"There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature."-Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

"This one's local. Washington P.D. have asked us to consult on a series of family homicides," declared JJ wiping sweat from her brow, "Last Sunday, Joseph Setterfield, his wife Angie and their seven year old son Noel were all found dead in their home. The mother was found bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat, the son was found with his throat slashed and the father was found with a bullet wound in his right temple."

"Murder-suicide ?" proposed Rossi while scanning the pictures of the crime scenes carefully.

"That is what they originally thought. Until the next day Benjamin, Tracy and Philip Harris were all found dead in their apartment, exact same MO."

The pictures of the families flashed on the screen. Their bright eyes staring at them mockingly from the screen. That had always been the most difficult part, to look at pictures of the victims when they were happy and innocent and then remember that they were no longer alive. would never kiss her husband again or cuddle with her son on the couch. would never pick up his son from football practice or put his arm around his wife again.

"There's a distinctive pattern in victimology," pointed out Reid, "two white middle class families with a seven year old son; brunet husband, green-eyed wife, seven year old son," he stopped for a second focusing on a particular section of his file. "guys, I think they might be surrogates for the unsub's family."

"He murdered the second family only 24 hours after he murdered the first, that's not a long cooling off period." pointed out Morgan.

"You're right, that means that we have less than 20 hours to find whoever is responsible for this," affirmed Hotch. "Alright everybody let's go."

"You have reached the FBI's office of supreme genius ! How may I may I save your ass today ?" said Penelope Gracie leaning forward in her seat, her fingers at the ready over her keyboard.

"Hey baby girl, I need you to search for domestic abuse cases involving seven year old boys in D.C., go back 25 years alright ?"

"Oh honey," began Garcia, "that's not even a challenge. Let's see…" she trailed off, her fingers tapping manically on the keyboard in look for something that would help her team solve this case. "I have about 170 matches you're gonna need to be more specific sugar."

"Alright listen, the mother has green eyes, he probably nearly failed university, has a criminal record from his teenage years: vandalism, petty theft, and works a boring desk job like a secretary or an accountant does that help ?" inquired Morgan. Their time was running out, he'd already killed a third family much quicker than they had anticipated, Sebastian, Julie and George Stevenson had been found dead minutes after they'd delivered their profile to the local police force. It had bothered him, and he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if they'd been quicker, delivered their profile just a little bit earlier… but such thoughts were pointless. He sighed audibly.

"What's the matter my chocolate thunder ?"

"Nothing, just…I'm just…He got another family."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. But in other news I think I found your unsub. Robert Woodson was physically and emotionally abused by his drunk father John Woodson. His mother, Diane Woodson, seems to have been largely absent from his life, she never came with him to hospital visits, she neglected to have him vaccinated, didn't drop him off for school, nothing. In fact one of his teachers reported that he found the lack of maternal figure in Robert's life was severely affecting his attitude towards his fellow classmates. Anyway when he was seven, a neighbor filed a police complaint about the noise, when the police got there they found our charming beating the crap out of his son with a beer bottle. Afterwards he went on to study accounting but he nearly failed, scrapped by with a barely passing. "

"Please tell me you have an address." pleaded Morgan

"Oh sugar you have got to stop underestimating me like this. He lives in 2371 Cornell street. Go get him my beautiful chocolate Adonis" she purred at the last words voluntarily letting a flirty intonation to her voice.

He smirked. "Woman, have I told you how much I love you ?" he teased

"Only every day. Now go get him tiger !"

"Guys ! Garcia found the unsub !"

And that was the last thing she heard before the communication ended. She sighed, this was the tough part. Sitting here, worrying, constantly wondering wether her babies were going to make it out of here alive. She shook her head to get rid of the horrifying vision of her team members' eyes wide and unblinking, their faces covered in blood. Whenever one of them called her, she always felt dread and an odd sinking sensation at the bottom of her stomach. They'd always come back to her safely, though sometimes injured, but she was thankful all the same. Still this time, after hanging up withMorgan, she felt the odd feeling in her stomach grow and every pore of her being radiated anxiety. "Please, please, please, please let the be okay." she muttered to herself her hands fidgeting with the many gadgets that were on her desk while her foot tapped constantly against the floor. "Please be okay."

The phone rang once before a frantic Penelope Garcia answered the phone.

"Hello ? Prentiss is that you ?"

"Hey Penelope." Her voice sounded hoarse from screaming, and she felt too exhausted to talk really, but this had to be done. There was no way to break the news gently. Maybe she should use the bandaid approach ?

" Emily, what's up ? What's wrong ? Is somebody hurt ?" The long silence following her question of told her all she needed to know. She gasped and felt her eyes prickle with unshed tears as her mind started to go through every single possible scenario that could have happened, and even those that couldn't have happened.

"Is it Reid ? Is it JJ? Is it-" she was interrupted by Emily who decided to use the band-aid method after all. "It's Morgan, he was shot pretty bad. In the head." she sighted as she heard her friend sob helplessly in the phone. "Garcia I'm sorry. But he's alive. He's being transported to the hospital right now." When she had recovered from her shock she took a few deep breaths and tried to stop imagining her chocolate Adonis with a bullet through his head. "Text me the name of the hospital. I'm coming." Her tone left no place for questions. She was coming, and that was final. "Of course." And that was that, three minutes later a tear-stricken Penelope was making her way to D.C. Praying like hell that he would survive this. He had too.

"A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you." - Elbert Hubbard

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story. I'm sorry if this chapter was a little slow. But never fear ! You will meet Spencer's "love interest" in the next chapter. Please review and tell me your thoughts about the story.