GETAWAY CAR

EIGHT

ASTRA HART lacked almost every quality that would make her a good person, but if she was being honest ( though really, she never was ) she didn't think that she had done anything horrifically wrong that constituted for prison time. Sure, she was probably a bit mentally disturbed ( who could blame her? She was a twenty-two year old woman who lacked a stable upbringing and joined a gang for the sake of her half-dead grandpa ), possessed zero aspirations, chatted shit a bit too much, a notorious flirt and was the getaway driver for the most infamous heist group in US history.

But she was pretty and some may say funny, so really was she that bad?

Yes. Yes she was.

Though, no matter how morally grey ( that was putting it nicely ) Astra was certain that being forced into a shitty little cargo transport jet, chains around her wrists like she was the fucking hulk or something, capable of beating up seven heavily armed, high-transport security guards and fleeing to her supposed safety whilst still being in her McDonalds uniform, was something so horrifically awful that she was certain she didn't deserve.

And she simply couldn't let it go. Even as she paced the room of Aaron Hotchner's office, knowing that she really should be shitting herself ( metaphorically of course — though she had just downed six cups of perhaps the blackest coffee she'd ever seen in her life so, you never know ) over what was about to transpire, she couldn't help but be utterly consumed in how fucking embarrassing it was that she had to wear a McDonalds uniform for 24 hours, smelling of fast food and cleaning products. At least the BAU had the decency to give her a change of clothes, she thought, looking down at the size-too-large jeans and the too-small top. God, she wanted her wardrobe back.

Surveying the office for some little detail about Hotch's life ( not because she particularly wanted to know anything about the man, but she needed a way to connect with those holier-than-thou BAU agents ), Astra's eyes clung to the image of the team — alongside a more eccentric blonde woman and a greying old man ( who looked more than familiar ) — stood with shit-eating grins outside of an absolute mansion.

So, the old man was rich, Kai hadn't lied. Astra had spent a considerable amount of time around the horrifically wealthy, he carried himself in the same way that they did. Astra could appease his ego, if necessary. Next to the framed image, was a separate photo of Hotch and that insufferably persistent SSA Derek Morgan. Only them, with smiles that just about reached their eyes, like something was holding them back from being truly happy. The job must take a toll, Astra found herself concluding. She could use that, too.

All of a sudden, Astra Hart felt overwhelmed with gratitude that Hotch had left her unservieled for half an hour whilst he did god knew what. But she didn't want to push it. With a satisfied grin, she walked back over to the coffee machine, pouring what was now he seventh cup. Could she die from drinking that much? Well, it wouldn't stop her.