

One thing she'd learned during her times working international covertly, creating aliases and burying herself into deep covers to build up a believable farce; a completely different person. She'd learned in her time on the streets in some areas that particularly in more clustered, urban areas did markings really pay a large part in tracking crime. Gangs, mostly. But also thieves, organized crime groups, drug and human traffickers, even sometimes serial killers.

Graffiti was like décor on an Unsub's room walls in this scenario. His crime scenes were the random crossroads of New York City, so Beck had to alter her perspective on the colorful splotches of spray paint and carved letters and symbols etched into the bricks.

"I don't trust you!"

"Fuck." The young woman took a deep breath in and let out an excessively heavy exhale, trying to let go of all the memories of the night before.

Turning her focus back to the walls, the agent plucked her flashlight from her back pocket and began scanning it over the less exposed markings on the walls. She recognized local New York criminal and cultural gang markings; the Dukes, Crips, Eva62, Mexican Mafia, M6-13, Italian Mafia. There were scattered random names next to the stupid chunky 'S' everyone doodled on their journals a a kid.

But near the top of the wall at the center of the platform, Beck zeroed in on a particular symbol that didn't like discernable in the slightest. It wasn't familiar and she'd been around the block enough to recognize most symbols, but this one... Keeping her flashlight on the symbol, Beck fished out her phone to snap a photo, making sure to forward it to the one person she knew would verify if this could've been the work of a serial killer, gang, or just some random vandals. But it was pretty high up in a rather bright color at the center of the tall brick wall... someone wanted it to be seen.

It wasn't a claim on the platform, the crime had already been committed. It was a stamp of sorts. A trophy. The agent's stomach churned at the thought. She knew she'd have to disclose her suspicions to the Team soon.

"What if I didn't tell the Team? What if neither of us told anyone?"

"The Team doesn't know about where I came from or any of my previous work with Interpol. All anyone knows is that I came from a desk job..."

"Ryder."

Beck turned towards her name being called by Morgan approaching from the edge of the track platform. His eyebrows creased as he looked her over, analyzing her body language and immediately picking up the off-putting attitude and the frigid behavior. God, she hated working with profilers sometimes.

"With your rap sheet?... If it weren't so disturbing, some people in our community would almost call you 'legend-'"

"You alright?"

Beck could've melted at how genuine he sounded. Despite the hard exterior of the bulky, buff SSA Derek Morgan, Beck was pleasantly surprised to find he was far more empathetic and compassionate than many people would've generally believed him to be. Even through the stupid, sometimes insensitive jokes he'd make, or how annoyingly persistent he could get, or how hard and hot headed he'd become on cases; Derek Morgan remained a loyal teammate.

No, she wanted to cry out. This desperate piece of her wanted to unravel and, just for once, allow someone else to pick up the pieces. It wanted to spill over and just tell someone anything, everything, release all her secrets like a dam like a tank being deflated to release intense pressure. Her jaw was clenched so hard, she'd had nearly a constant migraine. And she'd returned to her unhealthy nervous habit of clenching her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. The stress was taking it's toll and Beck wasn't sure how long she could hold out, but for now...

Beck took a deep breath.

For now she needed to maintain focus on the job. The case at hand required immediate action and was a dire situation with zero room for failures or sloppiness. It required all of her attention. And right now, the lives of the innocent outweighed any need to coddle herself or her emotions.

"Reid was right... that you aren't who you pretend to be." Prentiss's words echoed in the back of Beck's mind like a haunting reminder that sent goosebumps down her arms.

The young agent cleared her throat. "Yeah. Just, uh," she shrugged. "Examining the scene. Seeing if maybe there was something CSU might've missed the first time around."

Morgan nodded, stalking up beside her and examining the walls as she had done earlier. "Oh yeah? What'd you find?"

Beck glanced down at her cell as the RECEIVED message lit up the screen after she'd sent out the file. She pocketed her phone and turned back to Morgan, "Don't know yet. I'll let you know when I do though. How about you guys?" the young agent jerked her chin in the direction of the rest of the group across the platform, all lingering awkwardly around one another. "Detectives still pushing back?"

"I think Brustin got the hint from Rossi earlier," Morgan confirmed with a chuckle, recalling the tense interactions. "And, hey- what'd you tell Detective Cooper? Dude was side-eyeing you just before we left. Like he's scared you're gonna pounce when he's got his back turned to you or something."

She fought the urge to smirk at the reaction of her earlier outburst. "Just to get his head out of his ass. You know, the standard. This whole thing would just go a whole hell of a lot faster if these people realized that we're all on the same fucking team."

Catching onto the frustrated tone, Morgan was quick to pick up on the fact that whatever had been bothering the young woman since the second he'd noticed something off about her on the jet, it had something to do with the Team. Maybe not the NYPD-FBI Joint Taskforce, but a team... and it didn't take a genius to figure out which team specifically.

"Well, why don't we work as a team then?"

Beck frowned, nearly gawking as she watched him back away towards the center of the platform. She nearly called out to ask what the Hell he was doing before Morgan began approaching the more clustered group of stragglers among them; Rossi, Brustin, and JJ.

"Alright," he began, raising his voice a little to grab the group's attention. He clapped just a little louder, Detective Brustin jumping slightly beside Rossi. "What can we possibly know from this crime scene? I mean, other than random victimology and common, public use spaces, what strings these crimes together? We already know he's not afraid to get up close and personal with his victims."

