"You will make an amazing profiler! Why are you getting so angry over this?"

"Because I don't want to be like dad!" The teenager screamed, "You don't get it! I never get to make my own decisions about ANYTHING!"

Her mother bit her lip.

Jo's face was bright red, eyebrows creased into an ugly scowl as she stared at her mother.

Holly scrambled to find the right words to calm her daughter down, wondering when the girl had become so bitter.

"Look," Holly sighed, "you're only 15. You have a lot of time to think about this. It may seem like the end of the world right now, but your father will come around-"

"He's made it pretty clear that I don't have a choice. When I'm 24, I'm gonna start at the BAU. Just like him. You heard him before dinner! He was livid when I even brought up the idea of working in a different unit," Jo spat in disgust, leaning her back on the kitchen counter behind her.

Holly nodded, "I know he's stubborn. I'll talk to him. We have time to figure this out. I love you, Jojo."

She approached her daughter, arms outstretched and ready to embrace her, but Jo leaned away from her touch fiercely.

"I told you to stop calling me Jojo."

Her tone was cutting, slashing straight through Holly's heart.

The woman only nodded as an informal apology, Jo rolling her eyes at this.

The girl then bounded up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Holly involuntarily walked up the stairs to Jo's bedroom door and paused. She couldn't stand the thought of her daughter being upset with her.

Holly never let people walk away from her angry.

Being married to the BAU unit chief for 15 years, the woman understood how precious life was. She understood that it could be taken away in a second, and she would never let herself live with the regret of something terrible happening and Jolene's last memory of her being sour.

Holly was at Jolene's door in an instant. Her fist was raised to knock on the door, but it simply hovered above the wood. The ways to handle a teenage girl had eluded her at this moment.

Holly dropped her hand from the door.

"Jolene, can you open the door, please?" She asked, trying to remain calm.

Holly was met with silence, which made her take a deep breath.

"Jolene, open this door."

Holly demanded and then banged on the door, her patience already worn too thin to be dealing with this outburst.

"Jolene, open this door now! This is the last time I'm going to tell you—"

"Go away, mom! I don't want to talk! LEAVE!"

Jo sat on her bed, knees curled up under her chin. The pounding on the door got harsher and louder with each passing moment and the banging settled in her ears like the blaring of ambulance sirens.

"Jolene, open the door. I need help!"

The tone of her mother's voice had shifted. It was no longer casual but had morphed into haunting desperation as the pounding on the door became more urgent.

"JOLENE, THEY'RE HERE FOR ME! OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!"

"W-what?" Jo was alarmed now, and she hopped off her bed and approached the door with shaking hands and nausea in her stomach.

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

Jolene fumbled with the door handle, but it didn't budge. The door had been locked.

"Mom, I can't open it. It-it won't open!" Jo frantically pulled on the doorknob, hearing the shrill cries of her mother seeping under the stock-still door, "What do I do?! MOMMY?!"

"HELP ME, JOLENE! HELP ME, BABY, PLEASE. YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE HERE, I CANT-"

She was too late. She heard it all; the struggle, the gunshots, her mother trying to clutch onto sputtering, bloody breaths.

It feels real.

At least it does at 4:36 am when Jo wakes with a sharp gasp. Her head is reeling with an acute ache and she can't decipher what is real and what isn't.

In the deep dark of her room, the shadows of the furniture seem to move around, dancing and contorting into what looks to be the silhouettes of bodies.

That's when she realizes she has to get out of her room.

Jo shoves the plaid duvet off of her legs quickly and swings them over the side of her bed.

Her feet pad circles around the cold apartment floor quietly, the constant rhythm bringing some stability to her shaky breathing.

It settles in her ears so naturally these days, the terrorizing sounds of her nightmares. She doesn't have to try and remember them anymore, as they are etched into her brain as if she has a photographic memory.

When walking circles around her nearly-empty apartment has resolved her alarm a bit, she makes herself a cup of tea.

Earl gray, specifically.

She sits at the large wooden table in the middle of the dining room. The chunky sweatshirt she wears hangs off one shoulder as she sits alone in the desolate apartment. Thinking. Listening.

She feels it. The tightening of some sort of rope around her heart makes breathing hard again and it is unbearable.

Her chest hurts. Shallow, shaky breaths exit her chapped lips, and she runs sweaty hands through her long hair.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?" She mutters with a frustrated sigh.

Why can't I just be normal?

