Chapter Text
The glass doors of the BAU swung open. Two men and a woman strode inside in perfect step; their black suits cut sharply, their expressions unreadable. They carried themselves with the kind of confidence that came from knowing they belonged anywhere they chose to be.
Every head in the bullpen turned toward them—an unconscious reaction.
They were undoubtedly CIA.
They strode through the room as if they owned it, as if they had walked these halls a thousand times before. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just absolute control.
They didn’t glance around. Didn’t acknowledge the stares. They simply ascended the stairs to the roundtable room without breaking stride, cutting through the space like a blade.
From behind the conference room windows, the BAU watched their approach.
Reid’s fingers clenched around the file in front of him. His throat felt tight. They were walking through his building like they were already walking through his life. No— trampling through it. Smashing through everything he had built, everything he had escaped , and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
It was inevitable. He knew this would happen one day—god, he knew it would. He just didn’t know it would feel like this. Like holding back a waterfall with a dam made of loose threads. Like watching your home be set on fire, anything precious being burnt to nothing.
He forced his eyes away from them, scanning his team instead.
Morgan’s eyebrows were raised, his expression unimpressed, the distinct "you know you look like fucking idiots, right?" practically radiating from him. His dislike for the intelligence agency had never been subtle.
Rossi leaned back, outwardly relaxed, but his sharp, narrowed gaze gave him away. He was watching. Measuring.
Prentiss sat up straighter, shoulders squaring, slipping into a posture that screamed muscle memory of a time she’d worn that look before—back when she was the one walking into rooms like that.
Garcia swallowed hard. Reid didn’t have to guess what she was thinking. The Black Queen. The CIA had undoubtedly kept records of every attempt she’d made to breach their systems. Her name had once been on their watchlists, no matter how deeply buried in bureaucratic files it was now.
And then there was Hotch.
Calm. Still. He rose to his feet slowly, chin lifting in quiet authority. He made no move to open the door for them, made no indication that their presence unsettled him in any way. He simply stood—unshaken, immovable.
Reid wanted to scream. Cry. He wanted to do something— anything —to shatter the silence pressing in on him. His pulse, what he’d previously controlled, was pounded against his ribs, drowning out the sounds of the room.
He forced a slow breath through his nose as he distantly wondered if he’d have a panic attack. That wouldn’t be a great look in front of his former handler.
He had controlled this before. He could control it now. He had to.
The door opened.
And in she walked.
Her brunette hair was slicked back into a neat bun, her sharp eyes scanning the room with the same precision they always had. The two men flanking her entered behind her, their presence adding weight to the already palpable tension in the room.
Reid could feel it before he even saw her. The familiar tension in his chest, the slight tightening of his throat—the unmistakable prelude to the inevitable.
Bailey.
She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she extended a hand toward Hotch. “Agent Hotchner? My name is Agent Clarice Bailey. I am your point of contact and a supervisor on this case.”
Hotch accepted her handshake smoothly, his face as neutral as ever. There was no outward sign of disturbance, no indication that Bailey had effectively asserted her dominance over the room without even trying. “A pleasure to meet you,” he replied, offering only the minimum of politeness for the professional exchange.
Bailey turned slightly, nodding toward the two men behind her. “These are Agents Salver and Cole, who have been working this mission remotely through its evolution.”
Salver and Cole were silent, their bodies positioned near the door as though guarding the sanctity of the room. No one questioned them.
Reid could feel his hands tightening into fists below the table. He knew the game, knew it was always a game with her—control, dominance, but also familiarity. She didn’t need to say anything. Her presence alone commanded attention.
Bailey scanned the BAU agents who hadn’t made a move to stand or introduce themselves cordially. They all wore an air of suspicion as they instinctively profiled the woman before them.
5”7. Early 40s. Neatly dressed. Calm under pressure. A leader, but hasn’t always been. Built her career through grit. Stern and demanding by default.
As Bailey’s eyes flicked across the team, they landed on Reid. The briefest shift in her expression—a flicker of something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t anything neutral, either.
But to those who know her, it was a smirk. She was finding a harsh sort of humour in this situation.
Reid’s jaw clenched, and his entire body locked. He hated it. Hated that she knew him so well. Hated that after all this time, after everything he’d worked so hard to build, she could still read him like an open book.
Bailey stepped forward, her eyes never leaving his as she moved closer. The space between them felt like a weight. Every step she took was a step into a past he couldn’t outrun.
“Reid. It’s been a long time.” Her voice was cool, but there was something else that lingered in her tone. Something familiar.
Reid’s body stiffened. His gaze hardened, and his expression shifted from the controlled mask he’d been wearing to something far more dangerous. Something cold, something sharp. His jaw remained locked, hiding words behind his lips. Instead of replying, he stared at her, unflinching.