Beck was tempted to keep her distance until she noted the way Morgan left a gap in the semi-circle, goading her, taunting her. Bastard. Her teeth bit into the side of her cheek as she chewed anxiously, shuffling forward to join the conversation as JJ took Morgan up on this brainstorming session. "Well, from the footage and setting, we know he's not afraid to be seen."

"But if you watch the tape, he ducks his head the second he steps off the train," Rossi noted, recalling said footage.

"He knows he's being filmed. Knows how to be seen and remain unidentifiable, anonymous..." the words trailed off Beck's tongue like a sour twinge, a familiar taste she couldn't quite taste but remembered well enough to know she didn't like it. For someone with such an incredible memory, sometimes she hated how small things fell through the cracks, things like feelings. Ugh, the young woman repressed a shudder.

"Well, you've got that right," the older Detective across from her huffed. "We've had glimpses, but the... descriptions have been sketchy. Some people said he's a light-skinned Black man, Asian, Puerto Rican, basically every homeboy in the city."

"Ballistics were the same for every shooting?" Morgan prompted. Beside him, the shorter agent allowed her attention to drift away from the conversation. Her eyes trailed past him towards where the victim had been shot just a day prior.

Detective Brustin answered, "We checked the records back ten years. The gun's never been recycled."

They knew how to cover their tracks. What dumb luck would some random psychopath get finding not only a Revolver with bare amounts of traceable residue, but one that had never been registered or reborrowed from a random pawn store? That wasn't luck. That was precise planning. Beck's frown only deepened.

"22's aren't exactly the weapon of choice these days," Morgan continued.

"Unless you're Israeli Intelligence," Rossi piped up, piquing Beck's interest at his observation. "That's what the Mossad uses for all their political assassinations."

Beck shrugged. "Israeli political assassinations? We'll add it to the list of ongoing theories."

Morgan chuckled, but brushed off her jibe. "All I know is this guy's organized. He studies the cameras. Carries a gun that's easy to conceal. He knows what he's doing."

Beck shook her head. Not because he was wrong, they were both on the same page now. But because it was far worse than they'd previously thought. Not only did he know what he was doing... "He's good at it, too," she replied, her voice hoarse and hollow.

It was only a matter of time before this created a frenzy. Soon enough, this would escalate. Surely, the goal wasn't just to jostle the citizens of New York. It was to strike fear in the heart of the city. Returning back to the scene of the crime just a few feet away, Beck strayed from the semi-circle to exam the partially washed blood stain on the platform floor. He never even saw it coming...That's what the Unsub got out of this; the satisfaction of catching this seemingly average, unsuspecting person off guard. Playing God and deciding who lives and who dies on the sidewalks of one of the most crowded cities in the world. His goal was chaos.

The screeching sound of metal tires beating against iron tracks echoed from down the subway tunnel, alerting the people on the platform of the arriving train. Within a couple minutes, it was like Beck had been re-submerged into the footage she'd been replaying in her head since the second she'd set foot into the station.

As the train came to a halting stop beside the platform and the doors slid open, the crowds began to pile out with a couple of individuals pushing their way in. A dozen bodies, give or take, all scattered having come out of different doors on the train and all headed in different directions, either left or right. Not a lot of places to go, but the Unsub knew to hang back long enough to pinpoint an outlier, someone they'd observed enough to single out but not someone they would've followed for long. They were victims of opportunity.

Beck slowly walked the steps from the back of the open train door along the edge of the platform. Her eyes trailed across the people in front of her as she walked at the same casual pace the Unsub had, keeping her head down as she noted several more slow walkers weeding themselves out on their own. Eventually, as she came to a slow crawl, she'd ostracized a slim man in a suit who'd stopped to tie his shoe.

It was a second. A split second that this random man stopped walking to kneel in front of her, the rest of the crowd falling away as if it were fate. Beck stopped just behind the man's still-crouched figure. Using her hand, she slowly raised her fingers into a pointed position until it was directly at the back of his head. All she had to do was pull the trigger and- BOOM! Then all she'd have to do was just keep walking. She'd head one direction, blend back in with the exiting crowd, come out on the other side unscathed and running on a high the rest of the day... just like the Unsub would have.

... but Beck didn't pull any trigger. And the man didn't remain on the platform. Eventually, he finished tying his shoe and continued striding off towards the stairwell opposite of where the federal agent stood behind him, mimicking a murder.

Lowering her hand, the brunette let out a heavy sigh. There wasn't going to be anything easy about this case. She could sense it already.

—

Back at the field office, Beck was already concocting a plan to avoid Dr. Reid and Agent Prentiss as much as possible without setting off any alarms with the rest of the team. So far, she'd been able to properly control any microaggressions around the bigger issue of the two- Prentiss- but it was growing more and more difficult the longer the pair spent within each other's company, both wondering who'd crack and spill first, a dangerous waiting game.

The young agent tried her best to blend into the background of the office. She occupied herself by waiting back on the potential terrorist mark on the subway walls. At first, she'd managed to excuse herself from the main pool of team members brainstorming and building a geographic profile across the office space, but after catching Hotchner's skeptical gaze peering out of Agent Joyner's office blinds, Beck knew she was in for an interrogation sooner or later.

But for now... Bzzzzzzz!

Beck glanced away from her pen and paper of listed case facts to peer at her phone screen.

