A/N: Here it is... the prologue to the sequel to "The Difficult Kind"... I'm avoiding saying "the long-awaited", as it hasn't been that long since I finished the last story, for one thing, and for another, I don't know that it's been "awaited". This is just to catch everyone up to speed on what's happened where we last left off. I'm not focusing simply on Reid and Lila this time, but on other characters as well. We'll see what happens.

Holden was going to be tall.

Spencer Reid was sure of this, watching his son pull himself up on the chair in the corner of the bedroom to standing. Reid, of course, wasn't short by any means, but his son, not yet a year old, was already lanky. And skinny. And smart.

Reid enjoyed mornings like this, where he could just sit and watch his son moving about the room, like a real little person, with his own mind made up about what he was going to do and why. These were their moments, those father and son moments that Reid was sure every father (even his own) had with their sons at some point during their lives. And Spencer Reid enjoyed being a father.

Holden Sutton Archer-Reid was the perfect combination of his parents. He had taken from his mother her piercing blue eyes and never-ceasing confidence, and from his father he had received brains and a mop of unruly brown hair that, even at nine months, was already starting to fall over his eyes. Reid enjoyed watching him sit on the floor, his legs folded with a picture book sitting in front of him. He would sit, staring at that book for hours at a time, flipping every page, until he got to the end, and then he would shove it in front of him as he crawled to wherever his nearest parent was seated and he would hand it to him or her as if to say "I'm finished".

Reid regretted on many occasions that he would eventually have to climb out of his bed and put on his clothes and leave to go to work, where he wouldn't be able to sit and examine his child's every waking moment. He was obsessed with him. And he felt okay with that.

When Lila screamed in the other room, Reid and Holden both jumped and their heads turned to look at the door. Reid, quietly, climbed out of his bed and stooped to lift his son into his arms. Holden looked up at him, questioningly, and Reid simply set his hand on the back of his head, holding onto him tightly as he carried him into the living room. He peered around the doorframe slowly.

"Lila?"

When he saw her, standing on the couch, her hands cupped over her mouth and her eyes revealing the grin that her hands covered, he relaxed.

"What's going on?"

"Oh my God," she said simply when she lowered her hands and fell back down on the couch. When she looked up at him, she found that her husband and son were giving her the same odd look of confusion, their heads both tipped to the side in identical gestures of "What?". She took a deep breath.

"They announced the Oscar nominations this morning."

"Oh. Okay." Reid wasn't exactly sure what to say about that. "I take it your film got nominated?"

She nodded, and pressed her lips together to supress another gleeful shriek.

"Not just the film... I... I got nominated."

And with that, she fell off the couch, onto her back, and she squealed. Reid looked at Holden, who was staring at him intently. Reid grinned.

"Yes... that's your genepool."

And Holden nodded as though he knew exactly what that meant.

William LaMontagne Jr. was tired of looking at boxes. In fact, he believed that if he never saw another box, in any shape, size, or description for the rest of his life, it would be too soon.

"I don' remember what the floor looks like," he said, almost sadly, his low Cajun drawl making him sound even more pathetic.

JJ Jareau smiled from her perch on a box in the corner.

"It'll get better, once we put everything away," she said, and he looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Once we put everything away? We're not puttin' everything away. I'm done. The boxes are inside the house. I'm not touching them ever again."

"We don't have any silverware," JJ noted, and he held up his hands, stepping away from the boxes.

"Don' need 'em."

"You don't have any clothes," she smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. He grinned.

"Don' need those either, girlie."

JJ screeched when he vaulted (with surprising agility) over the boxes that separated them, then she laughed as he pressed his lips to hers. When he pulled back, his hands on either side of her face, he smiled at her.

"I think I like being married t'you."

"I know," she responded, and he kissed her again, this time on the forehead.

Penelope Garcia had taken so many pictures in the last six months that she was still amazed that her laptop had not grown arms, hands, legs, and feet so that it could stand up, slap her across the face, and storm out of the room in a huff.

When work was slow, she sat in her office, her door only slightly ajar, and she sorted them, one by one, reminiscing.

First, she began with the few pictures she had of Reid's wedding. For the most part, they were photographs of Lila getting ready, as she'd been with her almost the entire time beforehand. She had a few stray shots of the dress fitting, as well as Reid and Morgan in the tuxedo shop, hunting. She had a picture of the bridal shop where she had gone with Lila to help her decide on a gown, a veil, a cake, a bouquet, and also, she suspected, a fatted calf, though this she didn't have a photograph of, so she had nothing to document that this had in fact happened.

These photographs had been sorted into categories on her harddrive, each noted with the event, date, and location. She moved on to sorting through her next folder.

Her photographs of the Archer-Reid wedding reception, which had been reorganized and held three months after the actual wedding, were more abundant. The reception had been casual, on a beach in Hawaii. The gathering had been small, even smaller than the wedding itself, with only a few stray friends, family, and, of course, the team, and their significant others respectively.

She had pictures of everything. The "other cake" (Lila had taken to calling it that because her first cake, her beautiful, four tiered, fondet covered masterpiece had gone to waste, and they now had a one layer sheet cake, slathered with buttercream and several beach themed pieces of plastic), the flower arrangements, Derek Morgan's rear in his swimming trunks, a surprisingly disappointing sight, she had found. "Your ass is magic, but those are some muggle shorts," she had told him, and he had responded, dryly, "Thank you, Miss Granger" and smirked as he walked away to get himself another Corona.

She had photographs of JJ and Bill, who, though she didn't know at the time, very nearly engaged, and she had images of Hotch and Haley. These particular images irked her, as she was unused to seeing him in anything but a suit, and seeing him in swimming trunks and a loud Hawaiian print shirt, holding a coconut drink in one hand, and his wife's waist in the other made her head spin a bit. She photographs of Emily, looking unfairly beautiful in a stark white bikini and a match sarong. Her pictures of Gideon were her favorite, because, unlike the other team members, he had taken the theme very lightly, and was completely out of place in his jeans and t-shirt, his head covered in a baseball cap to keep his bald spot from burning in the sun.

Then, of course, she had photographs of Reid, and Lila, and Holden, still a small, pink potato head in his tiny hawaiian onesie. Lila was another amazing beauty, already back to her pre-baby weight, and showing it off, and Reid, looking incredibly awkward in shorts and a t-shirt, looked healthier and happier than he had in all the time she'd known him.

And adult. He almost looked like a grown-up.

Garcia had pictures of Holden at every stage of his short life, because, in her opinion, it was going to take their whole village to raise him, and she decided that it was her responsibility to document that feat. She had pictures of JJ's wedding, and couldn't help but sigh at the images of JJ in her gown, a white satin work of art that made her already healthy look glow like she was actually radiating sunlight. Looking at JJ in her wedding dress, she felt, was like committing suicide by skin cancer, and Garcia secretly admitted that she was a bit jealous.

The door opened behind her so quietly that she didn't notice the figure stepping up behind her, and she jumped when a hand settled on her shoulder.

"You're next," Derek Morgan said, and without seeing his face, she could sense the grin. She looked up at him.

"I don't think I'm legally allowed to marry my World of Warcraft character, so I don't think it's gonna happen, precious," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. He rolled his eyes.

"You caught the bouquet, sweet girl, you have to get married next. I think it's a law now."

"Right there in the Constitution next to that law about bear arms," she nodded, then looked back at her computer screen. Her now extended team was smiling back at her. She sighed and clicked on the red X at the corner of the screen.