Clara Analise Johnson a 15 year old trained assassin is placed with the FBI's BAU team to use her spy skills for good. All she wants to do is make up for all the pain she has caused while keeping her secret from the team.
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2 DAYS LATER
The office buzzed with the usual activity: phones ringing, agents discussing cases, and the constant hum of the air conditioning. Clara sat at her desk, deeply engrossed in a stack of case files. The morning had been routine—team briefing, a quick chat with Garcia about a tech issue, and now she was immersed in the details of their latest case.
Absentmindedly, Clara pushed up the sleeve of her blouse, exposing a thin, jagged scar on her forearm. It was an old wound, a remnant of a life she rarely spoke about—a life marked by survival and secrets.
Morgan strolled by, holding a cup of coffee. He paused when he saw the scar, his brows knitting together in concern. He approached her desk, his eyes fixed on the old injury.
"Hey, Clara," he said softly, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. "What happened there?"
Clara looked up, startled out of her concentration. She followed his gaze to her arm and quickly pulled her sleeve down, a flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks.
"It's nothing," she said, a bit too quickly. "Just an old injury."
Morgan didn't press immediately, but he wasn't one to let things go easily. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his expression gentle but insistent.
"We've all got our scars," he said, his tone serious yet comforting. "But that one looks like it has a story. You know you can talk to me, right?"
Clara sighed, her eyes dropping to the pile of papers in front of her.
"It's from a long time ago, Derek," she began, her voice tinged with reluctance. "Before I joined the BAU."
Morgan leaned back in his chair, his expression softening with understanding. "I get it," he said, nodding. "We've all been through our own hells. But you're here now, and you're safe. If you ever need to talk, I'm here."
Clara managed a small, grateful smile, appreciating his support. Before she could respond, Hotch walked over.
"Clara there's someone here to see you." He spoke.
Clara took in a short breath.
He looked towards the entrance. "She said her name was Ro- ."
"Rose?" Clara exclaimed, standing quickly and moving around her desk to embrace her friend.
"Hey, Clara," Rose said, hugging her back tightly. The embrace spoke volumes, a mix of shared history and unspoken words.
Morgan and Hotch looked with curiosity. They watched as Clara guided Rose to a chair in her cubicle.
"It's so good to see you," Clara said, her voice warm but tinged with concern. "What brings you here?"
Rose glanced around the bustling office, her eyes wide and a bit apprehensive. "I was in town for a conference and thought I'd drop by see how you were doing after Isa . But there's something important I need to talk to you about."
