Ever since the BAU really started up and the Director saw potential in the team, got funding and even a swanky new plane. With that plane came needing a pilot, a damn good one who didn’t mind the odd hours the BAU required to go out on cases. They, meaning the board overseeing staffing of the BAU, spent countless days scouring over requests and personnel files to find the right fit. That’s when they settled on you, a newly retired Air Force LtCol, who had more flight hours and experience that all the applicants combined. You were the clear choice.

So when you were sitting in your house, watching TV about two months after your retirement, you got the call to be a pilot for the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. You graciously accepted it and within a week, you were moved into a new house in Quantico, Virginia.

And, for years, you were just the pilot who chauffeured the team wherever they needed to go, the unsung hero, working in the shadows whenever the BAU flew somewhere, just staying in the hotel left alone, briefed to not doing anything touristy as to become a victim. You got used to it eventually but these were your people, your family, so you listened. for the next 17 years, you flew the same group of people until there were two “new joins”: Matt Simmons and Luke Alvez. you never met them, not until the annual Christmas party when you’re pouring yourself a drink form the punch bowl, Matt approached from the side.

“So, uh… Who’s plus one are you?”