"Stop saying that to yourself," She scolds and stands up quickly.

"Stop it stop it, stop it," she bites out in disgust, hands combing through her hair once more.

She can't stand herself at this moment. She is angry and confused and just wants something to help take the pain away.

She looks around the apartment in search of a distraction. Nearly everything she has is still messily thrown into moving boxes because once she unpacks her life here it becomes real, and that's the last thing she needs.

Through the sliding glass doors, she spots the small blue carton of cigarettes that lay on the balcony table outside.

"That will work."

She slides the doors open and exits into the chilly fall night, into her euphoria. The burning in the back of her throat is all the help she needs.

She's still half asleep the next morning when it's time to go into work, despite the three cups of black coffee she has consumed.

The walk to the NCAVC building is short, but she slows her steps to make the walk a tad bit longer. A natural-born procrastinator, she is.

Nostalgia hits like a train wrecking into a solid brick wall with no warning.

Jo sucks her teeth as she walks through the lobby of the familiar building. She controls her steps, but her head is busy with untamed thoughts that sting her soul.

Bitter remnants from a past life.

The putrid scent of cleaning supplies and shit coffee hits her nose, bringing her back to a different lifetime.

Headache-inducing fluorescent overhead lighting ignites her vision and almost blinds her.

People who walk around the floor in stiff suits with permanent frowns etched on their faces ignore her as if she were invisible. She doesn't mind much.

"Yep, definitely the BAU," She lets out under her breath as she instantly searches around for Derek.

Her walk is still bold, though her thoughts had deteriorated into voices telling her to run.

She doesn't run. Instead, she forces her gaze to cut confidently through the air, leaving a stinging in its wake. She would rather die than show any weakness here.

The demons will nip at your ankles if you let them.

Her stare slices right through a sea of workers hunched over wooden desks preoccupied surely with case files filled with incident forms and fatality reports.

Of all these people working diligently, Jo recognizes not one, which makes her pulse quicken. She used to know everyone who worked here.

Time passes, things change, and she brushes the thought off before it even has time to hurt.

Her brow furrows with slight unease, and she scans the room further, briefly glancing up to see Hotch's office sitting proudly on the elevated level of the room.

No sign of the man himself, though, which Jolene decides is a good thing.

She doesn't know what to make of their argument the other night. She is surely still upset with him, but worries she may have taken it too far with how she reacted and stormed out.

After all, she isn't necessarily angry with Hotch, he was just the person who was in front of her to receive the indignant tirade.

"Oh, You must be the new girl."

She turns around, coming face to face with the person she wants to see most at this moment. They are embracing instantly, five years of missed time passing through them.

"New girl my ass. I'm fairly certain I was stomping these halls before you even knew what the BAU was."

"Things have changed my girl," Derek pulls away from her begrudgingly, "Look around,"

"Mhm," Jo hums, "Everyone here is miserable. Seems the same to me."

Derek laughs holds her shoulders, shaking her slightly, "God I can't believe you're here. This is like, my dream come true. I get to annoy the shit out of you every day."

She mutters some silly reply and groans, but her eyes land on Hotch's office again.

Aaron Hotchner written in delicate font on a gold nameplate hands prominently on the door. Jo remembers a time when that nameplate read Colin Banks.

"Jo? You good?" A suspicious Morgan breaks her gaze from the office door. She looks over at him.

The cautious look behind his eyes makes her want to suspend herself from the ceiling with her tongue.

She hates that look.

It's the same one that Hotch and Gideon greet her with just about every time they see her.

It's careful, it's worrisome, and it is definitely not a confidence booster.

"I'm good," she tries to convince, the lie slithering over her tongue a little too quickly, "It's just, you know. Hard being back here, I guess. Going to take some," She looks around the vast room again,
"-adjusting."

That's an understatement.

"Yeah," Derek forces a grin so he doesn't worry her, "Of course. Yeah."

He clears his throat as Jo's eyes become glued to the office door again. The blinds are drawn over the window and she can't see inside.

"Is um, Hotch in?" She points a lazy finger up to his office.

"You know him, gets here an hour and a half early every day. The man practically lives here."

Jo scoffs, "I don't blame him. If I were married to someone even half as tragic as Haley, I'd live at the office too."

Derek laughs but then stifles it, lowering his voice, "Bossman, 3 o'clock."

Jo shifts her gaze to see the broad pair of shoulders descending the stairs heading toward the two of them.

