This chapter is for you, Tonnie - you know why! And I need to say thank you to Susan, Tracia, and Annika for encouraging me to keep writing this pairing. And to those of you who keep reading, thank you! Please comment and let me know you're out there!!

The only thing that should surprise us is that there are still some things that can surprise us.

Francois De La Rochefoucauld
1613-1680, French Classical Writer

Some signs in life are hard to ignore. No matter how hard you try, they throw themselves in your face, over and over again. If you don't notice them, they also tend to bring friends to help enforce their message. This morning, she was being sent a strong message, one she couldn't ignore.

They'd been in their new house for nearly three weeks and despite the increasing issues he'd been having with his ear, things were moving along quite well. She'd talked him into going back to the doctor and he'd even had a visit scheduled, until the BAU caught a case and he hopped on the jet with the team.

He knew damn well that he shouldn't be flying, but there wasn't any other option and he wasn't ready to admit that things had gotten too bad for him to continue his normal job functions. So, without saying anything to him, she called and rescheduled the visit, hoping he'd be home from Nebraska before the new date she'd scheduled. Surgery was imminent, no matter what he said.

She'd been so tired during the past week, just dragging herself through each day was almost more than she could accomplish. With Hotch being out of town, she could come home and crash every night, without having to explain, or have him worrying about her non stop.

She'd fallen asleep early last night, waking for his late call. He felt guilty for waking her, but she dismissed it and talked with him, listening as he sorted through case details, offering thoughts and ideas. She'd fallen right back to sleep when they hung up. This morning, however, she was exhausted. She overslept, hitting the snooze bar twice. Dragging herself to the shower, she let the hot water beat down on her for a moment before she was hit with a wave of nausea.

Hopping out of the shower, she made it to the toilet just in time to evacuate her stomach contents. Shit, she thought, this is all I need. A freaking stomach virus?

Forcing herself back into the shower, she finished, then toweled off and reached into the medicine cabinet for her birth control pills. As she reached for them, she realized that she had taken the last placebo pill yesterday and that she should be starting a new pack. This in itself wasn't too big of a deal, but when she realized that she hadn't gotten her period during those placebo pills, like she had every month since she was 18 years old, it became a very big deal.

"No," she said aloud. "Oh no…" She wouldn't allow her mind to process the thoughts that lurked way in the back. "This has been a stressful month or so…" she continued, still talking aloud. "You've been through a lot. That's what it is. It's normal for women to skip a period, right?"

She got dressed quickly, making her way down to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee before drying her hair. As she poured the steaming black liquid into her mug, the smell invaded her nose. Normally, this was a good thing. This morning, however, it caused her stomach to flip violently and she ran to the sink, throwing up again.

"Shit…" she sighed, "It's got to be a stomach virus."

Shaking her head, she went back upstairs to brush her teeth and dry her hair.

XXXXX

The morning was a blur of paperwork and nausea. Thanks to an impromptu visit from Penelope Garcia around 10 am, she discovered that she could tolerate green tea with sugar and sugar cookies, Pen's idea of something that someone with a stomach bug should be able to tolerate. She finally packed it in around noon, deciding that she was getting nothing accomplished at the office and should just go home and sleep it off.

On the way out of the building, she discovered the side effect of tolerating the tea and cookies as that now that she had something in her stomach, she also had something to force out when a strong waive of nausea hit on her way out the door. She rushed to the trash can by the door and with a horrible retching sound, the cookies and tea left her stomach.

"Lisa," David Rossi's concerned voice began, "Are you okay?"

Leaning over the trash can, she saw his shoes and denim clad legs standing next to her. "Stomach bug…" she mumbled.

He bent and picked up her purse and briefcase. "I hope you're on your way out."

"I am," she said, standing up slowly, her head spinning.

"No offense, Little Girl," he gently said, "But you look like shit."

"I knew I could count on you to cheer me up, Rossi," she tried, with a weak smile.

"Come on, I'll drive you home," he began, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

"No, I'm okay," she dismissed, as they walked into the parking lot. "I'll be fine once I get in the car. I'll roll down the windows and let the air hit my face."