[Unknown Number]: Samsama'il Brigade. Hailed out of Indonesia. Responsible for the 1993 Australian Embassy Bombing, the political assassination of Israeli Ambassador Isaac Edelstein among several other international leaders. Threat level in New York City undetermined.

Beck sat back in her seat. This was a longshot. There was no certifiable proof that solidified this wild theory that these random spree killings could've been the work of a lesser known terrorist group. They had no qualms with American politics. Beck had become familiar with this cell during her time at the CTU. She knew by sending Califax the symbol, he'd come up with something, but she hadn't expected little to nothing.

It was almost worse than if the CTU had an extensive file on them because if this was a terrorist cell... they were operating undetected thus far.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"You planning on avoiding us forever?"

Perking up, she peered across the desk to find Rossi had approached. Usually, the pair were cordial during cases. Since she'd dropped her frustrations against him, now focusing that energy towards getting Strauss off her back, she hadn't exactly been Dave Rossi's biggest ally in the BAU. But she liked to think they were at least well-acquainted enough to recognize when the other didn't want to socialize.

Apparently, Rossi hadn't gotten the moody memo.

"What?" Beck asked dumbly.

The corner of his mouth perked up. "You know, you like to pretend that you're this mysterious smoke and mirror show. But you wanna know what I think?"

Shaking her head and returning to her written note pad as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, Beck barely looked up as she replied, "That your grey hairs are starting to get more noticeable in this harsh lighting?"

His eyes narrowed into a soft, but warning glare. "You're just a big 'ole neon sign sometimes, kid."

"Yeah? Why's that?" she prompted to play along, hoping the faster he got to his point, the sooner he'd leave her to her work-slash-distractions. "Perché non ti dico esplicitamente di vai a farti fottere?" Because I don't explicitly tell you to fuck yourself?

"Aren't you in a mood..." the older agent mused, more perplexed than upset at her biting words.

"Well, what can I say? Just trying to get my message across that I want to be left alone," she expressed, all the while stacking and resorting through the latest set of notes Beck had taken from what she'd recalled about this new possible cell and the various reasons it could've possibly been argued how it wasn't a cell. "Y'know, like a neon sign."

Only then did the sly young woman peer up at Rossi, expecting some sort of reaction. He didn't give her the satisfaction.

"Message received," Agent Rossi mused as he slowly backed away from the desk, but not before pressing his palm firmly against the notepad, blocking her from writing further and forcing her to look up at him. "But might I remind you that the longer you try to pretend everything's okay while simultaneously lashing out, pretending you don't give a shit-" Beck fought the urge to roll her eyes. Like he knew what I gave a shit about. "-the harder it's going to be for you to convince Hotch to let you out of the dog house."

Pursing her lips, the young agent nearly laughed in his face at how ludicrous the idea was of her needing Hotch's approval for anything.

Sure, their relationship had improved since her initial start with the Team, but it wasn't exactly a walk in the park. Hotchner and Beck were like crunchy peanut butter in her mind; smooth at certain times and randomly, uncomfortably hard the rest of the time. The last thing Beck considered herself to be was anywhere close to out of the dog house with Hotchner. And frankly, she really didn't give a shit. But what was setting her off now was Rossi's insinuation that she somehow valued his opinion over her own.

Her eyes, glazed over, slid across the room to peer through the open blinds of Joyner's office again. Hotchner was still standing close to her, their shoulders brushing and their words unintelligible through the glass separating them from the rest of the chaotic office space.

"I don't know," Beck began, slowly turning back towards the older agent across from her as she began to gather her things. "He seems a bit too preoccupied with the girl next door to be bothered with the dogs in the yard." With a sly grin, she slid out of her seat and started out of the situation before Rossi started to dig in more.

He was right though. She wasn't being subtle at all. She could feel the eyes on her from the rest of the team members as she speed-walked through the office to get to the elevators. What are you doing? A voice in the back of her head hissed. Stop digging yourself a bigger grave by putting a brighter sign over your head, jackass. As soon as her back hit the wall inside the elevator, Beck had slapped the ground floor button and let her head fall back, her eyes staring up at the neon lights on the ceiling as she tried to count the lines she saw.

... One, two, three, four...

The voice in her head was starting to sound too much like Hawks. She should call the General when she got the chance. But then she'd be tempted to spill her secrets and it'd only put him in unnecessary danger.

... Five, six, seven, eight...

The black spots in her vision were slowly fading away. Her breaths were less shallow and uneven. Her grip on the elevator handlebars at her hips slowly loosened. The pit in her stomach felt as though it were filling back up with cement, the open grave pooling with dirt once more as she re-buried her anxieties and overwhelming frustrations.

... Nine, ten, eleven, twelve...

One thing at a time. That was always her mantra through school and through trainings. Handle things one thing at a time. Block the punches blow by blow. Beck wasn't an octopus and she wasn't Superman, she couldn't be in multiple places at once knocking off each of her problems like a clean sweep across the board. It was unrealistic. So she'd have to knock the problems off one-by-one.

... Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen- DING!

The elevator doors opened and Beck was standing straight at the door. She rolled her shoulders back and jut her chin out.

Problem number one- the Unsub, or Unsubs. She was at work and this was her case. Her job, first and foremost, was to find the threat and eliminate it. So that was exactly what Beck Ryder was going to do. Focus on the case and eliminate the threat because that was what she was trained to do, that was what she was supposed to do, and that was what she was meant to do.

