2 weeks earlier
As the view falls upon the Behavioral Analysis Unit offices of the FBI its almost as though you're looking in on the same stereotypes you'd find in High School. There's the handsome jock, guy and girl, and the brains, guy and girl. Even if a blind person would walk in, they would know it. A handsome, dark-skinned man is adamitly talking football with a just as passionate blue eyed blonde. Then to the left of those two you find two more people, a skinny/awkward man and a fair skinned dark haired woman, in an in depth hushed conversation about the social psychology of serial arsonists.
Above them, on a risen catwalk stand two men. One older, one younger, looking on as though looking over their children. These two, much like the others are carrying on their own conversation.
"They aren't going to be happy about this Hotch." A rugged looking man in his late forties early fifties stated.
"Well it's their job. It'll keep em on their toes." He says as he walks down the steps towards his young team. " Conference room, 5 minutes."
As they take their seats Morgan groans, "We literally just finished the last cane an hour ago. Why doesn't someone send these creeps out a memo saying that we need a break? So if they could put their sick little fantasies on hold for a few days it would be greatly appreciated."
"Do you think you could whine anymore?" Asked JJ, the teams media liaison and, whether it was official or not, an experience only profiler.
"Well," Morgan said as he dropped down on the floor beside her, grabbing and tugging her leg like a little child. "I could throw a temper tantrum. Do you think that would get me a day off?"
"It might get you a kick in the head, and that might get you a day off." JJ stated flatly with a sinister grin.
"Morgan! She really is going to kick you one of these days. And with ten plus years of soccer under her belt I bet it'd hurt." At the sound of Hotchner's voice Derek shot up like a rocket and looking at his feet as thought he had gotten caught sneaking cookies out of the cookie jar.
"Do we really have another case already?" Emily Prentiss, the newest member of the BAU asked.
"I'm really sorry to say that we do." Gideon injected as he walked into the room. "Jessica Hardley, Laura Sinton, Sarah Spruce, and Allison Brett." With each name he put a picture up on the whiteboard. All pictures contained said woman, laid out as though in a deep slumber. Only the slit wrists on each victim told the team otherwise. "All lived in the suburbs of Montana. All are only mothers. All had a son or daughter between the ages of 2 and 5."
"The local P.D. has asked us to intervene seeing as they haven't ever had a case like this. Wheels up in and hour and a half." Yelled Hotchner as he walked from the room.
"Here we go again." Whispered Reid as he gathered his things.