Jo and Derek shift their bodies to face Hotch as he comes to a stop before them.

There is some apprehension in the air, and Derek smells it immediately. There's a moment of silence, and his eyes shift back and forth between Jo and Hotch.

"Welcome back." Hotch finally speaks.

Jo nods simply, "Thanks, boss."

"Can I help you settle in? Do you need anything?" Hotch offers, the slight passive aggression in his tone easy to miss unless you are Jolene.

She can see he is still tense from their conversation the previous night, as is she.

"Nope. I have everything I need," She reassures.

"Really?" He prods.

"Really." She confirms.

"So, where's your desk then? Since you have everything you need," He poses.

Shit.

Jo bites her lip on the inside and doesn't let the anger bubbling in her stomach climb up her throat and manifest as words. She can play Hotch's coy game right back.

"My desk" Her voice is tight, "Of course. It's right—"

She quickly glances to the left, in a way she thinks is inconspicuous, and spots a singular empty desk.

"—There. Right there, across from..." She points, realizing she doesn't recall his name.

Hotch quirks a brow.

"Spencer," Derek whispers to her.

"Spencer!" Jo says quickly, "My good pal, Spencer."

Hotch sighs at this display before saying, "Conference room in five." He walks back up to his office after that.

"What was that all about? You two get into it last night?" Derek's brows are pulled together in disbelief.

"We're fine," Jolene denies, "There's just some shady shit going on between him and my dad."

"Like?" Derek pushes while picking up his case file and messenger bag before standing from his chair.

"Nothing important," She shakes her head before nodding up to the conference room.

"Now come on, I didn't come back here for you to nag me. I came back to work."

"Most of you already know, but this is Agent Banks' first day with us. We're extremely fortunate to have someone with her skillset in undercover work and interrogation with us."

The words are kind, but his tone seems obligatory.

"JJ?" Hotch then prompts. He seemingly wants to move things along quickly, which Jo doesn't mind. She doesn't like having the spotlight on her for too long.

Derek and Jolene sit down, and the blonde standing at the head of the table gives Jo a fleeting smile.

"We've got a serial killer in New Orleans who killed at least three men pre-Katrina. Until now, police believed the serial killer died in the storm."

"What happened to tell them otherwise?" Derek questions, flipping through the file before him.

"A fourth body was found in the French Quarter last night. Same M.O. Another male. Throat slashed, eviscerated."

"A year and a half? Long cooling off period. Are we sure this is the same unsub?" Jo asks.

"He claims to be. He sent a letter to William LaMontagne, the head detective on the case," JJ answers.

"LaMontagne have any leads?" Gideon enters the room with a quick stride and sits in the back, perched on a radiator.

"He died in Katrina. His son is leading the case now," JJ responds.

A brunette, who Jo recognizes quickly as Agent Emily Prentiss, hums, "that can't be easy."

They had worked together once on a nasty undercover case in Moscow.

"Well, we need to pour over the evidence from the first three murders and determine the pattern," Hotch adds.

JJ pauses, "Katrina washed everything away. The three victims we know of, their autopsy reports, DNA testing, witness testimony, it's all gone."

Jo looks up with a furrowed brow and loads of questions on her mind.

"How are we supposed to build a profile with no case file?" Jo questions.

"In this case, all we have to go on is the latest victim," Spencer sighs, looking down at the manilla folder in front of him.

"All we have to go on is the latest victim until he kills again," Hotch amends Spencer's statement, "Wheels up in thirty," He finishes and exits the room swiftly. Everyone follows suit.

Derek waits for Jolene, but she tells him to go on ahead and that she'll catch up with him.

Emily Prentiss gives the young agent a quick hug and they exchange short 'good to see you's before she walks out of the conference room as well.

As Jo packs up her bag, a voice from behind her startles her, causing her to jump slightly.

"You leave for a couple of years and don't even think to stop by my office to say hello? I see this stranger in a meeting and have to put the pieces together that it's you, all grown up."

Jo smiles and turns around to find Gideon standing with a playful smirk and sage eyes.

"Don't even try to pull that one on me. I got here like ten minutes ago," Jo quickly embraces him with a tight grip.

"Late on your first day. Surprise, surprise."

He laughs and pulls away, keeping her close by her shoulders.

Gideon thoughtfully scans her face, the way Morgan did this morning and Hotch had yesterday, "How are you adjusting? You okay?"

