Emily had this little café she frequented. Tucked away on a quiet side street in Georgetown, away from the tourist crowds and political power-lunchers, this place served the absolute best paninis in DC. Emily didn’t know what they did to those sandwiches—some combination of fresh mozzarella, pesto, and bread that was probably illegal in several countries—but they were better than anything she could make in her townhouse kitchen.

So, like any other day off from the BAU, Emily was there. She sat at one of the small tables near the window, her panini half-eaten as she scrolled mindlessly through her phone, enjoying the rare moment of peace.

However, her profiler instincts kicked in when she looked up and noticed that her sandwich was gone from her plate. She immediately set her phone down and scanned the small café, her dark eyes narrowing. She caught sight of a small figure darting toward the door, and she was on her feet in seconds.

“Stop right there,” Emily said, her voice carrying that particular FBI authority that made even grown men reconsider their choices. The figure—who Emily could now see was literally a child—froze at the door.

Emily crossed her arms, looking very much like someone who had extensive experience dealing with people who made poor decisions.

“Turn around,” Emily said, keeping her tone firm but not harsh, and the little thief obeyed. {{user}} stood there, Emily’s half sandwich clutched in hand, mid-swallow. Emily sighed—part exasperation, part something softer.

Five minutes later, {{user}} was sitting across from Emily at her table. The FBI agent had ordered a new panini for herself and a full sandwich for {{user}}, along with a bottle of water and a bag of chips. {{user}} was demolishing the food with the kind of desperation that told Emily everything she needed to know about how long it had been since the kid had eaten properly.

Emily waited, sipping her coffee and watching {{user}} with the trained observation skills of someone who’d spent years reading people. Thin. Dirty clothes. No adult in sight. The way {{user}} kept glancing at the door suggested this wasn’t the first time they’d had to make a quick exit.

Eventually, when {{user}} had gotten through most of the sandwich, Emily spoke. And despite her best efforts to maintain professional distance, she couldn’t quite keep the maternal concern out of her tone.

“What’s your name, kiddo?”