Wildcard (A.H. x Reader x S.R.)

Chapter 1 - The New Kid on the Block

"You wanna play with fire,

Stick and poke tattoos,

You wanna play my new girl,

I wanna play with you..."

-New Girl – Finneas

The insistent chirping of your alarm made you groan, the urge to ignore it becoming hard to resist as you tried to shake off sleep. You outstretched an arm behind you, blindly searching for your phone on the bedside table. You snatch it up, accepting the call and lifting it to your ear, answering with a brief "y/l/n."

"Agent y/l/n, this is Aaron Hotchner with the behavioral analysis unit," the deep voice on the other end of the line said.

You roll over, flicking your bedside lamp on and blinking rapidly at the sudden intrusion of light. You read your alarm clock, scowling when you read 2:27am. You roll your eyes, sighing. "And why are you, agent Aaron Hotchner, calling me at 2 in the morning? Please, get to the point or let me go back to bed," you mutter, feeling exhausted and not in the mood to deal with anyone, especially at work. You just wanted to go back to sleep and forget about the real world for a few hours. You were a technical analyst, often for the crimes against children unit, which could be rough at times. The last case you came off of had been terrible, three children dying and joining 13 other victims by the time the case ended.

"Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, is currently on leave and we have a new case. We need you to fill in as her replacement. We need you in the BAU as soon as possible," Hotchner explained.

You let out a deep exhalation, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Alright. I will be there in 20 minutes. Anything else, boss man, or can I hang up now?" you ask, feeling pissy. Incredibly pissy, at that.

"That's all, agent y/l/n." And with that you hung up, not bothering with pleasantries. No point. You had to go into work, work with a different unit might you add, at 2 in the damn morning. Fucking wonderful. Fucking amazing! So fucking awesome.

You roll out of bed in a huff, walking over to your closet and opening it, flicking the light on and looking at the array of clothes inside. You opt for black jeans and a navy-blue polo, taking out a worn denim jacket to throw over it. It was December and that meant it was cold in D.C. Very cold. You throw your clothes on, making your way over to your bathroom and stepping inside. You take a piss, brush your teeth and comb your hair in quick succession, stopping to look at yourself in the mirror for a split second, preparing to meet a new team and help them solve their case. While you weren't anti-social, you weren't a social butterfly, either. People thought you were arrogant, rude, and off putting. You weren't that bad. People just didn't stick around long enough to find out usually.

You walk out and gather your things, making sure you have everything before grabbing your backpack, which contained your laptop as well as other work essentials you always took with you to and from the office. A black cat rubs against your legs as you sling the bag over your shoulder, drawing your attention. "Hi, Luna. I have to go to work. I'll get Mrs. Norris from across the hall to take care of you while I work," you say to the small cat, acting as though she could understand what you were saying. That cat allowed you to keep your sanity most days. She was two years old and incredibly cuddly, which you needed sometimes, especially given your job and all the gruesome things it entailed.

You grabbed your keys off a table by your front door, stepping out of your apartment and locking the door behind you. You take the stairs down to the lobby, walking out into the crisp December air and taking a deep breath. You walk down the block to the metro station, getting on a train and leaning against a handrail as you stood, closing your eyes for a moment. A robotic voice announced your stop and you got off, walking briskly to your destination. The FBI academy.