(Proper Reading Order for My Stories: "Horror Movies, Statistics, and A Lifetime", "For Now and Forever", "Apocalypse Now", "Super Hero Family" and "Hope". AN and HOPE aren't finished just yet, but I am writing as fast as I can fit them in—and I don't have a clue how I am able to write nearly six thousand words total AFTER I write all day for work…CM stories are just flowing like crazy!)

APOCALYPSE TWO

The police station was small and outdated. There wasn't a female officer in the entire building. JJ and Emily knew immediately that this place was going to be riddled with good ole boys.

Goody. Just what they needed. They'd both experienced it before. Some men just didn't think women should be in law enforcement. JJ'd gotten it because of her china doll appearance, Emily'd gotten it for just about everything—the way she'd curled her hair, the way she'd dressed, the way she'd backed down, the way she didn't. The question in both their minds, as they followed the head detective into the back office they'd been relegated to, was just what where they going to have to do to prove themselves this time. Garcia hadn't experienced what the two agents had, so she paid it little mind—though she got more than her fair share of looks as the team walked in.

Unfair, unjust, just not right—but it was just the way it was.



Detective Scott Palmers was around Hotch's age, slightly shorter, built more like Morgan. Emily supposed he was a handsome man, but the minute he opened his mouth he lost all his charm.

"I want you all to know we don't put much stock in all that talk about profiling. This isn't some television show." Palmers said, looking at the group derisively, eyes lingering on the women for only a second. "Second, we have a strict way of running investigations in this office. I take you to remember that."

"Sir, respectively, we are here to help you catch the man who killed these people. We will be running the investigation our way. But you will be making the collar, not us. That's not we're after." Hotch began, tone calm, resolute, and final. "Still, we are well aware that this isn't a television show—what we do is the real thing. And we're all damned good at it. Now if you're ready to begin we need to see everything, every piece of evidence, every witness report, everything you've got will tell us a bit more about this man."

"I'll have Jimmy round up the files. Is there anything else you'll be needing? A couple of chairs for the ladies, perhaps?" He stared at JJ a moment, taking in the pale complexion and the circles under her eyes, before turning to run his gaze over Emily, in her blue tank top and black dress slacks. He smirked and it rankled Emily, before he turned to look at the third woman in the room. He actually looked pained at the bright red and white polka dot blouse Garcia was wearing.

No one on the team had missed the barrenness of the room they'd found themselves in. All that was in it was a metal shelf, surrounded by four gray walls. And it was small—most likely used as an interrogation area. Cold and unwelcoming. Deliberately.

"We'll need chairs, a white board and a table large enough to spread everything out on. Other than that, we need the detectives who first drew the case." Hotch said.

"Yes, sir. Agent Hotchner." Palmers said. He passed by Emily on his way out the door and his eyes lingered minutely on the skin exposed by the low V of her blouse.

She wanted to fold her arms over her chest but knew better. She couldn't let him win his little game.

She was better than that. Still, if she'd drawn his attention rather than JJ or Garcia it was a blessing in disguise, really. The younger woman was not up to dealing with lecherous hick cops at the moment. Poor thing would have her hands full with the media as it was. And Garcia would shred the man. Pity, they'd not be able to let her, but it wouldn't be good for the team's reputation.

It took nearly an hour for the supplies Hotch ordered to arrive. Two young officers, in there early thirties, carried the five folding chairs and the table in a few successive trips. They set them up almost wordlessly, then the shorter of the two wheeled in a battered bulletin board.

"I'm Jimmy Allen, I got the first call." The older, taller, one said, holding out a hand to Hotchner. The man had just looked like he was in charge, though Hotchner and the team had said very little. "I'm sorry about the Sheriff. He can be a bit exclusive to strangers."

"It's nice to meet you, I'm SSA Hotchner and this is my team, SSA Derek Morgan, Dr. Spencer Reid, SA Jennifer Jareau—whom I believe you spoke with on the phone—Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, and SSA Emily Prentiss. What can you tell us about what you've found so far?"

"I'm not sure what we've got. I've, uh, not had my shield all that long, and I will be the first to admit this is the worst I've ever seen. Hell, I was a lawyer before moving to the force." He was an attractive man, with burnished hair and bright green eyes. He had an honest, and earnest face, and Emily immediately felt comfortable with him. "A friend from the FBI's Portland field office suggested I give you guys a call—and the mayor of the city owed me a personal favor, so he issued the official invite."

"Over Palmers' head? Man, you are brave." Morgan whistled through his teeth. Cops didn't break the chain of command without very good reason.

"Not many here agree with Palmers' way of doing things—although first shift certainly does. You'll probably find second shift more cooperative." Allen said, holding out a chair for the youngest blonde woman. His sharp eyes hadn't missed the pale face, the slightly nauseated look, or the slight swelling of her stomach. He'd seen enough pregnant women to recognize one of the verge of losing whatever contents were still in her stomach.