Whipping out her cell as she made her way across the lobby, she began drafting up her next orders to Califax. She knew she could've just sent it directly to Kruger Spence or Gina Sanchez, but frankly, she didn't need them mixed up in her shit.

She had just about to hit send when someone promptly swung into her side, nearly knocking her off her feet. "Oomph! Watch it!"

"Fuck you!" the young delinquent spat back as he flailed, but failed to reach her. Upon closer inspection of her attacker, Beck found that it was nothing more than some criminal lowlife being held back by two police officers behind him. As the officers maneuvered him further away from her she noticed that he wasn't the only criminal being brought in. It actually looked as though the NYPD had just brought in a giant paddy wagon into the FBI New York Field Office.

With her interests piqued, the young woman walked through the crowd of young kids dressed in all black and even some charred clothing, some bruised and bloody, many with their eyes shut and crying out about having pepper spray or tear gas in their eyes. Beck saw the gear the officers had on: riot gear. They'd just broken some type of unrest up outside.

"Hey!" Breaking free from the sea of criminals, the agent tugged onto the arm of an officer who had enough badges and ego to look like he might've been in charge.

He turned to her, immediately caught off guard at her height. He glared down his nose at her until his gaze softened when she stuck her credentials in his face with a wide grin. "Hm," the man cleared his throat promptly. "Agent. What, uh, what can I do for you?"

"Mind telling me what the paddy wagon's for, Lieutenant?" she prompted, having eyed his name tag upon approaching.

"Yeah. Just a whole lotta bullshit. Little kids rioting out near the Projects, screaming about apartheid states and their communism," the older officer harumphed. "We brought out the Riot Squad to get it in check. Caught a few stragglers trying to flee the scenes, too. Nothing too brutal. Had to bring out the batons, tear gas. The usual..."

As the Commanding Officer spoke, Beck let her eyes scale across the expanse of the lobby. She took in all the young adults and older teenagers all scattered around the room. Most of them were injured. A lot of them were crying. Actually, most of them looked a little too scared to look as though they were any kind of actual terrorizing group of rioters. They looked like they were dressed more for a heavy metal concert.

"Lieutenant, where in the Projects did you say this gathering was?" Beck prompted, off-handedly, her eyes still narrowly examining every person around them, weary of crowds after the past few days of shootings.

The Lieutenant shrugged. "Ninth- Eighth Ave?"

Beck had to fight the urge to sucker punch this jackass in his jaw. What idiot would unknowingly arrest a bunch of kids going to a rock concert thinking it was a riot? "You've got to be kidding me..." she scoffed. Her scowl slowly morphed into a wicked smile of disbelief.

"What's the matter, Agent?" The Officer prompted, crossing his arms over his chest when he caught the slightest hint of mocking in her tone. "Upset your team took too long to get there? Too busy up in your ivory house looking at maps? Hehe. Yeah, you guys'll definitely catch that asshole on the streets."

The blood in Beck's body ran cold as though she'd just fell into an ice bath. Turning her eyes away from the group chaotic mess before them, the agent glared up at the Officer. But what sent a chill up his spine wasn't the glare, it was the smile on her face. Bright, beaming... dangerous, grave.

"You know what? You're right. Congratulations on this raid, Lieutenant," Beck began as she made her way towards the closest kid on the floor, his knees scraped in blood and his hair pulled half over his face like an Evanescence band member. He was wearing eyeliner for fuck's sake. He was jostled to be yanked up to his feet and dragged towards the towering Officer. "Where were you when you got picked up, kid?"

"In- in line," he sniffled, looking fearfully between the woman holding him up by his forearms and the man glaring down at both of them, a hand on his holstered gun.

"In line for what? Oh, what- what's this?" Beck jokingly wondered aloud as she held up the kid's scrawny, skinny pale wrist, a bold lime green wristband taped around it tightly. Fresh. Just like the fresh sharpie marks on the backs of his hands. He was a fucking minor. "A concert. Were you in line for a concert? Like everyone else here was?"

The kid, bleary and still a little out of it after having been pepper-sprayed, nodded slowly. "... yeah?"

Smiling up at the Officer, Beck could only shake the 'X' marked hands in front of the asshole's face. Panning to the group of kids behind her, she could very easily point out that nearly every single one of them were dressed the same, all the same age, and all had the same marks on their hands and bands on their wrists. As it was starting to add up, the puzzle pieces all slowly fell into place until the light bulb eventually dimly lit up inside the Lieutenant's shallow skull.

"Oh, oh... there it is." Beck couldn't help but laugh in the dumbfound face of a man who realized he'd just made the dumbest mistake of his career thus far. "Nice catch, Lieutenant. Guess it's a good thing I came down from my ivory tower to catch a volatile NYPD indescrepency... again."

With his face contorted up in a disgusting snare, Beck merely chuckled as she unclasped the handcuffs from around the poor kid's wrists. "Hey- what do you think-" the Lieutenant began to protest only to be silence by a quick snappy retort.

"Letting them go," Beck stood toe-to-toe with the taller man, looking down her nose at him. Holding the young boy at a distance, but close enough for him to hear, Beck leaned in to whisper dangerously. "You should start doing the same before I start spreading little rumors across this room full of rich, Brooklyn Heights kids about words and phrases like 'unlawful imprisonment,' 'civil suit,' 'monetary damages,' and 'awarded injunctions.'"

