I manage to work on the seasonal data for the rest of the week. Still, I see very few patterns. There is no statistical significance to any trends in the numbers that cross my screen. Every night, I make an effort to stretch out my neck and shoulders and all of those things. The headaches are getting worse. Over the weekend, I don't look at anything with a screen, including my personal laptop, my phone, and my television. Estelle's orders. I need a way to take a break from staring at my monitor day in and day out.

The next week, Estelle's colleague comes up to visit. Since he's here of his own accord, his university isn't putting him up in a hotel. Consequently, we agree to let him use an air mattress in the living room.

"Be nice to Oop," Estelle warns me, her eyes stern and straight but the beginning of a smile on the corner of her lip.

Oop's getting a taxi here from the airport, so we are putting our last touches on the living room for his stay. Estelle has gracefully not mentioned that we don't have a guest room. I know she wants somewhere with more space since I can afford it. She can't though, and she'd admit it if I brought it up. I don't. All I do is fluff the pillows.

"Pardon?" I ask. "You need to remind me to be nice?"

"Don't get a bad first impression," she explains. "Oop is great."

"His name is Oob?" I ask.

"No, Oob, not Oob," she repeats, nearly giggling. "Oob Drukker. Wouldn't Oob be a silly name?"

I get no extra clarity. Estelle finds her accent embarrassing often enough that I don't have questions. Certainly, it is more embarrassing than the little pocket money she has in her possession.

Once he arrives, he properly introduces himself. He says his name, and it sounds like Oop to me. Only once I google him do I realize it's not Oob or even Oop. He goes by Huub, but his full name is Hubert Drukker, and Huub is pronounced just like the beginning of that word.

I switch things up on Monday, going back to my old habit of avoiding habits. My headache still isn't gone. Agent Hotchner pulls me into his office. He tells me that some of the old files need to be digitized. He sends me with a cart to get them. I entirely blame Dr. Reid for the limited computer work. It's too early in the week to complain that he isn't my keeper, nor my doctor, nor a medical doctor. Morgan complains about the cart taking up space in the bullpen, but I ignore him.

No one complains on Tuesday at least. Actually, no one else arrives. I find out from Garcia, who does a working lunch, that everyone but her and I left for a case last night. The events were so urgent that Agent Hotchner didn't even send me an email before they all got on their plane. Perhaps he has forgotten that he intended to bring me along on a case in the new year, or maybe this case would not be a good fit. The team is also gone all day Wednesday. Thursday, I am not expecting anyone to return. The silence will let me finally finish with digitization. Unfortunately, everyone is inside.

No one complains about the cart, however.

People are pretty quiet. The days after returning from a case are usually muted, but the profilers are even careful to type as quietly as possible. The only sound is the shuffling of papers from Dr. Reid, and he uses a pen with a cap instead of the ones that click frequently which are almost always in his hands. He likes to fiddle with them. I don't know if he's even aware, even if he pretends to know everything.

When I'm in the break room after lunch, trying desperately to pull through the tense day, JJ pulls me aside. She looks just as put together as usual. Even if she is not a profiler, she is used to being around them. JJ knows that the smallest differences in appearance will go noticed by others. They are like sharks out for blood. The smell is so attracting; it would be harder to avoid the trail than to let it take over.

Still, I look for the smallest pinch of information, even if I wouldn't know what to do with it. Her pants are pleated, her hair is half-up, her makeup is subtle, and the smell of her soap wafts over. There are no signs of the difficult things that the field team sees.

"Are you available tonight?" she asks. "We're going over to Morgan's for a Jenga tournament."

"I'm invited?" I ask.

She looks at me, furrowing her brow, "you are part of the team, you know. Even if you aren't out there."

"Yeah, sure," I turn back to the coffee machine, fiddling with the settings.

"We don't talk about the cases when we come back because we like to leave what we see out there," she explains. "We wouldn't survive if we brought everything we see home."

That isn't the problem.

"It would be nice to know when you are all gone," I reply, crossing my arms while I wait for my drink. "At the very least, I would like to know when I am expecting to be alone in the office. No one has ever told me."

JJ nods her head slowly, "you're right. You should know when to expect we will be out. I'll make sure I reach out when we leave next time."

My coffee is ready. I take the mug and turn to walk back to the bullpen. I stop in the doorway.

"I'll be there tonight," I answer.

Soon enough, the rest of the day flies by. I'm done early, but they all are staying late to finish the last of the filing. Agent Gideon is not among those who hang around, instead heading out pretty quickly. I would go home, but JJ says that they are planning on doing dinner at Morgan's. So, I order us all takeout. The group approves Chinese, so I decide to arrange for it to be picked up and then I plan on meeting them all at Morgan's apartment complex.

