Chapter 1

Hotch sat in his chair at the round table, looking over his team. He saw them each doing what they do, the way they do it. Spencer Reid was flipping pages faster than one would think possible, while tapping his fingers on the table in an erratic rhythm. What he was tapping, Hotch didn't know. He might have been composing a symphony, calculating the infinite digits of Pi, or playing imaginary tic-tac-toe. Hell, it might just be a nervous tick. With Reid, who knew? Jennifer Jareau was reading, and re-reading each page more than once. She took copious notes. Not because she particularly needed to; it was just a holdover from her days as a media liaison. Old habits. Derek Morgan read closely, and furtively, everything that was in front of him: his files, his notes, anyone else's notes that were within arm's reach. He liked to know things. David Rossi. The old warhorse was writing. He would tap his closed file every now and then with his finger. The index finger on his left hand. And write a few more lines. Hotch didn't know what he was writing. Notes on the case, or notes on his latest book. Possibly both. Rossi was a multi-level thinker. He was definitely not a slacker. When he was working, he was working. But then again, he was due for a new book. Kate Callahan seemed to sense Hotch looking at her. She looked up and smiled. After a moment went back to her work. She would write something in her notes, look something up in the file, add to her notes, check the file again. Like clockwork. Almost. Every once in a while, she wouldn't check or double check. She'd glance at the file, but not really look. Hotch didn't have a firm read on her just yet. She was new. Not brand new and not new to the bureau. Just the BAU. She was a good agent, with a good history, but there was something. Hotch hadn't yet put his finger on it. And then there was Penelope Garcia. The BAU's own ball of sunshine. She might not normally be in the round room when they were all working; she was today. It was alright, they didn't have an open case; they were only working on consults and catching up on paperwork. Everyone liked having her near. She was sort of an antidote to the horror and gore they dealt in. Garcia had an open notebook in front of her, but was more interested in hitting Morgan in the head with gummi bears. He took them, flashed her a smile, and popped the bear in his mouth. Of course, he threw the occasional bear at Reid, who looked around and missed where it came from. And the laughter. Perhaps. Perhaps not, Maybe Reid was just adding his part to the game: the clueless younger brother everyone loves to pick on. Hotch knew Reid wasn't always as naïve or clueless as he played. Hotch smiled and looked back down at his notes. They were more or less indecipherable. He sighed. And a gummi bear hit him square in the forehead.

"You could be arrested, you know," he said without looking up. Another bear hit his notes. Hotch fixed his mouth into his trademark severe line and looked up into the smiling face of Penelope Garcia. "Assault on a Federal Agent."

"Come on Hotch of the High ground," she winked at him, "I heard that sigh. You are just as in need of a distraction as anyone else." He was too, Hotch hadn't been able to concentrate on his case files. He hadn't heard from her in weeks. Which wasn't entirely unusual; if she was working on a case, or undercover; it wasn't uncommon. But he knew her not to be working on anything right now. He couldn't reach her and it was starting to not sit right with him. Hotch relaxed his mouth and smiled at Garcia.

"That's an understatement," he said, popping the bear into his mouth. "But still. We need to get these done. Thanks for the sugar." He smiled big and was rewarded with a beam from Garcia.

"Anytime, Sir!" Garcia winked at him and went back to reading over Morgan's shoulder. Hotch shook his head. His team. They were all different, yet they fit, interlocking pieces that together made something larger, something bigger.

With one piece missing. She'd been gone from the team for a few years, but Hotch had really been feeling her loss these past several months. Eight months. Christmas. Jack had asked to see her. Talk about having the wind knocked out of you. Jack asked about her occasionally, but he hadn't for about a year. Then, wham!, for Christmas Jack asked if he could see her. If that could be his Christmas present. That didn't happen. But it did prompt Hotch to get back in touch with her. Jack got to talk to her, he was happy. Ish. They kept talking. Every other week or so. Then more often. Jack got happier, as he could talk to her on a fairly regular basis. She sent him postcards. Jack likes postcards. There's been nothing for five weeks. Nothing at all. The last contact Hotch'd had with her had been a text. Not cryptic, but not expansive either. A quick text to tell him that she'd be going out on a quick undercover and wouldn't be reachable for a little while. That was a little over a month ago; nothing since. It was inconsistent. She was never inconsistent. A quick undercover, a little while. A month and a half, almost was not quick or little in their line of work. He didn't want to be clingy. She wasn't picking up on any of her phone numbers or email addresses. His calls to her office, okay the one he made there, were answered rather cryptically. The man who answered the phone told him that she "was not in, nor was she expected in this week." When Hotch pressed, the man told him that "he was not permitted to discuss the details" and promptly hung up on him. That was weird. Even for their line of work. Hotch spent about three hours cataloguing the myriad of possibilities before he gave up and waited for her to reach out to him. She never did. Jack was asking if he did something wrong. She wasn't returning Jack's calls either. That was beyond weird. These days, Hotch tried not to imagine where she was or what she was doing. His mind just continually went to a bad place. A sundry of bad places. That's what he was trying not to do now, as Matt Cruz (the Section Chief) walked through the door.

"I'm sorry Aaron, but apparently this can't wait" Cruz stated as he gestured behind him. There were two men striding up the stairs and into the room. Cruz moved to introduce the newcomers when one of them cut him off.

"I'm Richard Watley, from The State Department. This is my counterpart at the Department of Homeland Security, Max Grant. We need to know, right now. When was the last time each of you had any type of contact – in person, by phone, text, email, or carrier pigeon – any type of contact, with Emily Prentiss."

The question landed with a dead weight. It was met by seven similar faces: incredulous and slack-jawed.

TBC