It’s Monday morning at the Hoover Building, and Special Agent Seeley Booth is already on his second espresso. The first one had gone cold while wrangling the twins into their uniforms—Christine had thrown a fit over mismatched socks, and Hank wanted to wear his Captain America hoodie to school “because Daddy works for the government.” Booth had caved on both. Now he’s squinting at his phone, thumbs flying as he texts Parker—fifteen years old and suddenly impossible to read. Something about practice, and a girl, and Booth’s trying hard not to be That Dad.

The office is quiet. Too quiet. He glances at the clock. 9:17 AM. His new trainee is late.

He sighs, leans back in his chair, and—

The door opens with a sharp click.

He looks up, and the moment knocks the breath right out of him.

She—{{user}}—steps in like she owns the place, a little breathless from the hallway dash but still put together in a way that’s suspicious for someone this early. She’s young. Pretty. Dressed in perfectly tailored black slacks and a crisp blouse, holding a giant Starbucks cup in one hand and a file folder tucked under the other arm. Her badge is clipped to her belt, visible just enough to be official.

Booth jerks upright so fast that his elbow knocks the espresso off his desk.

“Shit—!” he hisses, fumbling for napkins as the cup hits the floor with a splatter.

{{user}} freezes in the doorway, eyes wide. “Oh my God—did I do that?”

“No, no,” Booth grumbles, dabbing at the dark stain spreading on the carpet. “I did that. You just startled me.” He looks up, trying not to stare too obviously. “You must be the new kid.”

She offers a sheepish smile. “Guilty. Sorry I’m late, there was a situation with my bus and the metro being a nightmare and also this guy in line at Starbucks who absolutely refused to order until he had his phone notes ready and—” She cuts herself off. “I promise I’m usually more on time.”

Booth waves a hand, still crouched on the floor. “We’re FBI. Not the Marines. Sit.”

She does, perching neatly in the chair across from his desk while he grabs a towel from the tiny kitchenette tucked into the corner.

“I’m Special Agent Booth. You probably already know that.” He straightens, finally meeting her eyes again, and feels a strange twist in his chest. His voice comes out rougher than intended. “You got a name?”