"In that case, let's go over what evidence you've collected then head to dinner and the hotel. We'll come back here later this evening." Hotch ordered, checking his watch.

"About that—the hotels around here were completely booked, it's a big convention weekend—I could only get one free room. I didn't realize there would be six of you coming in. But it's got double beds, and a pull out couch. I hope that's alright?"

"Last month we slept in a hay barn, man. Don't sweat it." Morgan said, appreciating the man's sincerity. "Although Reid here talks in his sleep constantly, I think we'll manage."

"I do not."

"Honey, yes you do. You were talking about comic books on the plane." Emily told him gently. "Something about Wonder Woman and Superman."

"At least I'm not like a Mexican jumping bean." He retorted. "JJ and Garcia said you kick like Pele."

"So I've heard." Emily shrugged ruefully, as everyone eyed her.

"I'm not sharing with Emily!" Both JJ and Garcia said, eliciting a small laugh from the rest of the group.

"And I'm not sleeping on a coffee table—again." Emily challenged. Her back had hurt for days after that.

"Can we get back on track here?" Hotch chastised softly, though his lips were twitching. He hadn't thought she kicked like Pele that night in the barn. But she sure did like to cuddle tight. "Detective Allen, what can you tell us about the first site?"

"It was an office building. Six workers were poisoned. We've determined it was a snake venom, but who or why—we have drawn a complete blank. Two days later, it was a law firm clear across town. Three more died. Same venom." Allen explained, handing Hotch forensic reports. Emily moved closer to the supervisor to read around his shoulder. "Mojave rattlesnake. But no one had any bite marks, and we can't identify the system of delivery. We tested all food products, all products that could possibly come into contact with a person's mouth. Nothing."

"Poisons are generally a distant crime." Reid said, as he too scanned the report from behind Hotch's other shoulder. "And very organized. They have to be to be effective."

"Could be either a male or a female—a lot of female killers choose poison because it's less messy." Emily added, as she moved to take a seat at the table. Everyone else followed suit, Hotch to the left of her and Detective Allen to the right. "Still, why two separate locations? A woman would generally pick one target, and one only, and would profit materially from the victim's death. Of the small percentage of serial killers who are women, only a fraction kill those outside of the family. And most of them kill for financial gain. Detective Allen, did you check who benefitted from the nine victims' deaths? Anyone stand out?"

"No, ma'am. Most of the victims were on stable financial feet, most had reasonable insurance policies, and everyone seemed genuinely grief-stricken." Allen answered, trying not to notice how striking her dark hair and eyes were. He'd always been partial to dark haired women. "We looked carefully at everyone who benefitted in any way. Plus the majority of the insurance companies are refraining from paying until the case is closed."

"I don't know," Reid started, "This kind of snake venom is relatively easy to come by, correct? But it's not in a synthetic form or bottled easily. Someone would have to physically extract it from the snake, correct?"

The detective nodded.

"It definitely probably wasn't a woman, then." JJ said, looking at the picture of the snake in the encyclopedia the detective had marked, and shuddering. "I wouldn't get close to that thing for all the money in the world."

"I wouldn't, either." Emily agreed emphatically, releasing her own shudder. "But we can't really rule out a woman until we have a bit more to go on."

"We need to find out the method of delivery." Morgan said. "What else are you doing to identify it?"

"We've seized everything in the offices. Pens, papers, tested water jugs, soap dispensers, anything that can disguise a toxin. So far, nothing." Allen said, and the profilers could see the frustration in his face.

"So let's move past the poison and focus on the person behind it. For now, we'll assume the victims were random, and profile the companies they all worked for." Hotch said, momentarily distracted when Emily's knee bumped his thigh under the table. The room was extremely small, and hot, and he could smell sweat and the sweet scent of strawberries. It was late June in the middle of Northern California. He loosened his tie and removed his suit jacket, hanging it over the back of the chair. Emily and JJ had both shucked their jackets the instant they'd stepped out of the vehicles, and theirs hung in nearly identical positions. "What do we know?"

"Law firm. Medical malpractice suits, siding with the doctors, mostly." Emily began. "And a small commercial building with companies ranging from investments to counseling services for the elderly. The victims all worked at JL Libstein and Associates, an investment company."

"So no obvious connection there." JJ said, as she helped Garcia setup her computer system.

"Well, both lawyers and investment advisors share similar characteristics," Spencer said. "Higher education, white collar backgrounds, a certain typology of people choose both careers. So maybe that's why they were targeted."

"Tomorrow morning, we'll split up. JJ and Garcia, you'll work on finding out what ever you can on each of the two companies. Reid and Morgan, I want you to do interviews at the law firm, Prentiss and I will take the financial investment company. Detective Allen, if you'd like to accompany us and you're partner Agent Morgan?" Hotch instructed. Allen's partner, Detective Kinsey, was off on a personal day and they'd yet to meet him.

"That'll be great." Allen said, "If you want, I can drive you to the hotel, get you settled."