The Lieutenant's face fell, all color drained as his face went sheet white. Ooh- hit the spot.

"Now, remind me again, what was the amount that the NYPD paid to cover the last lawsuit they got hit with when it came to the false arrests of a few Black teenagers fixing a tire on the side of the road? Fifteen million? Twenty? Can you even count that high?" Peering to the boy in her grip and the other kids still being carted in one after the other around them, Beck slyly shrugged. "Some of them probably could given enough time festering in an empty cell. I bet their lawyers definitely can."

If someone could look even physically as red as a tomato, the Officer glaring down at her was bordering on identical. He looked as though his cheeks were storing his anger as he attempted to repress it. He knew he had no choice, she wasn't giving him one.

"Gutierrez!" He shouted out, an officer holding a few kids by their arms halting beside him. "Let 'em go," he grumbled.

Gutierrez frowned beneath the stupid riot gear helmet. "Sir?"

"Let them go! All of 'em! Now!"

"Y-yes, sir..."

Watching the Lieutenant begin to go around the room to alert the other men of the group of his mistakes, Beck released the young man in her hold and began to brush him off. As she began to repeat her earlier sentiments with the Officer from before, notifying him that what him and his friends had just experienced was against the law and he actually should talk to his parents about representation if they could afford it, she started the process of helping clear out the mess NYPD had created.

The poor kids all looked scared shitless, beat up and battered with tears in their eyes and blood on their clothes. The agent started going around the room and helping these kids back up to their feet, directing them to the closest agent to take their statements or get them medical care. What started out as a "raid" was now turning into pissed off, injured teenagers being told not to get overly pissy when they found out the cops had "made a mistake."

It was around the time that Beck had made it to a group of girls that her hand fell onto the shoulder of a young girl she swore looked familiar. In the glint of the light of the precinct, Beck could've pinpointed that button nose and sharp chin anywhere. Beck had nearly missed her had it not been for a slip-up, the way she tried to hide behind her hood a little to conspicuously.

"Hey, what are you-" she reached at her handcuffed hand, slapping it down from her face to reveal her identity. Beck froze as if her body had turned to stone and shattered to the floor in a million pieces. No... "Alice?!"

Staring wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights, Alice Ryder could only flounder for the words to even begin to explain. "I- Beck!"

"What are you-" Pulling her arm away from her body, an arm with a handcuff still linked to it, Beck examined her little sister's appearance. She was dressed similarly to the kids around her; ripped bell-bottom jeans, a gaudy checkered belt, a black spaghetti-strap tank top, and a dark, lacy hood. Her hair had red highlights which threw Beck off her scent just a little bit, not to mention the cake face she was wearing. "What, did you pour the entire foundation tube out on your face, Al?" the older sister couldn't help but chastise her younger sibling. "And what is this shit on your eyes? Sharpie?"

Ripping herself out of her older sister's grip, Alice Ryder shook her head and pulled a face of offense. "I- I didn't pour the tube on my face. The blush was just... thick. And it's called eyeliner, Becks. Besides, what'd'you know about make- Ow! Stop it! Beck! Ow! Shit!"

As Beck began her assault of pinching and lightly jabbing her sister in her sides and stomach, Alice could barely stay upright, still handcuffed with a few of her friends and fellow concertgoers all side-eyeing them from afar. "Fuck the make-up, Al! What the Hell are you doing in New York City, thousands of miles from home where you should be right now?!"

"I just- ah! I just- Will you stop it already so I can explain?!" Alice screeched through the assault, still sloppily trying to slap her sister's hands away.

"Explain? Explain, what? How you probably ran away from home by lying to Mom and Dad about staying the night at one of your friends' and coming out here instead for- for, what?! A fucking rager in the New York Projects?" When her sister's face fell in shame, she knew she'd pretty much had it made. "Let me guess- on the nose?"

Alice's lips pressed into a thin line. She couldn't look in her sister's eyes as she nodded stiffly. "Pretty much."

Letting out a sharp exhale from her nose, Beck had to reconvene with herself because everything in her life somehow just got ten times harder. Fuck! As if she didn't have enough problems as it was right now. "God dammit, Alison." Beck pinched the bridge of her nose.

"... Are you gonna call Mom and Dad?"

Beck let out a humorless laugh, her hand falling from her face as her eyes narrowed in on her sister. "Oh, they're the least of your worries right now. You are currently in handcuffs in a Federal precinct during an active situation. So, you're going to listen to me and you're going to listen to me very carefully," she lowered her voice as she leaned in, leveling with the younger Ryder. "You are going to a hotel and that's where you're going to stay until I get you on the next flight back to Texas. I am going to call our parents and tell them what you did-"

"But-"

"Don't you dare try and argue with me right now, Alison Maria." The girl clamped her mouth shut just as quickly as she'd opened it. "I'm calling them and you're fessing up and facing the consequences for what you did. And don't try to argue as if this is something they would've let Jake and I get away with because it's not and you know it. Am I understood?"

Alice swallowed hard, her eyes watering from the amount of fear and shame bubbling up in her chest at this harsh lecture she was getting now, and the ones she was sure to get later upon her return home. "Beck, please-"

"Am I understood?!"

"Yes, ma'am."

