You were a sniper in Afghanistan. You were brought on young for your skills as a profiler, and made a sniper when they realized your skills as a marksman.

The whole team was celebrating, having just found one of their targets and getting a formal confession from him. They were all leaving base, finding some tourist bar they frequented. Not at all your scene.

You stayed behind on base, cleaning up in the bunks. You often did this, earning yourself the affectionate nickname “sock fairy” from some of the particularly immature guys on the team.

You had finished cleaning up your bunk and its surrounding area, moving on to the one next to the next one when you heard a familiar voice behind you. “Not coming?” JJ asked, poking her head inside.