Unknown- A Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 1- Rookie

Prologue

"We got a new kid today," JJ announced, glancing at the file Hotch had just given her.

"Really?" Prentiss asked, a bit surprised, peering over JJ's shoulder at the file.

"Charlie McDowell," JJ started giving Morgan and Prentiss details about the 'new kid'.

Morgan scoffed and replied, "Sounds like a rookie fresh off the football field looking to star in his very own real-life action movie."

JJ just laughed and shook her head, reading more info from the file out loud. "A black belt in martial arts, graduated second in the class," but she stopped short and looked up when Prentiss brushed past on her way around Morgan's cubicle to greet a young 20-something girl.

She had short brown hair and was wearing chunky black dress boots, skinny black pants, and a sleeveless red button-up blouse.

"You must be our newest member.  Pleased to meet you, I'm SSA Emily Prentiss," she greeted, shaking the girl's hand, "And these are agents Jennifer Jareau and Derek Morgan," she introduced them.

Morgan raised his eyebrows and asked incredulously, "You're Charlie McDowell?  Your name isn't actually Charlie, is it?"

"Actually it's Charlotte, but if you call me that, you might end up needing reconstructive surgery on your face," she said, her voice honey even though her words weren't anywhere near as pleasant, and then she flashed him an innocent smile.

Prentiss grinned and said, "I'm already starting to like you."

JJ laughed and Morgan just stared in disbelief that he'd been insulted by the new kid.

Hotch stuck his head out of his office and called down to them, "We've got a case," before retreating back inside to grab a stack of files and then disappearing into the conference room.

"I hope you don't have a weak stomach, McDowell," Morgan remarked gruffly to Charlie before walking away. 

She just silently followed JJ and Prentiss into the conference room, JJ introducing the rest of the team along the way.

"That's our chief supervisor, SSA Aaron Hotchner, Veteran SSA David Rossi, and Dr. Spencer Reid," she said, and Hotch and Rossi shook her hand and Reid offered his awkward wave.

"Veteran?" Rossi questioned and then said good-naturedly, "I'm not that old."

They were all taking their seats when Garcia rushed in, beads rattling and jewelry clinking, a file folder under one arm, before grabbing the pointer and sending images popping up on the screen.

"What have we got this time, Baby Girl?" Morgan asked her.

"And that is Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst," Prentiss leaned over to inform McDowell, and she nodded in affirmation before focusing her attention on the case Garcia was presenting.

One Month Later

I climbed the second flight of stairs and then turned to the left, walking down the hall and stopping in front of my door, juggling a case file and my go bag to my other arm so I could dig my keys out of my pocket and unlock the door.  It swung open and I stepped inside only to practically trip over a basket of folded clothes left right inside the doorway.  I sighed and kicked it away from the door so I could get inside.

One time I had forgotten a load of clothes in one of the washing machines  in the Laundromat basement because we had been called in for a case, so the lady who lived across the hall from me, Mrs. Mulcahy, had finished it for me and, since she lived right across the hall from me and had a key to my apartment in case of emergencies, left it in my apartment for me.  Ever since then if I got called unexpectedly for a case, she would do my laundry for me. I had offered to pay her numerous times, but she declined and said it gave her something to do and she didn't mind because she'd never had any kids of her own to do that stuff for, so occasionally if I remembered and had time, I'd leave her a batch of homemade cookies or something to pay her back.

I dropped my go bag on the floor next to the laundry basket and then tossed the case file onto my kitchen counter, my keys jangling as I threw them onto the ceramic plate on the counter where I always kept them.  I scooped up the bag and the basket and carried them down the hall into my bedroom.

My apartment was a fairly decent size. The front room doubled as the living room and kitchen, to the left I had a couch, armchair, coffee table, and TV and to the right, raised up a step, was the tiled kitchen floor, the two walls covered in floor to ceiling cabinets with built in countertops, a sink, stove, and fridge, and a small table in the middle of the area.  The back wall of the main room was covered in bookshelves, all of them crammed full, with a small desk and chair in the back corner by the living room area.  Down the hallway to the left was the full bathroom and to the right was a large storage closet, and the back of the apartment was my large bedroom, complete with a small walk-in closet along the left end and a wall of windows that faced the fire escape.

I pulled off my boots and jacket, tossing them on the lounging arm chair and ottoman in one corner of my bedroom and then proceeded to put away all the clothes Mrs. Mulcahy had washed, dries, ironed, and folded for me before stripping off my clothes and hopping in the shower. 
I always felt sweaty and gross after a long plane ride, and it didn't help that we had been in hot and sunny Texas for a week for our last case before returning to fifty and windy DC weather.

I pulled on a too-big T-shirt over my boyshorts underwear for pajamas and then wrapped my housecoat around me, emptying the contents of my go bag into the laundry basket and tossing the clothes I had worn on the plane on top of the pile before heading down to the basement.  I did two loads of wash and then came back to my apartment and repacked my go bag, deciding to just check my email before I went to bed since it was already midnight and I had to be in to work at eight tomorrow morning.

It was the usual junk mail and promotional deals, but there was one email from an unfamiliar address, literally titled Unknown.

I opened it.

You left again.  Texas, was it?  Good to see you returned.

Well that was definitely odd, I thought, but for some reason, just in case, I saved it and then powered off my laptop, leaving it sitting on the coffee table.  I locked the deadbolt, the lock on the handle, and slid the chain in place before climbing in bed, double-checking to make sure my gun and phone were on the night table.

I lived in a middle class apartment complex, a decent distance from a grocery store, strip mall, and a few select restaurants, but since I had just move in a month ago, I had yet to get a satisfactory home security system aside from locks on the door or a safe for my gun like I was supposed to have when carrying a firearm, but next time we had a day off of work or an early night--unheard of so far at the BAU, but I did love my job--I was going to get one.