"That'll be great." Hotch said, as Emily and JJ began sorting all the files into neat stacks for easier access in the morning. They'd of course, have digital copies on their handhelds, but paper copies were often so much more tangible.

PRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCHPRENTISSHOTCH

The hotel room seemed even smaller than the interrogation room. There were two beds, like promised, but one was barely wider than a twin. The other was a standard double. The couch was a two-seater, but the manager promised it pulled out into another double bed. It was dark green and faded, and looked anything but comfortable. Where the hell were they going to sleep?

Derek and Reid eyed the twin mattress, and then each other. No way were they sharing that. So that left the couch pull out. But what about the girls? Could all three fit into the double bed comfortably?

Somebody was going to end up in the floor. And it wouldn't be JJ.

"Let's get settled," Hotch said, looking around the cramped fifteen by twenty room with its dark paneled walls and pea green carpet. "Then find food. I think it would be best if we spent as little time in here as possible."

"I agree with you there," Emily said, shoving her ready bag under the bed. "Can this place get any hotter?"

"Unfortunately, it can." Reid said.

"No—don't tell me!" Emily protested, holding up a staying hand. "I don't want to know. But I do want ice cream, so let's get moving, boys."

"Yes, ma'am." Derek said, saluting. "Hotch, did Det. Allen say where he was meeting us?"

"A family diner two miles from here." Hotch said, "He's swinging by to pick up his partner, on the way."

"Come on," JJ ordered, "I want ice cream, too. Lots of it."

Everyone smiled at her knowingly.

"What? Can't a girl want ice scream in 100 degree weather?" She shrugged.

"Ice cream has a high percentage of calcium, but also a high percentage of sugar." Reid began, "Pregnant women need to increase their calcium by—"

"Reid, I want ice cream, not a lecture on prenatal care." JJ warned, as Emily and Garcia snickered behind her. Reid was so enthusiastic about JJ's baby. It was cute. "So let's move!"

Emily and JJ ended up riding with Hotch. JJ'd hopped into the front seat quickly, and Emily knew it was to discourage Reid from continuing his line of conversation. Emily didn't mind. She settled into the back seat and stared out the window, lost in thought.

The diner was surprisingly busy when they entered, although a lot of the diners—regulars, most likely—looked up and stared at the six people who walked in. It was a small town, and news of there arrival must have spread. Emily knew what they looked like. Two platinum blonds dressed in business suits and skirts—although Garcia's wasn't sedate by any means, Derek, dark and gorgeous, dressed like an army commando in his black fatigues and charcoal t-shirt, weapon holstered at his side, Spencer, tall and lanky, his gun sticking at an awkward angle on his narrow hips. And her and Hotch, dressed in professional suits, their own weapons not hidden in the least. They were the stereotypical g-men that people thought of when they heard FBI. They formed an intimidating half-dozen, and not a one of them doubted it.

Detective Allen stood, catching their attention from the largest booth in the very back of the restaurant. A pretty woman, petite but fit, with honey brown hair and glasses sat beside him. Emily guestimated her age to be around twenty-five or six. Young to be a detective. Emily led the way to the two, aware of Hotch's hand on the small of her back as they wove through the crowded diner, and it's staring patrons.

"Hello, Detective Allen." Emily said, smiling, as she slipped into the booth ahead of Hotch. She met up with JJ on the other side. Soon they were all crowded around the booth.

"This is my partner, Max Kinsey." Detective Allen said. "Max, this is SSAs Hotchner, Prentiss, Jareau, Morgan, Dr. Reid, and TA Garcia."

"It's nice to meet you, and thank you for coming to help us so quickly." Det. Kinsey said, smiling at each agent as they were introduced. She had a pretty smile, with freckles dancing across her nose. "This case has us all baffled."

"It's our pleasure." Hotch said, as the menus were being passed around. "We have only one rule—we don't discuss the cases while we eat."

"Sounds reasonable." Max said. "I recommend the fried chicken with mashed potatoes. It's the best."

"Works for me." Emily said. The waitress chose that moment to appear and Emily placed her order. Soon everyone else followed suit, although they chose a wide variety of menu items. When the food arrived, they were discussing the finer beaches of California. Detectives Allen and Kinsey were funny and engaging and everyone found they were having a great time.

Emily got her ice cream, as did JJ, Morgan, Reid, and Garcia. The flavors were as varied as the individuals consuming them. JJ traded half her chocolate for half of Emily's strawberry. Hotch kept sneaking bites of the pink confection out of Emily's bowl, but she didn't mind.

She'd long known he was crazy for strawberries, and the homemade sweet was some of the best she'd ever had. She'd really been surprised he'd not ordered some of his own.

They'd just finished the last of the cold treat when Allen's telephone rang.

There had been more murders. And as the only homicide detectives on the small force, he and Max were being called back in. Which meant the team was being called back in, too.

After all, what were the odds that a town with a population of only three thousand people would have twelve people murdered over a span of a week and the deaths not be related?

The odds just weren't that good.