AN: If I'm honest, I'm never going to complete this fic. The next chapter in the story refuses to get written and I don't care enough about CM to go back and rewatch the relevant episode to kick start it. However, there were a couple of later chapters written. One of which I happened to find. See below. If I find the other one I'll post that as well. If at some point in the future I actually get the oomph to finish I'll just move them back.

Enjoy (if you still remotely care!)

(What should be something like Chapter 7 but isn't)

Agent Edgerton was laughing at him. It wasn't even a polite chuckle it was full out guffaws that were attracting the attention of the rest of the range. Therefore there were numerous witnesses to Spencer's abysmal failure to pass his firearms requalification.

On any other day the two of them would just redo the test, both men were fully aware that Spencer was more than capable of hitting the target where he wanted to. Indeed for the rest of the test he'd placed his shots consistently to get the barely scraping pass that the BAU expected of him.

Then there was one shot left. A single shot to a kill zone. Only some fool opened the wrong door and the paper target fluttered in the millisecond between the bullet leaving the gun and hitting the target and the shot was a fraction off and Spencer's total score was one under the pass mark.

And Spencer wasn't qualified to carry a gun in his job as an FBI field agent.

Morgan was going to make comments. JJ was going to look all comforting. Gideon was going to be disappointed and Elle and Hotch were going to drag him down to the range to get in more practice before the retest. All in all Spencer's life wasn't going to be worth living.

Ian was looking contrite at all the attention he'd drawn. As well he should, after all the two of them had a standing date to shoot targets every Monday night, as long as one of them wasn't away on a case.

Their Monday night, when the range was generally closed to all but the specialists. A group that happily accepted Spencer and his regular perfect scores into their happy band. Those guys were going to laugh themselves stupid at this as well.

"Sorry Spencer. You can retake in two weeks but in the meantime I'm going to have to take your carry permit. Why did you have to shoot for the pass mark? There's always the chance that the last shot won't hit!"

The worst part about it was Ian was right. Even shooting for the pass Spencer should have gone with a low mark to finish. Bigger areas, less chance of minor fluctuation impacting the hit. A nice clean body shot to round off the evaluation rather than the fancy head shot.

Pride really did screw things up.

Text messages were wonderful things. Before leaving the range the night before Spencer got to send a message to Gideon telling him of his test failure then to ignore the message that came back. Unfortunately they weren't good enough that Spencer could avoid going into the office and facing the team. A team who, just once, where it would be nice if they didn't meet his expectations.

The whistle was a nice touch. A total dick of a move but a nice touch.

Why they had to pull an LDSK case right now, just made it seem like the universe was mocking him. Where were the serial rapists when you needed one? Was it really too much to ask to pull a case where the unsub took an unholy delight in strangling people with piano wire?

No, Spencer fails his gun qualification and has to go work with an out of town SWAT team who didn't know that on all but his worst days could probably outshoot their best ones.

This was going to be hell.

It was offensive is what it was. If he thought for a minute that Hotch was serious with his insult he might be tempted to show him just what the 'kid' could do. So, the verbal abuse he could take, moving the civilians though? Did Hotch really think he was so bad that he'd shoot a random visitor to the ER? To be beaten up by someone with a degree of power over him was hideously familiar but it wasn't difficult to read the intent. When the shot presented itself there was no thinking involved; uncurl and shoot. The missed shot from the qualification made when it was life or death and not subject to stray breezes.

All that was left was to contemplate whether or was safe to fly or if he should utilize the facilities, given they were in the ER, and get a chest x-ray.

The next Monday night wasn't spent on the shooting range. Hotch had pushed through his clearance based on his shot in the ER. Even if the rumour in the bullpen was that he just didn't want to spend more time trying to teach Spencer to shoot. Qualification dealt with he just had to dodge drinks with the team to make his date. It was a shame really. Hotch would probably fit in well with this group and Spencer might have given in and invited him along if not for his pregnant wife.

No, Spencer refused the entreaties of his team-mates, levelling them to think what they would about his activities, so he could join the Monday night crew for drinks.

These were quiet, each man alone with his thoughts as they gave silent support to one of their number forced to kill in the line of duty. A task that always left a mark.

This was the group of men who understood. These were the ones who had to take the kill shot to save a group of people whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Police officers went their whole careers without discharging their weapons outside a range. They were the lucky ones.

This band of brothers would never look at the world that way again.

Not a single one had ever wanted to induct their baby agent mascot into their ranks but now that he was here through circumstance they could do nothing but be there as knowing support.