(Hey guys! I have today and tomorrow off and I'm stuck at home waiting for furniture to be delivered to my apartment, so I'm hoping to really bust out some chapters! Is this me avoiding my school responsibilities like reading my textbook or working on the monologue I have to perform the first day of class? Most definitely. So enjoy the byproduct of my procrastination and please, please review. Just let me know that you're out there and interested.

Also, I forgot to mention last chapter that this fic doesn't include the Henry storyline. Will may be mentioned as an ex boyfriend but AJ was never pregnant. Also I don't own Criminal Minds. If I did, i wouldn't be tucked away in this tiny Brooklyn apartment. Review!)

"The Man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones." Confucius

After lunch, the rest of the day passes quickly. I have lots of paperwork to do, and I have to stay on top of it or it will bury me. I'm filling out my third case eval when I glance at the time. 6:30 pm. Have I really been sitting here for five hours? I save my progress and turn off my computer. Straightening the files on my desk, I grab my bag and turn to find Hotch standing in my doorway.

"Heading home?" I ask.

"Yeah. I figure if I leave now Jack and I can squeeze in some Mario Kart before dinner.

I can't help but laugh. "You play Mario Kart?" He gives a small grin. "Well are you any good?"

"Well, not as good as my son unfortunately, but I'll get there." He gives a small wave. "Goodnight JJ."

"Night Hotch."

I fasten my bag and make my way to the elevator. As I wait, I examine my reflection in the blurry metal door. I guess I really have been lax on my diet and getting enough exercise. I turn slightly to the side and peer at my stomach. It isn't as flat as I remember it being. I pull my bag more securely on to my shoulder and turn away from the elevator. Instead, I walk decidedly to the stairwell just around the corner. I quickly take the four flights of stairs down.

When I finally reach my apartment, my stomach is once again rumbling. I change out of my work clothes into a pair of running shorts and a tank top. Back in the kitchen I reach for the Chinese take out menu out of habit. Then my brain catches up to my hands and I remember that I'm supposed to be eating better, especially if I want to weigh what I used. Speaking of, where is my scale?

I pad around my house in my bare feet, searching for the missing object. I finally find it, along with what is surely an unsafe amount of dust bunnies, in the laundry room closet. I set it on the wood floor and step on. The analog dial spins back and forth, and I realize I'm holding my breath. When it finally settles, I let out a shocked gasp. 137 pounds? I had never weighed anywhere in the 130 region before, let alone almost 140. Growing up, I had been an active kid, playing softball and soccer, taking gymnastics lessons, spending long summer days at the pool. Even in high school and college, soccer practice and conditioning workouts had kept me trim, even when my diet had faltered more towards the junk food variety. I step off of the scale and pick it up, depositing it into the cabinet beneath my bathroom sink.

Returning to the kitchen, I find myself sifting through the meager food in my pantry and fridge. Everything is either no longer good or over processed crap. I throw out a half gallon of sour milk and a couple of apples that had long been mushy. Groaning in frustration, I grab my keys and purse, realizing that a trip to the grocery store is unfortunately necessary.

The blast of musty AC makes my eyes water upon entering the supermarket, but the cool air is a welcome change to the oven once called Quantico, VA. I grab my cart and begin making my way down the aisles. I concentrate on finding foods that have some semblance of nutrition, rather than the cheetos and ramen noodles that my eyes constantly stray to. One by one, apples, oranges, lettuce, and celery are placed in the metal basket. I grab cans of tuna, frozen chicken breasts, skim milk, cheese, and a carton of eggs. Crackers, tortillas, and sliced turkey soon join. I feel accomplished with my purchases and head to the checkout. As I wait, I can't help but let my eyes linger on the trashy gossip rags on the rack. I would never admit it out loud, but I had always loved them. I loved the melodramatic stories and pictures of celebrities. It was great mindless entertainment after a long day filled with horrifying images. I grab a US Weekly and throw it in the cart, cringing as I imagine the grief I would catch from Morgan if he were to ever find out.

Once at home I put away the groceries, feeling proud of myself. This feeling deflates however, once I realize that I'm still starving and am now faced with the task of cooking something from said groceries. I've never been exactly gifted in the kitchen. I open a can of tuna and stir it with a fork. The fish doesn't smell unappetizing but I stare at it with lackluster. I finally open the box of saltines and spread a layer of mayo before adding on a spoonful of tuna. I gingerly take a small bite. Not bad! It's obviously not as satisfying as the sesame chicken and egg roll from Dragon House I would have had any other night, but not disgusting. I make more little sandwiches until I run out of tuna. I'm still hungry though so I cut up an apple into slices and munch on them while I flip through the glossy pages of my magazine. Seeing the bikini clad stars only reaffirms my thinking. If these women are willing to work and sacrifice to be seen as beautiful and fit, then I have no excuse. My job is to protect and I can't do that if I'm not performing at top level. I rinse off my dishes and load them into the dishwasher. Then I trade my flip flops for tennis shoes and grab my headphones, and head out for a run.

The day is still hot, but it feels undeniably nice as I bend to touch my toes, stretching out my hamstrings. I twist side to side as I select a playlist, then take off. I had always been a good runner. The long strides come easily to me and I quickly settle into a rhythm. I jog down the sidewalk and around the corner, towards my local park. As I run past the trees and benches, I can all but feel the endorphins being released. The wind on my face feels good and I push further. Around and around the park I run, letting my mind go numb. It's almost dark when I decide to to head back to my apartment, letting my pace slow to a walk. I hold my arms above my head as I catch my breath. There's a stitch in my side, sharp yet familiar. I let myself back into my apartment thoroughly tired out. As I toe off my sneakers I consider plopping down to watch some television, but decide instead to take a cool shower and crawl into bed. I can barely keep my eyes open when my head hits the pillow even though it's just after 11. My mind wanders back to the too tight pants and Carol the cafeteria lady. My face once again reddens at her assumption but I push it aside as I turn to lay on my stomach. Today is another day.