Bailey smiled—a knowing smile that, in her case, replaces rolling the eyes. It was a smile that came with years of history. A history he’d rather forget.
“So, you’re still a brat, I see?” She walked closer, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Even at the big age of 27, huh? You’re still that same kid from back then.” The sarcasm practically dripped from her words. “Hmm, this sense of déjà vu is certainly off-putting.”
Reid’s stomach twisted, the familiar anger rising inside him. But his body refused to move, just like it always did around her. He couldn’t fight it.
Bailey finally reached him, placing a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. Her fingers dug into his skin like she could hold him in place with that touch alone. She tilted her head, the gesture almost tender as she whispered, “Come here.”
Reid didn’t want to. His mind screamed at him to refuse, to pull away, to keep his distance. But the part of him conditioned by years of training, by years of obeying without question, wouldn’t let him.
His body moved on its own accord. He exhaled slowly, the sound of his breath the only thing that betrayed the internal storm brewing inside him. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his head, the weight of her presence pulling him into that space where old habits refused to die.
He stood up, wrapping his arms around her. It was awkward—his body holding stiff—but it was what she wanted, and that was all that mattered.
Bailey’s arms went around him in return. “It’s good to finally see you again, kid. You been alright?” Her voice was low, too low, and Reid felt the tension in her words like an echo from the past.
Reid’s chin rested on her shoulder, but his eyes were far away—staring straight ahead, numb. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want this. But the years of conditioning wouldn’t let him break away from it. His body remained tense, the muscles in his arms stiff, unwilling to loosen.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
In that moment, as Bailey’s grip slowly began to loosen, Reid felt the strangest sense of relief. It wasn’t the hug itself, but the release . The moment she pulled away, he had permission to as well. And he did, almost desperately.
The BAU team watched the entire exchange in stunned silence.
Morgan, his eyes wide with confusion, shot a quick glance around the table. He was the first to break the stillness. “What the hell...?” His voice was low, but everyone heard it.
Prentiss furrowed her brow, clearly unsure what to make of the interaction. Her eyes flicked between Reid and Bailey. It was clear she had questions, but she wasn’t sure how to ask them.
Rossi was quieter, more observant. His gaze shifted from Bailey to Reid, his sharp mind working behind his calculating eyes.
Hotch stood firm and calm, but his gaze never left Reid. The growing tension around his eyes giving away that pieces were already slotting together in his mind. Bailey’s presence, Reid’s strange reaction—it didn’t add up to anything good.
Reid, now released from the embrace, stood still for a moment, his breath steadying, his chest tight. His eyes flicked over his team, seeing the open confusion in their faces, and something else too—worry. Hurt.
But he didn’t give them anything more. Not yet.
He looked down, avoiding their questioning eyes.
Bailey, however, seemed unaffected by the tension she had just introduced into the room. She walked back to the head of the table with a quiet confidence, her eyes sweeping over the team, cataloguing every shift in emotion. Her smile was almost… satisfied , as if she took pleasure in the chaos she’d stirred.
As she stood on the left of Hotch, she continued as if nothing had happened.
“Now, shall we begin the briefing?” she asked, her voice as cool and measured as before, her words cutting through the heavy silence.
"Agent Hotchner?" Bailey looked to him whilst gesturing with her hand to the empty chair. "Would you like to take a seat?"
Hotch nodded, before doing so.
Bailey smiled politely at him, before turning to take the thicker folders from Salver, which presumably held more information than the team had previously been given.
“Operative, sit down.” She said, so dismissively, without even bothering to look at Reid directly. He felt the weight of her tone like a physical blow, the words of her command striking deep, reminding him of every rule, every moment he had been trained to obey without question, without hesitation.
It was a direct command, and Reid didn’t hesitate, responding without thought to her dominance. He sat down immediately, having not realised he'd still been stood and unconsciously waiting to be instructed of his next move.
The air was heavy, almost suffocating. Every member of the BAU had their eyes on him, silently demanding an explanation he couldn’t give. How had their youngest agent—their Reid, brilliant yet awkward, clumsy but kind, always unmistakably himself —suddenly become this quiet, rigid, obedient shell in the presence of this CIA agent?
Reid didn’t offer them any answers. He kept his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, whilst his mind raced with a thousand thoughts he couldn’t process. It was all leaving him feeling distinctly numb. And he knew the worst was yet to come.
He knew Bailey was about to serve his past to the BAU on a silver platter, leaving him powerless to do anything but watch the feast.
He knew she wouldn’t do it gently—she never had a gentle bone in her body. Bailey operated with precision and purpose, never one to soften the truth or cloak it in comfort.
He knew this was the beginning of his unraveling, the moment the life he’d built at the BAU would begin to fall around him.
And worst of all, he knew that once they learned what he’d done—who he’d been —they could never want him the same way again.