Beck's jaw set and her fists clenched at her sides. Setting aside the mixed feelings rattling around in her chest, the agent quickly went to work uncuffing her sister. Once they were off, she lifted her sister's arms and began her once-over of her, first checking her head, arms, chest, mid-section, legs. Once she determined she hadn't been harmed and there didn't look to be any signs that she'd been rough handled by the officers or tazed and tear gassed, Beck was satisfied with her evaluation and glad she didn't have to tear NYPD a new one for assaulting her sister. It was one thing to wrongfully arrest her, but they'd be lucky if General Phillip Ryder didn't one day decide to cash in on the accident solely because Alice knew she wasn't supposed to lie about sneaking across the country, unsupervised.

"I'm sorry," Alice muttered as her sister began leading her through the crowds towards the entrance of the lobby.

Beck could merely frown, her grip on her arm tightening ever so slightly in irritancy. "I wish I believed you, mèo."

Beck could practically feel the way her sister crumbled beneath the weight of the words. And for a moment she felt a flash of hurt for being so harsh in her words, but God- she knew better! How could Alice be so fucking stupid-

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The world tilted on it's axis.

Three loud pops into the air sent the full room into a state of all out chaos. The crowds of people dropped to the floor, young adults, officers, and federal agents alike. Glass shattered and screams rang out as the masses began rushing towards the exit.

Not wasting a moment after throwing her body over Alice's body, Beck shoved her further down to the floor as she wretched her gun from her back pocket. Her shoulder slammed into several running civilians, but she pushed further into the mess until she spotted the first dead body. They were frail, dressed in all black with handcuffs on- still unclasped. Beck ducked when another round of shots rang out, the screams following.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

From the reaction of the first few shots, the crowd did the same thing again. When the people dropped to the floor, Beck sprang to her feet. The crowd dispersing gave Beck the exact opening she needed when she spotted the shooter in all grey. Narrowing her gaze and straightening her posture, the agent aligned her shot and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

Having aimed non-lethal, the bullet split through the assailant's shoulder, throwing his body around to face her. Flailing his arm, fingers still wrapped around the gun, the shooter pulled the trigger- BANG!

It felt like a shard of glass twisted into her gut. The air shifted, her ears popped and suddenly the world went quiet. The powerful force of the bullet had Beck flying back until she was facing the ceiling. It hadn't dawned on her that she'd fallen until her head hit the floor. Fuck! Oh no. Oh no- if she was on the ground, Beck knew it only meant one thing. Aw, shit! Fuck! No, no, no, no, no.

"Oh no..." Having dropped her gun at her side, feeling the small weight slide down her thigh and hit the ground beside her, the young woman slowly brought a hand up to where she felt the hardest pinching sensation pressing deeper into her sternum was.

The first thing she felt was the dark grey fabric of her shirt that had been ripped already, the small hole making it clearly unsalvageable. With her other hand, the young woman pulled at the side of the shirt until it was fully ripped, the soreness in her body and weight in her chest making her cry out in pain with the movements. Having wrenched the shirt free from her body, she was able to feel the cool, hard exterior of the Kevlar vest she wore beneath that had, thankfully, taken the brunt of the shot to her gut.

"Aw, fuck," Beck let out with a shaky exhale, her head falling back against the floor causing her to wince again. "Mmm."

As the sirens began to wail in the distance, breaking through her hazy delirium and shock, all Beck wanted to do was close her eyes and wish away everything wrong in her life right now. A part of her actually wished she had been shot. Maybe dying would've relieved some of the stress.

Huh, she smirked as she felt her grip on her consciousness begin to slip, at least maybe this'll earn me some PTO for Mickey's baptism.

"Ryder?! Ryder!"

"Beck!"

—

"She's being erratic. Refusing treatment- she outright refused to get into the ambulance to let us take her to the hospital. We at least need to get her to an X-Ray machine to ensure she doesn't have any internal injuries. Not to mention, she needs to get an MRI to test whether or not she has a concussion. However, if her hard head proves anything..."

As the frustrated male EMS worked finished his rant, Agent Aaron Hotchner could only frown knowingly. "I understand," Hotch nodded in confirmation. "I'll have a word with her. Thank you for your help."

"We tried," he heard the young man mutter beneath his breath as the Agent brushed past him towards the back of the open ambulance. Sitting on the back steps of the bus was the small agent, wrapped in a wool blanket with an icepack pressed against the back of her head. She looked pissed. Then again, she always looked pissed.

As he stepped forward in the light of the ambulance, Beck's eyes focused in on him as he approached. She looked ready to argue before he even got to her.

She began, "I know what you're gonna say-"

"You need to go to the hospital to be evaluated."

She rolled her eyes and huffed exasperatedly. "Hotchner... I'm fine."

"Then you'll be in and out of the hospital and back in no time," the Unit Chief immediately shot back. He knew she wouldn't go without a fight, but he didn't think he'd actually have to order her to go to be evaluating at the hospital. "The EMTs are taking you."

Yanking her blanket from off her shoulders and discarding the ice pack, Beck forcefully pushed herself to her feet before him. "I'm needed here."

"You need to be evaluated at the hospital."

"Well, I'm not going," she stubbornly shot back.

"This isn't up for discussion-"

"My sister is here!"

"And she is being dealt with. In the mean time, you're no use to her in the state you're in," he immediately shot her down. "So, either you're going to the hospital for evaluation or I'll dismiss you back to Quantico where they'll evaluate you in the Medical Bay while you await your pending suspension. It's up to you."