He shook his head, "I'm taking you home."

"If you do that, I've got no way into the office tomorrow, remember, Hotch is in Nebraska?"

"I'll pick you up in the morning," he replied.

"Dave," she softly said, "I will be fine. I promise, please just let me drive myself home? I'm just going to lie down and crash and sleep this off, okay?"

He studied her face for a moment, then, "Okay, but you will call me once you get into house, promise?"

"I promise," she smiled, noting the concern on her old friend's face. "I'm okay, Dave."

"Call me," he insisted.

He had helped her into the car and watched as she drove off. Thankfully, she was half way home when the next round of nausea hit, forcing her to pull over on I-95. Sitting there, watching traffic whiz by and waiting for her head to clear, she was suddenly, dreadfully certain that this wasn't a stomach virus. She had no fever, her skin wasn't clammy, well until after she threw up, and none of the other side effects were present.

"Okay, O'Reilly," she said, centering herself, "We're going to stop playing this game. This what if crap isn't going to get us anywhere." She pulled back into traffic, plotting her course of action. "This has happened before. You know the deal. Do the test, it comes up negative and the next morning you wake up and Aunt Flow makes her visit. Simple, easy, predictable…"

Yet in her gut, she knew this time was different.

XXXXX

Four hours later, Lisa O'Reilly Hotchner had documented proof that this time was different. Sitting on the floor of their master bathroom, she looked around at the 15 small white plastic sticks laying on the green bathmat and felt all of her carefully laid future plans slipping away.

It was over kill, she decided, looking at the sticks. She really didn't need to pick up one of each type of test, even though, she knew that sometimes they gave false positives, but 15 false positives? No, she decided, that wasn't possible.

Lying back onto the tile floor, she breathed deeply, willing her mind to process the facts in front of her. She was pregnant. Fifteen home pregnancy tests couldn't be wrong, could they? Reaching up onto the sink, she grabbed her cell phone and dialed her doctor's office. She knew they'd be there, they had hours until 6 pm. After she explained her situation, they told her to stop by on her way to work and they'd run a blood and urine test for her. She'd have her results the next afternoon.

As she hung up with the doctor's office, the phone rang, causing her to jump. She answered it quickly. "Hello?"

"You feeling any better?" Rossi's voice asked.

"Yeah, Dave, I am," she smiled, touched by his concern. "I've been sleeping all afternoon."

"Good," he replied, "I'm probably heading out of here early. Since Jennifer is in Nebraska, I've got no one to eat dinner with. Why don't I stop and pick up something and bring it up?"

"I'm half an hour out of your way, Dave," she said, softly, "And food just isn't appealing right now."

"Well, what if I told you that I was standing in your driveway with take out from the deli?"

"You are not," she said, panic hitting her, as she looked around the floor.

"I am…come on and let me in before your chicken soup gets cold," he laughed, breaking the connection.

"Shit," she spat, gathering the sticks into a pile on the floor. "Shit…" She stood, taking a look at herself in the mirror. She really did look like shit, which was good because she felt like shit as well. Bending over to pick up the sticks wasn't happening, so she made a mental note that he would just have to use one of the two and a half other bathrooms in the house.

With a sigh, she made her way down stairs.

XXXXX

David Rossi was surprised to see how much worse Lisa looked when she opened the door. Wearing a pair of sweatpants and a huge zip front black FBI sweatshirt that made her pale skin look even more ghostly, she gave him a tired smile. She looked tired, drawn, and pale, all of which lent to her stomach virus theory. What was missing, however, was the clammy skin, the fever, the cloudy eyes. None of those were present. He found it odd, very odd.

"Yeah, I look like shit," she tiredly laughed, "I know."

"You sure as hell do," he agreed, walking in and closing the door behind him. "Come on; let's get some chicken soup in you."

He'd settled her at the kitchen table and watched as she slowly ate a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"How do you feel?" he asked, as she sipped at the Gatorade he'd brought.