The order takes longer than I had anticipated, and so I end up fifteen minutes behind schedule. I text Estelle while I wait, letting her know about my plans with the group. She could use the extra time alone with Oop anyway, since it seems like he enjoys her company more than mine.

When I buzz Morgan's apartment, I'm let in within a few minutes. Soon enough, I'm upstairs, and JJ and Prentiss take over handing out the food.

"Go mingle," Prentiss says, waving me off.

While they get to work, I head into the living room. Morgan and Dr. Reid are in an intense battle over the Jenga. They haven't moved more than two blocks but I can hear them bickering. Garcia is trying to get them both under control. As I approach, Agent Hotchner sees me and his eyes widen, discreetly shaking his head.

"Finally, someone impartial," Morgan says, looking up at me.

"I would hardly call Bouchard impartial," Dr. Reid says, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Agent Hotchner's eyes are burning into me, a clear warning that I wish I had heeded before I came to join them. It's easier to focus on his glance than Dr. Reid's comment.

"Bouchard, are you allowed to use additional tools in the game of Jenga?" Morgan asks, cocking his head to the side and peering at me. "Say, a pen, for example?"

"Dr. Reid is right, I'm not impartial," I offer, before taking a seat on the loveseat opposite Agent Hotchner.

"We should recognize Hotch as the impartial judge," Dr. Reid says. "Garcia clearly favourites you, which is why she has chosen your side. There are only two rules in Jenga, neither of which reference the implementation of external implements."

"I don't have favourites," Garcia holds her hand up, but to no avail. We all know Morgan is her favourite. There's no use arguing the point at all.

Morgan shakes his head, a bit of a smile on his face, "it's about the spirit of the game, kid. Not the letter of the law."

"We're FBI agents, of course it's about the letter of the law," Dr. Reid responds, but he is smiling too.

Normally, I would side with anyone over Dr. Reid automatically, but the visual of him trying to use a pen to cheat at Jenga is so funny to me that I want to vote in his favour.

JJ and Prentiss call us away from the battle to eat. We gather around Morgan's table, which only just fits the seven of us, with me tacked on the end squeezed between Prentiss and Dr. Reid on an office chair. Dr. Reid comes back to the table with a fork and knife.

"There should be enough chopsticks for everyone," I say to him, even though I remember when he said he was not good at using chopsticks either.

"I find them difficult," Dr. Reid says, eyes glancing at me.

He, obviously, remembers telling me. I wonder what thought flashes through his mind. I wonder if he's thinking about the words leaving his lips, the way gunpowder hung in the air, or the loud sound of the shots even with the ear protection muffling the sound. I could think about all those things, but I think about something he said.

He read my thesis. Very few people have made this effort.

Morgan laughs, "just like Jenga, huh? Always taking the easy way out."

We eat our meals together, discussing topics in the news that have nothing to do with the case that just went by. I am unsure of exactly what has gone on still, but I know it bothered Agent Gideon more than the others. Agent Hotchner talks about his son, who is fifteen months old. He has a few pictures on his phone, which the others make him show. Other than that discussion, I realize we only share small talk. No one else mentions any friends or family. It's terrible to think, but I can't help but imagine that they are just as isolated as I am.

It's a terrible thing. Most people do not like to feel lonely.

They play Jenga more after dinner, once it's agreed that Dr. Reid isn't cheating, mostly to get a rise out of Morgan. Agent Hotchner and I are the first to call it in, leaving the others to continue laughing every time they shatter the tower.

"Do you still not have a car?" Agent Hotchner asks in the elevator.

I nod. It came up in our interview.

He pulls his keys out of his pocket, flashing them before they jingle in his hands, "I'll drive you home."

I don't say no. Instead, we climb into his car in visitor parking, and we head out of the building. He keeps the stereo so low that I can't properly hear the tune on the radio. I sit on my hands, forcing myself to be still. I just want to go home.

"You did excellent today, Bouchard," Agent Hotchner says. "I appreciate that you've made the time to come out with the team. We're still in talks about which case we will bring you along for, but I imagine it will be before the summer.

It is still January.

"Thank you, sir," I nod my head.

"Please, it's Hotch," he tells me.

In exchange, I nod.

~~~~~

I think things are about to get very exciting. There won't be a lot of specific crossover with cases in the show, but here and there you'll get to see them. Any episodes any of you are expecting to pop up? I'm currently writing toward the end of season 3 (I have a lot of chapters already ready to go).