Hotch didn't think anyone could hold such pure rage and burning hatred into one glare, but Beck came pretty close. The phrase 'if looks could kill' came to mind as she dropped her eyes away from his, glancing off into the distance and by the time she regathered her thoughts she must've made up her mind because she sported a different look now. She looked composed, on a mission. Settled.

"Fine," came the eventual grumble.

Hotch nodded slowly, taking this acceptable version of Beck a bit daunting. "I'll have Garcia keep you up to date about what we know. Morgan will bring you back to the hotel where your sister is being placed later. I'll see you back here in the morning, no sooner. That's an order."

She didn't make any acknowledgement which set a red alert go off in the back of the Unit Chief's mind.

"Ryder," he reiterated.

The young woman glanced up at him, meeting his eyes. "Understood."

Without another word, the agent silently turned on her heel and climbed back up into the ambulance. The EMTs she must've frustrated earlier returned upon finding her much more agreeable. They looked weary to approach her with the suctions and sensors, but with a warning glance from her Unit Chief, Beck made sure to be on her best behavior as she settled into the seat at the back of the bus.

Hotch watched her glare at him for a moment, only before her eyes drifted past him once more. The first time, he thought it had been her lost in thought. But upon following her line of sight, the Unit Chief realized she was looking back at the building. He zeroed in on the specific people in the immediate area. Other than a handful of other ambulances and lingering kids leftover from the supposed raid-gone-wrong Beck had stumbled into, he couldn't pinpoint anyone out of the ordinary.

He let it go.

But from inside the ambulance, Agent Ryder had a direct line of sight towards a black SUV parked on the side of the federal building. She'd noticed it earlier during Hotchner's lashing. But it wasn't the car specifically that caught her attention, it was the young girl being loaded in, Alice Ryder.

However, the person that held her attention was the woman helping her into the backseat. The woman who'd be driving her to the hotel. The woman Beck had been head-to-head with the night before.

So as the two back doors of the ambulance closed in on Beck's face, she could still see clearly through the back window where Prentiss slid into the front seat of the SUV and drove off in the opposite direction with her kid sister.

Fuck.

—

Emily Prentiss's knuckles were practically white with how tightly she was gripping the wheel of the SUV. She paid extra attention to how fast she was going, scared as if the cargo she were driving were made of glass.

Nervous as though she'd vanished into thin air, the Agent peered through the rearview window to get a look at the young girl peering out the back window. She looked shook up, terrified, rattled. There was dry blood all up and down her forearms and splattered across her thighs where she'd attempted to wipe it off.

Prentiss hadn't been one of the first team members on the scene, but she'd heard Morgan explain that by the time the EMTs had gotten there, Beck had lost a small amount of blood from a wound on the back of her head and that when she'd gone unconscious, the wound was held closed by her little sister. It was certainly a shocking turn of events Prentiss hadn't seen coming. She doubted Beck had expected it either. It was as if all Hell broke loose on the other Agent's life and Prentiss knew Beck didn't react well backed into a corner being thrown all these problems at her at once. A part of her felt remorseful for not helping where she could, but the other part, the one scared shitless of what Beck would do if she thought she'd be putting her little sister in danger...

Emily repressed a shudder as she turned her focus back onto the road.

The drive to the hotel was relatively silent. It was easy to get an extra room not far from the Team's at the New York hotel just a few blocks south of the Federal Plaza. The younger Ryder barely said a word as the on-sight FBI medics checked her out and she still refused to speak when Emily came to offer her food and drinks.

"Are you hungry?" the brunette agent prompted the teenage girl perched at the edge of the king-sized beg, two medics dressing the marks on her face and arms. Prentiss juggled the take out bags and drinks in her hands as she made her way towards the nearby table. "I ordered us some Chinese and raided the vending machine in the lobby. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I went with your sister's usual."

Alice's eyes sparkled at the mention of her big sister. When she glanced up, she found the agent holding out a fruit punch Snapple bottle. She took it without argument and started to chug. Huh, Prentiss mused. Way more agreeable than the other Ryder.

Excusing themselves while the girl began digging through the take out bags, the EMTs gave Prentiss a brief on what they'd dressed and what needed follow ups at a clinic before heading back to the Plaza to help with the mess left by the shooter. Speaking of which...

Emily began scrolling through her many messages. Since the shooting at the Federal Plaza had made national news already, it was no wonder she'd already gotten the obligatory check-in text from her Mother. A message which she ignored and continued to scroll through. There were a handful from Garcia about updates, one or two from Morgan, one from JJ, and... Prentiss nearly dropped the phone when she read the latest.

Ryder: don't try anything with her. you won't live long enough to regret it.

The young girl must've picked up on the hollowed breathing coming from the woman across the room because she'd glanced up briefly from her food to ask, "Is it Beck?"

"It- It is," Prentiss stammered, trying not to let her fear show as she started typing back. "She's updating me on her status."

Prentiss: i'm not holding her hostage. she's safe.

"How is she? Is she gonna be okay?" Her Southern drawl coming out more prominently when she was worried, the same way her sister's did. They may not have been blood-related, but the two were certainly as close as every other pair of sisters. Tight-knit.

"She's, uh," the agent paused to glance down at the latest message.

Ryder: she better be.

