AN: Thank you so much for the reviews...Here's chapter two! Strange little story-but it turns out good. Trust me.

Chapter 2

This cannot be happening. I'm finding it hard to breathe, and my stomach is still in knots. I look down at my arms and see goose flesh as my erector pilli go completely crazy with what I'm feeling. I am feeling...I'm feeling...

Crazy.

No way. I'm not reliving the same day over again. There has to be a logical reason for what's happening. Scientific studies have shown some people have a great sense of déjà vu, the feeling that they'd been some place, or had done something, before. Perhaps that was what was happening to me? An enhanced version of déjà vu.

No one's déjà vu was ever an entire day, ending with their own demise, but...

I shake my head. This is bizarre enough to lay aside science for a moment. Maybe fancy can give me a hint? Charles Dickens wrote in "A Christmas Carol" about a man seeing his past, present, and future. He saw everything, including his impending death.

Of course, I don't have three ghosts joining me on my journey...

The back of my leg twinges with the remnants of my Charley horse, and I start to rub it. That's the same. The smell in my apartment—a slightly sulfuric smell of rotten egg I've mostly ignored and now know is backed up pipes in the building—wafts in the air. And now, as I sit on my couch, bewildered, befuddled, and befogged, I realize something else is the same as yesterday.

My head aches.

That seems strange to me. There's no good reason, no rational motive, that it should hurt. I hadn't smacked it against the nightstand falling out of bed yesterday, but it still smarts, feeling aggravatingly sore. It makes it hard to think, and thinking is what I do best.

Speaking of thinking...it isn't yesterday, is it? It's today.

Again.

The goose flesh on my arms spreads to my shoulders, up my neck, and down my back as fear grips me again. I am a man of science, but I still believe in a higher power. I'm not beyond praying.

Dear God, what is going on?

My headache starts pounding. Slowly, I make my way to my medicine cabinet and withdraw the medication from the good people of Bayer© again, and this time, I don't put them in my mouth. Lo and behold, the same, disgusting, shriveled bug is in the bottom of my water glass, the jointed legs facing upward at me.

Stomach roiling, I stumble my way to my icebox to get a carton of orange juice. I'm not going to turn on my water. I learned from my mistakes. I pop the pills in my mouth and guzzle the drink directly from the container. A second later, I burp loudly from the amount of air I took in with the orange juice.

At that moment, Emily comes to my mind again. She would've laughed and been proud of me. She'd told me I needed to loosen up, relax, and be less rigid.

"Reid. Stop caring about what others think," she'd said. "Go ahead and scratch yourself if something needs itching."

Emily was one of a kind. She'd worked hard to earn respect in a male-dominated field that few could breach. In the BAU team, she'd been "one of the guys," just as tough and hard as we all were—sometimes even tougher. I can't help but smile; none of us guys are unaware of how feminine she really was. She was lovely, and what she had to fill dark, government-issue pants and kevlar vests—

I frown. I can't spend the day thinking about Emily Prentiss again. I did that yest—err...once before. I can't do it again.

Look how that turned out...

I arrive at the BAU just as I did in my déjà vu state, at the exact same time. I go to my desk, lower my European shoulder satchel—or as Em called it, my "man purse"—and put it in my drawer. I'm early, like usual, and there's no one to talk to.

I should've waited and come in later. I need to tell someone what happened. My headache's back, my stomach's aching, and I'm starting to think my goose bumps are so permanent, they'll soon sprout feathers.

Sighing, I put my head in my hands. It's for the best no one's there. They probably wouldn't believe me.

To tell the truth, I don't believe me.

A little voice in my head speaks to me quietly, a bone-deep truth: Emily would've believed you.

I take a deep breath and can picture her face, earnest, intelligent brown eyes staring at me with knowing and compassion. Her hand would've touched mine, held it. She got it. She understood. I was alone for many years growing up. So was she. I was forced to grow up young. So was she. Deep down, we were kindred spirits.

God, I miss her.

Trying to break the mental grasp thoughts of Emily have on me, I glance up at the clock and immediately start sweating. In fifteen minutes, it will be the same time I di—err, attempted to cross the street. Wisely, I am staying away from traffic at that time.

I'm not even going outdoors. Why tempt fate?

However, I can't stay seated at my desk. The need to run, to escape, rolls over me. I look everywhere and see a dull light emanating from under a door. Garcia's lair! It's early... Is she there?

Quickly, I hurry down the hall to her office and knock on the door.

"One second!" she calls out cheerfully in a chipper way that only Garcia can muster.

I hear some shuffling, and then she opens the door. She looks slightly out of breath, a big grin on her face, her cheeks pink, the purple bow just slightly askew on the top of her head.

Behind her stands Morgan, looking far less perky, a hand placed possessively on Garcia's shoulder.

"Boy wonder," she says, still smiling. "What are you doing here so early?"

I could've asked the same thing of her, just to see her blush more, but I don't. Snark isn't my style.

"Baby, he's always here this early," Morgan answers, and then he manages a smile for me. "Hey, kid."

"Oh," Garcia replies, and then her eyes grow wide and excited. "Ooh! Derek and I stopped for coffee, and I brought treats this morning!"

My stomach's still sore; maybe something to eat will help. "What did you bring?"

With a flourish, she opens the bag to me. "Bagels! Have one, sweet genius!"

Reaching in the bag, I withdraw a bagel, and then I smile back at her. "Thanks, Garcia."

I take a bite of the savory bagel and start to chew. It's tasty...kind of nutty.

"There's cream cheese, too," Morgan says with a grin.

"Thanks," I say, and I cough a little. My throat's itchy, feeling weird.

"You have a mega gargantuan amount of choices." Garcia starts unpacking her bag. "There's honey walnut, blueberry, banana mango, pineapple..."

Pineapple. Emily's favorite.

"Strawberry currant, bacon—eww, flesh eaters—chocolate, and of course, plain."

"Sounds—" I pause to cough "—great."

"And then there are the bagels. There's blueberry, everything, egg, cheese..."

Halfway through Garcia's litany of bagels, I feel my throat closing. It's getting very, very hard to breathe. I wave my arms, but they're both facing the bags, unloading the goodies they'd brought.

On a slightly morbid whim, I look at the clock.

Five minutes until I'd...crossed the street.

"I think it's chocolate for me."

"You got it, Hot Stuff," Penelope coos, and then says to me, "Reid, what about—Oh my God, Derek!"

Just before I hit the floor, I think, Emily would've taken a blueberry bagel with her pineapple cream cheese. It was a perfect match...

The alarm rings...the Charley horse begins...and at that moment, I know my personal hell is starting all over again.