Now I understand why Garcia was typing so furiously. I've been too, over the chaos of the last two weeks. Hotch has been suspended. He is supposed to be back today, and I've been in the office since seven trying to properly clear out my inbox. The ViCAP researchers locked me out of their system for three days, and now periodically it logs me out again. It's because of the change in phones. Garcia has been arguing with their IT guy. I just want everything to be sorted for Hotch when he walks in any second.

It's bustling this early in the morning. I hear Reid's voice as he leaves the conference room.

Looks like they are all flying out again.

I shake it off, trying to focus. Hotch will be going with them so the pressure is a bit looser. The UCR program is conducting a survey of those who use their data. The deadline to fill it out is noon today, and so I focus on that, clicking button after button. Page after page. It's easier to navigate than their documents that have errors. Still, it takes me twenty minutes to push through it.

I'd rather complain to the people who run NCVS. Their data is always a pain when comparing it to UCR data.

I close the tab and exhale. I sip from the coffee mug Reid bought me. It's cold now.

"Special Agent Bouchard."

I look up and see the section chief next to my desk. I put down the coffee cup as quickly as I can without spilling on my laptop and stand to face her. Then, I offer her a hand. She shakes it. Her grip is firm. My knuckles ache as they rub together.

"Good morning," I say, nodding my head.

"I understand you are prepared for fieldwork?"

I nod my eyes at her, focusing on her face. She's hard to read. I wonder if she is more FBI than her anymore.

"We will brief you on the jet," she offers, patting my shoulder before walking out the door.

I grab my bag from inside my desk drawer, pulling it out. It's only got two items of clothing in it, and I'm wearing shoes that make my feet ache if I have to stand on the subway ride home.

I peer around the room, ignoring all the other people who are walking past. Then, I shut down for the day even though it's barely nine in the morning. Coat on, phones and laptop in the bag, cold coffee in a mug, bag on my back. I head over to the elevator. I think I can make it to the airstrip by myself. I've been once before, and my phones got GPS now.

Someone bumps into the closing elevator doors. Reid steps inside, taking a spot beside me. The doors close. Once the hustle of the office is shut out, he turns to look at me.

"They have you coming?"

I shrug.

"I guess my fieldwork was impressive," I shrug.

Reid furrows his brow and I laugh, my eyes glancing down at my footwear.

"Obviously not," I say. "I guess Hotch isn't coming. Strauss invited me."

Reid's head quirks to the side as well. In return, I offer a shrug. My brain doesn't work like all of their heads do. I'm not good under pressure the way that the others are. My fingers cramp around deadlines, and Estelle and I used to massage each other's hands over breakfast when our dissertations were deadlines closed in. I need to find a bank of all possible answers before applying one, use six different databases to find every point of data I can. The rest of them can just act.

"Gideon isn't here either," Reid's nose crunches up.

My phone rings in my backpack. The elevator is still going. I flip it around and juggle it with one arm and a knee as I try to unzip it and hold the mug.

"Here," Reid takes the bag from me, holding it.

I dig into the side pocket and pull out my phones. It's my personal one, Caro on the other line.

"Saint Ciboire," I whisper to myself. It's Thursday. My flight to New York for the sibling trip this year leaves Saturday morning at the crack of dawn. I pick up the phone.

"Hey," I whisper into the phone.

The line goes empty, "why are you talking in French?"

The elevator dings open and I step out.

"Don't you have a job?"

"Pre period," she answers. "I just want to make sure you called for the dinner reservation on Saturday?"

"Maybe," I manage. "Listen, a work thing came up and I'm not sure I'll make it on time. Or at all."

I pull the phone away in anticipation of her screech, but one doesn't come. It seems I should call her when she's a work more so she can't scream at me. I bring the phone back to my ear just in time to hear the tone of her hanging up. I sigh, moving to shove the phone in my bag.

Reid holds the bag out too far for it to be natural. I look over at him and he looks up, holding it closer toward me.

"Was that your-"

"Sister," I explain as I drop my phone in and zip it up.

When I take the bag, I turn it around to where he was looking. I can't be sure, but he was looking at my patches. I've shown him them all before, except the one I got from Spain recently.

I sewed the patch he bought me in New Orleans on as well. My thumb grazes it. I throw my bag onto my back.

Morgan is waiting for us in the lobby. JJ comes in a minute and then we drive to the tarmac together. In the car, JJ gives me the profile. I listen to the information trying to memorize it. Morgan drives aggressively, jolting the car at every turn. The information isn't sticking, but not because I'm distracted, grabbing onto the door at every sharp turn. I'm better with written notes. I'm even better behind a desk. It's truly rotten that I'm here.

Once we are in a parking spot, Morgan switches off the car. He turns around to look at Reid and I, and then at JJ beside him in the front seat.

"This isn't information that any of you should share," Morgan looks at each of them, and then at me. I nod. "Hotch told me he's requesting a transfer."

All of us stiffen.

Morgan opens the car door. He steps out and slams it behind him. JJ and Reid share a look, and they open their doors at the same time. I follow them out. Once my door shuts, Morgan throws his arm back toward the car. It beeps. He's already a decent way off. Reid jogs to catch up to him.

We climb up onto the plane. Morgan sighs in the entryway, "she isn't here yet."

They climb in, and I'm the last one. I pull my phone out of my bag before I'm settled. There are a dozen unread messages on my phone, all from my siblings. I sigh and sit apart from everyone else, just in case anyone is inclined to read them.

Instead of reading any, I message Estelle that I'll be out of town for a few days. Work stuff. I don't expect an answer. College time zone split.

Then, I open the one from Bastien first, because I don't think he's going to upset me.

caro says ur not coming?
lol shes mad
if u can make it pls come
i want to shittalk cletus
also caro is going to be so annoying about it
duty calls and all that
haha duty

Stéphane has texted me too.

hey, caro is texting everybody. are u sure u cant make it?
i know ur working but call me when u can

At least Caro has only sent me one text.

I'm impressed. In all this time, you've never failed to disappoint me and yet, somehow, you always trick me into not expecting you're ditching us again.

I power my phone down before any more can come through.

In the background, I can hear the others talking about Hotch. How he needs to come back. How he can't leave us with Erin. How there's no word on Prentiss. How Gideon is MIA too. It's just the three of them and me and fieldwork. Half their team is gone, and one is gone permanently. Apparently, Hotch told Morgan he's been suspended once and now he's got a target on his back. The others know the suspension is ridiculous, and I bet they are right.

Part of me is ashamed to admit it, but I wish I were Hotch. I wish I was someone who could say no to getting on this plane.

My family doesn't get me, Caro least of all. There is something to what she says though. It's not that I'm so dedicated to this job that I can't leave. It was something that would keep me local, allow me to use skills, and make enough to pay for an apartment and save for a PhD if that's what I wanted. Sure, the job is a career move and so was Australia, and then Oxford, and everything after it. If I'm honest with myself, it wasn't for my career. It wasn't to ditch her either.

At least Hotch gets to stay somewhere. At least Hotch can go find a home.

~~~~~

Don't catch me crying over the sibling dynamic of this family. The four of them are so fucked. Like, and I love it. Which one would you rather have as a sibling? I mean, I think I'd love having a Bastien around to bother me, but I'm curious what you think!