Prentiss let out a nervous laugh. "She's definitely a fighter." And a bitch. "She should be back by tomorrow." As she pocketed her phone, Prentiss couldn't help but notice the way the girl deflated in relief. "In the meantime, why don't you get some shut eye? I'll be right down the hall and Beck should be here in a couple of hours. You'll be on the plane home in no time."

Settling against the pillows of the bed, it didn't look like the concept of flying home comforted the girl any more than it should have at the time. She actually looked like she shuddered. Obviously, the young girl was coming to regret her decision to leave home. The older Ryder must've been furious when she'd found her in that raid crowd. Prentiss couldn't imagine the worry and fear both girls faced when it came to their counterpart; Alice not knowing if her sister was okay after getting shot, and Beck not knowing if her baby sister was safe in the arms of a woman who'd attacked her in her home last night.

Sighing, the agent drafted one more message.

Prentiss: room 445 at the Wyndham Garden Hotel in Chinatown. she's safe. you have my word.

There wasn't another answer after that. Emily Prentiss took it as as close of an admission to reluctant trust as she would get from Beck Ryder for now.

"Are you one of my sister's friends? From work?" a soft yawn called out from the room.

Lingering near the door, Prentiss paused. "I'm sorry?"

"You look angry when you text her. She's mean when she has to get check-ups-" Another yawn overtook the girl now half-submerged beneath the fluffy blankets on the hotel bed. "Beck had all her old co-workers blocked. 's funny she doesn't 've you blocked," a sleepy giggle followed the delirious remark.

Hm, Prentiss hummed. It looked like being hyper-aware of other people's behaviors was a familial trait after all. "I, uh, I'm a close coworker, I guess."

"M'kay," was the only reply she got.

Slowly, Prentiss closed the door gently so not to make a sound. Once she was out, it took all of ten seconds for the others let their curiosities get the better of them. Emily had only just made it to her own room door before Reid ducked his head out across the hall.

"Hey," the young Doctor greeted her, brushing his hair haphazardly from his face as he slowly tip-toed out into the hall. "How is-" Reid cleared his throat. "Is there word on how Ryder's doing? I asked JJ, but..."

The brunette nodded. "Yeah, she's-" Agitated. Pissed off. Frustrated. Bleeding. Bruised. Bitchy. "-probably a little concussed. But Hotch talked her into going to the ER. Morgan's picking her up later."

It was Reid's turn to nod and awkwardly shuffle outside his door. "So is it true? Her sister was arrested before the shooting opened fire?"

Prentiss shrugged. "She just happened to be there. Wrong place, worse time. Hotch said witnesses recalled she'd got a good shot at the Unsub, but he still managed to get away. ViCap is running the blood samples they found, but it's hard when the place is covered in other people's blood. It's all just... contaminated for now."

The young Doctor winced. "She's probably terrified right now."

The agent peered over her shoulder towards Room 445 where she'd left the younger Ryder. With how heavy her yawns were, she doubted she stayed awake after she'd gone. "Well, she was already falling asleep by the time I left her for the night. But the kid's strong. She seems like she can handle her own just fine."

Reid frowned. "I'm glad she's okay, but I... I was actually talking about Beck. I mean," he shook his head. "First, she finds her sister in NYPD custody and then she gets shot with the Unsub still at large. I wonder what she's thinking right now."

Prentiss's phone felt like a ten pound weight in her back pocket. It hadn't buzzed since the last message and she dreaded for which came next, a threat or an actual appearance by the deadly assassin. Having been shot, the suspect still at large, and her sister in the presence of someone she considered a threat while she was being held up at a hospital- the last thing Emily Prentiss needed was to be in the presence of the Sword right now.

And Beck could claim to be disavowed from her former title all she wanted to. But Prentiss recognized that untapped rage in the dark irises of her eyes as she was being carted into that ambulance.

In the rarest of instances, Emily Prentiss actually found herself pitying the Unsub in this case.

This case, however ominous and face-value it seemed, was far worse than what she could've imagined. And unknown to either her or any of the other BAU members, this was just the tip of the iceberg. With the team scattered for the first time, the response times were taken and the dynamics were noted. The players were all identified and the pieces were in place. The streets of New York City had become a war zone and the BAU had unknowingly triggered the beginning of the game.

•••

A/N: BUM BUM BUMMMMMMM. Cliffhanger? Eh, a little bit. I needed to chop this chapter up into several parts because if I didn't, it never would've come out. This is Part I of II (possibly III?) of the season 3 into season 4 arc. Enjoy! Please let me know what you think.

I know a lot of it was spent on flashbacks alluding to Prentiss and Beck's discussion, but not a full scene. That's okay! We'll get plenty of Prentiss/Beck rivalry to come. And why is there a minor lack of Spencer in this chap? Because we'll get plentyyyy of Spencer to come. Don't worry guys, it's all apart of the plan.

As for next couple chapters- bear with me! I do still have other jobs, but yay! I finished this chapter pretty quickly. Fun fact, I actually wrote the first 17k in one week. Yipee! Manifesting the same energy. May need to lock myself in a room or something to get the same writing juices and Criminal Minds inspo locked in. Wish me luck, troops!

•••

Since I am leaving you off on a kinda cliffhanger, here's an incorrect quote I saw on twitter.

Beck: You're giving me a sticker?

Penelope: Not just any sticker. This is a sticker of a cat saying "me-ow"!

Beck: I'm not a child.

Penelope: Fine. I'll take it back-

Beck: No, I earned this. Back off.