He looks so serious all of a sudden, and she rolls her eyes.

"All of you so worried about me. I'm a grown woman now. I think you forget I've been busting criminal ass for six years now. Don't underestimate me."

"I know better than to do that," He says.

The two walk side-by-side down to the elevators, and Gideon can't resist the smile that blooms on his face.

Jo hasn't changed much. This much is clear to him.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you came to work with us. I always figured you'd tell your dad to shove it just to spite him," He says as they land in front of the elevators.

"You and I both know that's not a possibility. Besides, it can't be all bad, right? Moving back home at twenty-four after living a spontaneous, fast-paced life in a big city. What's not to love?"

Gideon looks at her thoughtfully, "Tell me the truth. Are you okay with this? Do you want me to try and talk to your father?"

She pauses, scanning from his right eye to his left, "It won't do any good, trust me. Besides, I'm-excited to be here. I'm ready. Everything's fine."

Gideon gives her another long look, diving deep into her eyes.

Jo's brow furrows, "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to see if you're lying or not. But—"

"But you can't tell because I happen to be an amazing liar," Jo smirks.

Gideon sighs with defeat, "Can't argue with you there, Jo."

Once on the jet, the air of the team is one of confusion. There's barely a case file to start with, and men are still being murdered in Louisiana.

Jo chews on the end of her pen, something she does quite frequently when she's concentrating.

But when Spencer Reid catches sight of her gnawing on the end of that ballpoint pen, he has to look away so he doesn't vomit.

Doesn't she know how many germs are on that pen?

His expression contorts into one of disgust before modifying it to be one of annoyance.

"I can't believe this is all we have," Gideon mutters, which brings Spencer's head back into the case.

It's damn near impossible to figure out where to start. Even Spencer could admit that.

Jolene continues chewing on the Jo in mindless concentration, trying to focus on the file.

But when she feels eyes on her, she snaps her head up to see Spencer staring at her from across the table with a look that's less than pleasant.

She frowns and pulls the pen from her mouth, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"Uh, JJ, what about news articles? Anything published from the time of the murders?" Jo asks, having to clear her throat.

"These," JJ starts, turning to face Jolene and handing her some papers, "are copies of said newspaper articles on the murders, dating back to early August 2005. It's all we have to go on,"

"We'll start at the most recent crime scene. Everyone together, we don't have anywhere to split up to."

The rest of the jet ride is quiet; the team tense. Everyone has spread out now, filling the length of the small jet. Jo and Spencer stay in their original seats across from each other in the middle, both agents not paying much attention to the other.

Spencer is too tired to get up, and Jo doesn't even notice everyone had dispersed around her. She's too focused on the tiny case file.

The minute sound of plastic being chewed on is almost making Spencer's eye twitch at this point, as the repulsion from watching Jo chew on it settles in his stomach like a rock.

It will only take one more second of it to make him—

SNAP.

The snapping of the plastic in her mouth sends him over the edge.

"Can you quit it?"

Jo doesn't stop, but seemingly ignores him.

"Hello? Can you stop that?" He says again, slightly louder.

She looks up, "Excuse me?"

He huffs, "I said-I asked if you would stop chewing on that pen."

Jo looks to her left, then right, glancing behind herself, "Oh, So you are talking to me like that."

"Yes, I'm obviously talking to you," He is confused, and she simply rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Fine. Sorry," she shoves the pen into her bag.

She holds up her hands to him, flipping them over so Spencer can see they are now empty.

All he can notice, though, are the many minuscule markings scattered over the fronts and backs of her hands.

He swallows and casts his eyes down to the paperwork, "Thank you."

New Orleans was, in a word, brutal.

The jet had landed around midnight, and the Quantico sky is a dark crisp cobalt that settles over the barren city streets like a wet blanket.

The 6th floor of the NCAVC building is just as bleak as the empty city streets, if not more so.

All of the fluorescents are off, and the only light comes from a few desk laps emitting a soft yellow glow on the room.

The profilers file out of the elevator lethargically, each one slowly retrieving their personal belongings while trying to adjust to being back home—back to normal life.

The adjusting proves to be difficult for Jo, as she didn't have to do it as often at her previous job.

Undercover cases can take months, sometimes even years to complete. Whereas at the BAU, they have a new case just about every week.

The turnaround was a lot quicker than Jo is used to, but she never shies away from a challenge.