"Better," she agreed, "Exhausted?"

"Why don't you let me help you up to bed?" he said, standing. Then, with a twinkle in his eye he said, "Just promise not to tell Jennifer that you and I were alone in your bedroom."

She laughed, standing. "God and I'm just so desirable right now, too. Didn't know puking turned you on, Dave…"

"Let me tell you," he laughed with her, glad to see her with a bit more color. "Come on; let's get you to bed…"

He led her upstairs and into the master bedroom. As they hit the room, she made a strange strangling sound and ran for the bathroom. He followed her quickly, holding her hair back while she got sick.

"This brings back memories," he mused.

"Very funny," she gasped, throwing up again.

"Let it out, Little Girl," he said, as her body began to relax. He helped her up and stood her in front of the sink. As she brushed her teeth, he stepped back, feeling something under his foot. "What the hell?" he asked, turning to find a pile of white plastic sticks.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed the small plus sign on one of the sticks, next to it was a stick with two pink lines, and then, next to that one that gave him confirmation to his suspicions, the stick that said the word "pregnant." He turned to her to find her looking back at him, a wild look in her eyes.

"Yeah," she said, "It's not a stomach bug…"

"Holy shit, Little Girl," he laughed, "Does Hotch know?"

She shook her head, "I just did them…this afternoon."

"There's gotta be a dozen sticks here, Lisa," he began, still laughing. "You did them all?"

"There are fifteen and yes, I did," she concluded, setting down the lid of the toilet seat and sitting on it.

"And all of them are positive?"

She nodded, a look of finality on her face. "This can't be happening, Dave…"

"Looks like it is…"

"No," she insisted, emotions straining, "You don't get it. I'm on the pill. I've been on the pill since I was 18 years old and never, not one day, have I missed it. Not one freaking day have I varied from my pill taking schedule. Not one, Dave. Do you understand?!?!?!"

"They say no birth control method is 100%," he offered.

"Warn JJ, Dave…the pill lies," she went on, her eyes wild, her breathing rapid. "I mean…this can't be happening. It's too soon…he's gotta have surgery…"

He watched as her actions became more manic and knew that if he didn't step in, she'd lead herself right into a round of hyperventilation. This couldn't be good for her or the baby. Taking her by her arms, he spoke quietly but firmly. "The first thing you need to do is call your doctor…"

"Did it," she said, eyes still wild, "I go on the way in to work tomorrow."

"Okay, the second thing you need to do is breathe slowly and calm down. If these fifteen tests are correct, you've got a little one to worry about now…"

"Shit, Dave…" she said, eye welling with tears, "Me? A mother? I can't frickin' do this!"

"You can so," he softly smiled, "You're one of the most caring women I've ever known…and you do one hell of a job with Jack."

"But that's different…I have to do this whole pregnancy thing, Dave! I can't do this part…"

"Why can't you?"

"Cuz it's scaring the shit outta me," she admitted, her eyes giving away her fear. "If this is true, there's a little human being in me. How creepy is that?"

He resisted the urge to laugh, "Only you would think of that as creepy."

"Well it is!" she insisted. "Dear God, it's like the movie Alien…there's this living, breathing, thing in me…that will eventually be out here on its own…" She shivered.

Unable to control it this time, he laughed loudly, "Lisa, you need to stop."

"You're laughing," she pouted.

"I am," he agreed, "And don't let Hotch hear you call his offspring an alien. That might just set him over the edge."

"Oh God…Hotch!" she said, alarm claiming her features. "What's he going to say?"

"If I know him, he'll be overjoyed," he fondly said. "He's good at this fatherhood thing and he misses a lot of time with Jack. Maybe having another child will help him deal with that."

Lisa dropped her head in her hands and sat for a full minute before looking up at him, "You can't tell a soul about this…"

"You know me well enough by now to know I don't tell tales," he said with a smile. "Now, let's get you and Little Hotch into bed."

"Little Hotch?" she laughed, "What if it's a girl?"

"A little Lisa?" he shook his head, "The world is not ready for that, Little Girl."