Megan understood the value of props when creating a character.

Once the elevator door had closed behind him, she slipped into the seat vacated by Rossi. She pushed it back toward the corner, making her presence in Hotch's room negligible to passersby. She pulled out the rosary she'd picked up from the gift shop. She was the perfect portrait of soon-to-be-motherly piety.

In the influx of new patients, and in the muted, private atmosphere of the hospital after normal visiting hours, Megan went unnoticed. Practically invisible, as long as she didn't make sudden movements or intrude too obviously into the line of vision of the night staff.

When a nurse entered the room to check on Hotch, Megan feigned the exhausted sleep of a very pregnant lady who had the added stress of having a loved one in the hospital. The nurse glanced at the woman whose head was thrown back, lips parted in the utter relaxation of slumber, rosary beads dripping from the curled fingers of one hand…and smiled. She wasn't doing any harm and, by the looks of her, would be checking in to the maternity ward fairly soon herself.

The nurse jotted a few notes on Mr. Hotchner's chart and left. She pulled the door nearly closed out of consideration for the sleeping duo who might even be husband and wife. Her heart gave a little pang at the possibility. Nothing wrong with keeping faithful watch over the father of your child.

The nurse pulled the door a little closer, fantasizing the lovely moment of reunion when the man might open his eyes and see his beloved in peaceful repose mere feet away.

That vision brought sporadic smiles to her face throughout the long hours of the nightshift.

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Eyes closed, Megan could tell by the reduced volume of ambient noise that the door was almost completely shut.

And that she and pretty, pretty Aaron were alone at last.

Mischievous smile quirking her lips, she cracked her lids the barest bit open and checked. One could never be too sure. And her line of work had taught her that rushing toward a pleasurable expectation could often result in a disappointing finish.

The coast was clear.

She groaned, pushing herself to a standing position. She grimaced at the extra weight of the pregnancy disguise. The grimace morphed into a sneer of pure disgust. So a woman goes through this in the name of perpetuating her man's genes, giving him immortality, and then he leaves both her and the burden he foisted on her. Bastards. They should all be erased from existence.

She stepped closer to Hotch's bedside. But then, there are the special few who defy the norm…

"Aaron." She said it on a sigh, reaching down and tracing the line of his brow with her index finger. "How could your wife have left someone like you…? So, so sweet…"

With one more furtive glance at the door, Megan opened her purse, rummaging in the bottom for what she had decided would be her calling card of sorts. A way to let everyone know that she wouldn't just disappear, no matter how much Dallas's powerful men might want her to.

No matter how diligent the FBI might be in catering to those men's demands.

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Garcia defied Rossi's orders to get some rest and turn the data-search regarding Megan Kane over to a colleague on the graveyard shift.

Armed with diesel-strength coffee and a massive chocolate chip cookie sugar rush, she forged ahead. By the wee hours of the morning, she had unearthed all she could about their unsub's background. She had distributed driver's license photos as well as candid shots gleaned from the Dallas Times society pages to police throughout Texas. For good measure, she did the same to surrounding states as well as all international airports and Interpol.

Despite all that, Garcia was still gnashing her teeth in frustration as a new day dawned.

When it came to possessions, Megan Kane was a phantom. There was no paper trail of purchases that could lead to her location.

Penelope's sniff was disdainful. Everything she has, everything she owns, everything that might require maintenance, has been gifted to her. Hell of a comment on someone who likes to kill the men who support her. She doesn't even pay taxes, for Chrissake!

But there was always a chance of a slip-up, so the tech analyst kept digging. Maybe relatives had donated to Megan's upkeep at some point. Maybe an address could be tied to a bill for plumbing or interior décor or a delivery of birthday flowers.

Just one thing. All I need is one…little…thing...

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Ned Granger liked his job as a nurse.

He took devilish amusement from revealing his career choice to people who subscribed to the stereotypical view that all nurses were females. Aside from that, he had a genuine pride in filling a necessary function in the profession's gender gap. Lots of male patients preferred to be nursed by the same sex. It was less embarrassing for many of them.

Ned got a start on his day early. He was pushing his cart of supplies along the corridor toward room 319. As he approached, he checked his instructions for the occupant. Aaron Hotchner. Drug overdose. Comatose, but stable. Needs catheter checked, drainage bag changed and a sponge bath, if necessary.

This was one of those times Ned was sure being male would be appreciated if the patient were cognizant of his presence at all. And sometimes they were, despite appearances.

Reaching the door, he frowned. It was closed. Unusual. Normally doors were left ajar, allowing the staff to listen for any signs of a patient's distress, or to glance in in passing; an extra verification of the usual alarms and monitors.

Ned looked over at the nurse's station. "Hey! Angie! Any reason this door should be shut?"

The woman had just begun her own shift and was in the process of checking the night staff's records. "Uh…I think Louise said the guy's wife or sister or something was in there. She fell asleep, so that's probably why. Just a little quieter…you know?"

"Sure, sure…" Ned gave the door a light courtesy tap before turning the knob. "Hello?" He poked his head around the corner, scanning the empty room. Must've left. Unless… He stepped in and looked toward the bathroom. Nope. Whoever she was, she's gone.

Retrieving what he'd need for this patient from the cart, Ned moved in close and glanced at the man's quiet, impassive features…and smiled. The imprint of someone's lips were clear to see on Mr. Hotchner's cheekbone. Someone who favored hot, fire engine red lipstick. Ned shook his head. Well, someone misses you, man. Probably has all sorts of plans for when you get out. I hope you do. It'd be a shame to waste a lady's love.

Ned switched out the drainage bag. Okay, buddy, time to check the catheter and maybe give you a little wipe down.

He lifted the sheet covering Hotch's lower body…

…and froze.

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Rossi hadn't slept much.

After a few frustrating hours, he decided to return to the hospital and check on Hotch. He left messages for the others to meet him at PD headquarters later that morning.

Take-out coffee in hand, he strolled down the hall, exchanging subdued greetings with the busy nurses just moving onto their shifts. He saw the supply cart outside Hotch's room, but thought nothing of such standard procedure.

Without preamble, Rossi walked into the Unit Chief's room just in time to see the male nurse lift the sheet…

…and freeze.

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Ned's brows rose.

Well, that's somewhere I've never seen someone leave lip prints before…

He wasn't sure whether to be amused or alarmed. When he became aware that a visitor, an older man was standing behind him, gaping at the handiwork Megan had lavished on her Aaron, he turned to see the man's expression.

Judging by the look on Rossi's face, alarm was definitely the order of the day.