They solved the case of the female ripper in a little over a week, and Jo stepped up to the plate with ease. She didn't have to think much as her instincts lead her everywhere she needed to be to help solve the case which impressed everyone on the team, especially the women.

The team silently makes their way back to the elevator and enter the small box, more than ready to settle in for the night before the madness starts all over tomorrow morning-like an endless loop.

"Prentiss, mind pressing three?" Jo voices quietly from the back of the group, not necessarily wanting to be heard.

"Sure," Emily nods, pressing the button.

Hotch, from beside Jo, glances down at her briefly, "Going to see your father?"

"Mhm," She nods, not sparing him a glance at all, "Gotta do it sooner or later, right?"

He wants to roll his eyes. He wants to tell her to stop being so childish. But that would have to wait until they were no longer on FBI property.

You can't mix business and personal relationships.

The doors ding and open up to the third floor. Jo squeezes through the elevator, and as she passes, Derek shoots her a quiet, "Good luck."

She catches sight of his smirking face before she exits, and she wants to punch him in the arm.

Instead, the apprehension of seeing her father sets in, and she can't even remember what Derek had said in the first place.

The third floor of the NCAVC building is nothing like the sixth. There are fewer people, so the offices are huge, and every person who works on this floor has their own secretary.

Nobody speaks to each other much on this floor. It seems very isolating to be locked away in your own office all day, especially at this time of night.

The glinting of a gold nameplate on an office door catches her eye, and she shudders.

Colin Banks

"Can I help you?"

Jo turns to see a gorgeous young woman perched behind a desk just outside of her father's office. She's a bottle blonde who is smacking the gum in her mouth wildly.

Jesus, give me patience.

"I'm, uh, here to see Deputy Director Banks," Jo holds out her credentials to the blonde.

The woman stares at the ID for a little too long before she lifts her gaze back to Jo.

"Ohhhh, You're Jolene," She says in disbelief, "Wow. I've heard so much about you."

The woman punctuates the thought by smacking the wad of gum in her mouth loudly, her lips settling into a snobbish smile.

Jo's eyebrows raise, and she serves the woman an unimpressed look.

"Brenda, is it?" Jo motions to the nameplate on her desk.

Brenda smiles wider, "Sure is."

Jo leisurely leans her elbows on Brenda's desk, bringing her face a few inches from the woman's, "Brenda, I just spent eight days in Louisiana tracking down a serial murderer who was treating New Orleans like her own personal slaughterhouse,"

Brenda's face contorts into revulsion, and Jo can tell she is horrifically uncomfortable. Jackpot. This woman clearly never interacted with the darker side of her place of work.

"So I don't have time to play these games with you. I want to go home, drink a glass of red wine and go to bed. And you're gonna help me make that happen. So, get on your little buzzer, page the guy, do whatever the hell it is you have to do to let Director Banks know I, Jolene Banks, am waiting for him in this lobby."

Her voice is just above a whisper because she knows she doesn't have to yell to get Brenda to cooperate.

The slightly older blonde fusses around on the computer for a moment. Jo watches her with a hard-set jaw, contempt settling within her.

"Oops," Brenda frowns animatedly, "It looks like Deputy Director Banks is in an important meeting right now. Shame, but it looks like you'll have to come back later—"

"You know what? Fuck it," Jo walks right past Brenda and to her dad's office.

Jo can hear Brenda's weak attempts at stopping her, but her hand finds the doorknob and twists in instantly.

She enters the office and shuts the door behind her, silence engulfing the moment as she sees him.

Peppered, graying hair cut precisely short, stiff blue suit, and lifeless eyes.

He is sat behind his desk, very clearly not in a meeting, but only reading a case file.

Brenda, you lying bitch.

Colin looks up at the sound of the door clicking shut.

If he shocked to see her, or feels any other emotions about her arrival, he doesn't let it show.

The first thing he notices is the piercing in her nose and the tattoo crawling up the side of her neck.

He holds his tongue regarding the body modifications, for now. Instead, he simply looks back down at the file he is working on.

"It's about time, Jolene. I was starting to wonder if you had even made it to Quantico at all," He continues to read the file in front of him.

When she is silent, he looks up to see her staring at him blankly, and sighs, "You could've called, Jolene."

"The phone goes both ways," She defends.

Colin is silent for a moment, trying to contain his frustration with his daughter.

He removes his glasses with a tired sigh, "Don't patronize me. Sit."

