**picture: Hoover Building, FBI Headquarters, Washington DC

When Andrea was able to get out of bed and find her way to the kitchen, Brock was already serving breakfast, showered and shaved, his impeccable white shirt shimmering in the kitchen and his gray blue tie fastened in the Knot of the Year.

Brock knew there was no use in trying to speak to his daughter before nine, so they had breakfast in silence. Soon they left together, and only twenty minutes later he pulled over outside Andrea's school.

She kissed his cheek and smiled at him. "Good luck today, Dad," she said before getting out of the car. "And remember: Boston. It's in the air, don't fight it. You'd be making two women happy." She noticed his questioning frown and winked. "Me, first of all. And Blue Label." Brock scoffed and she stepped out, giggling and humming, "Boston-Boston."

He would remember her words two hours later, when Burton invited him into his office, shaking his hand like he was about to hug him or something.

"C'mon in, Brock, have a seat! Coffee, tea, anything?"

Yeah, a whiskey, please. That would help me stomach your charade. "Thanks, sir, I'm fine."

He unbuttoned his suit coat to sit before the desk, as the Section Chief circled it to take his seat behind it. Brock noticed that despite his persistent fake smile, Burton was looking for a way to start. So El Paso it is, he thought, or a bear's cave lost in the northern mountains, hiding from hostile militias. Burton pretended to look for a folder to get thirty extra seconds. Or worse? Maybe no transfer at all? Well, that wouldn't really be bad news.

"So, Brock, have you made up your mind about what we discussed?" Burton asked with his salesman smile.

"You may say so, sir. Why? The brass changed their mind?"

"Once a profiler," Burton said. "No, they haven't, but I'm afraid they already decided where they need you, Brock."

I knew it, he thought, nodding to invite the other man to elaborate.

"It's Massachusetts."

Of course, where else would it be. Burton paused, waiting for him to show any kind of reaction. But Brock only nodded again, wearing his usual blank scowl.

"When?" was all he asked.

Burton tried to hide his relief and smiled wider. "I was thinking next week, if that's okay with you. That should give you enough time to settle things here. Once in Boston, you can stay at a hotel until you find a place to move into."

Now Brock scowled a little deeper. Rent a house or an apartment? How long were they talking about?

"We're sending you and three more agents to stay there for the next semester, Brock. Your basecamp will be Boston, but you will be working under my supervisor for New England."

Brock nodded. Cooper's husband. That incompetent fool. "SSA Mattock."

"Yes. Nobody expects you guys to work miracles, so we're giving you six months to get a good picture of what Cooper needs to raise her numbers, and work on it."

Brock nodded again.

Burton flashed another salesman smile. "So? No questions? No comments?"

Brock shook his head curtly and stood up, knowing the meeting was over. But Burton opened a drawer and took something from it. His smile was somehow honest, and Brock was a little surprised when he stood up too.

"Welcome back, Brock," he said, handing him a badge, and he stretched out his hand to shake Brock's. "God knows it's not all you deserve, but the first step is always the hardest."

Brock forced himself to not show any hint of emotion, receiving this badge that reinstated him as a field agent, and shook Burton's hand.

"Now it's up to you." The man tried a little humor. "So guess I better watch my seat, right?"

"Thanks, sir."

"You're starting in Boston on Monday morning. I'll see to it that Cooper has a proper workspace ready for you, and that she won't attempt to strangle you as soon as you step into her field office. Have a nice weekend, and a better start of the week on your new post, Brock."

Somehow he left Burton's office, walked across the whole floor to the elevators and went down to the parking lot, but he didn't really register any of it. When he was able to slow down his racing heart, he was sitting in his car behind the wheel, his new badge in his hand and his eyes nailed to it.

Field agent. Again. It was still so hard to believe. And now it was up to him? Did it mean the brass was willing to acknowledge any achievement he might have from then on? Burton's words suggested it, and he might not like his Section Chief, but he knew the man well enough to know he wouldn't say something like that just because.

He slid the badge into his inner pocket and started the car. He didn't need to wonder where he was going next.