She does as told out of habit.

"How was New Orleans?" He poses and leans back in his chair casually.

Jolene's posture is the exact opposite, spine straight as an arrow and shoulders tense.

"Good," She replies, "It was a tough case, but otherwise pretty open-and-shut," She nods.

"Good."

Colin's tone is so professional that it makes Jolene wonder how this could be the same man who pretended to be Santa every year on Christmas.

Now he's just cold and stern and hasn't smiled in front of his daughter in years. She barely recognizes him now.

She decides to make the first move to end this terrible excuse for a conversation, realizing quickly that she shouldn't have even come down here at all. She's suffocating in this office on the third floor and escaping seems like the safest bet.

"Can I go?" She blurts out.

Colin scowls slightly, "I'm not stopping you, Jolene. The door is exactly where you left it. I just wanted to make sure you were alive."

With that, he places his reading glasses back on the bridge of his nose and picks up the file once more. He begins to read as if she had already left.

This ticks her off, but she is still grateful for the easy out. She stands hastily and turns for the door.

Grabbing onto the doorknob, though, she's interrupted by a final thought from her father.

"You don't look too good. Are you taking your meds? Eating? Staying away from—"

"Yes, father. I'm more than fine. The sudden interest in my well-being is endearing, though."

She is still turned away from him, so she's unable to see the disappointed wrinkles that paint his forehead.

"A month from Saturday we're hosting the Founder's Ball at our home. You're expected to be there at 6:30 pm. Oh, and leave the bad attitude and smart mouth at the door when you arrive."

She scoffs, and with an pained smile on her lips, she slams the door shut behind her.

"Bye, Jolene. Have a fantastic rest of your night," Brenda's twangy, hateful voice drawls out and Jo flicks her the bird as she passes.

Jo walks to Tracy's after that, her feet splashing in tiny puddles from the residual rain.

She sits into her usual booth in the back corner completely still, the interaction with her father leaving the remnants of disdain on her heart.

The rain slowly coming down down outside reflects her insides perfectly.

"Can I get you a coffee, Jo?" The gentle voice of Harvey makes her look up.

"Actually Harv, can I get a Yuengling?" She orders, no playful banter or charming smirks passing between the two.

"Sure thing," He nods, sensing her foul mood, and walks off to get her beer quickly.

He returns soon, bringing a cold bottle with the top twisted off.

Before she can take a sip, though, her phone buzzes on the table.

Incoming Call: Aaron Hotchner

She debates answering, but some small voice inside of her tells her the reason behind this unexpected call went beyond small talk, so she grabs the phone.

"Hello?"

"Jolene? "

Her spine straightens. Hotch sounds vulnerable which alerts her immediately—it's completely out of his character.

"Hotch? What's wrong?" Her pulse quickens.

"I—" He sighs, "There's been an accident at Gideon's apartment. He's missing."

Static fills her ears, unable to truly understand what Hotch has just said. Her limbs grow cold and instantly feel detached from her body at the sinking realization.

She has a feeling she's about to lose someone else she loves if she doesn't pull it together and do everything she could to help.

She decides right then and there to shove her emotions to the side and be strong. She will be Hotch's backbone and help him out. Everything will end up okay.

Everything will be fine. It has to be.

"I need you to be there with me when I arrive at his apartment. I need a good second set of eyes. We won't have much time once we're in there, and I know you can do this."

"Of course, Hotch. Whatever you need," Jo no reassures.

She hears him sigh with relief and it makes her feel good to be able to help him, to help ease his panic a bit by being reliable, despite what has been going on between them.

"Thank you," He pauses, "Send me your location and I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line goes dead.

She grips the beer, the bottle sweaty, and chugs almost all of it. She slams some cash on the table and rushes out the door, waving a fleeting goodbye to Harvey as she does so.

Once outside, she waits in the pitch-black of night for a few minutes and contemplates smoking a cigarette to help calm her nerves.

But before she can decide, thankfully, Hotch pulls up to the curb, coming to a stop with a slamming of his breaks.

Jo clamores in the front seat and shuts the door quickly.

She turns to Hotch, "How bad is it?"

Keeping his gaze out of the windshield in front of him, he begins to pull away.

"I don't even know where to begin," His lips form a straight line, and soon the pair were speeding down the Quantico streets, heading toward Gideon's apartment.

a/n i hope everyone's having a good night & that you liked the new chapter!