(Hey everybody! Here's the next chapter. I don't feel like this chapter is some of my best writing; I know where I want the story to go, I'm just having some problems connecting it without rushing the timeline. Anywho I would LOVE some feedback on what you think of the story so far. Also, I recently wrote a CM fanfic entitled 'Something Desired.' It's a JJ/Hotch story, and very smutty, so if that's your thing, check it out!

Fave, follow, review. Jordo.)

Every morning, the number on the scale taunts me. It moves back and forth, even flirting with 138 pounds the morning after I decide to give myself a night off and have dinner and drinks with Em and Penelope. It was that morning, staring with horror at the number that had somehow inched upwards that I realize that if I'm going to do this, I've got to commit. The only way I would be able to control my weight is if I controlled every single thing that I put in my body. And so that's what I was doing. The week and a half since had been stringent.

Last night had been particularly rough. It had been a long day full of paperwork and whenever I finally arrived home I wanted nothing more than to order a pizza. But I didn't. I was strong. I toasted two pieces of bread and sprayed them with zero calorie butter substitute. Then I emptied a can of light soup into a bowl and popped it into the microwave. I ate at the table, taking tiny nibbles of bread and large sip of water between each spoonful of soup. I consumed it slowly, letting this trick my stomach into thinking I was eating more than I was. I had found some online forums dedicated to weightloss, where I had found lots of helpful tips. Several women swore by using a calorie tracker, so I had downloaded an app and used it to log every morsel of food I consumed. I added my soup and toast to the tracker, 300 calories. In combination with the three hard-boiled eggs, banana, and coffee with creamer I had prepared for breakfast (375 calories), and the fast food grilled chicken sandwich I had purchased for lunch (530 calories), and I was coming in just five calories over my goal of 1200.

The problem was, when I finished I was still hungry. Or at least that's what my body was saying. The forums had all agreed that starting a diet was hardest in the beginning because your body has to relearn how to eat. So I chugged another glass of water and put on my tennis shoes. The bruise on my knee still looked particularly nasty, but it no longer hurt so I was back to running in the park when I could. So after finishing dinner I had ran two miles (-200 calories) then finished up with sit ups and push ups on my living room floor (-50 calories). I had tried to watch TV on the couch but found myself being tempted by the food that I knew lurked in the fridge just a few short feet away, so I finally just went to bed.

This morning I would see what my hard worked had produced. Had I done enough? Had I eaten too much? Only the scale would tell. I stepped on and held my breath.

130 pounds. I let out my breath in a relieved sigh. 130! Finally I was making some progress. Just a couple of more weeks and I would reach 120. 120 pounds was the goal I had set for myself. Once I was 120 I could be back in shape and in a good place to just maintain. Not that I could ever go back to the way I had been eating. No. I am an FBI agent, I need to hold myself to a higher standard. At 120 I will be in control and at the top of my game. I flip on some music while I go about preparing my breakfast, excited about this recent goal reached. Part of me, giddy with the thought, wants to celebrate this. Maybe I could stop and get a latte before work… But I know now that it is a slippery slope. If I stop at Starbucks, what will prevent me from also ordering a bagel with cream cheese? No, I cannot give myself an option to fail. I am strong now.

I walk into the BAU with an extra spring in my step. It's almost as if the weight I had lost fell from my soul; I feel lighthearted. My uplifted attitude draws attention from my coworkers.

"Well good morning, sunshine!" Morgan calls from his desk.

"What's got you in such a great mood this morning?" Emily, never the morning person, seems almost offended by my cheerfulness.

"Nothing." I smile. "It's just a good day."

"Puh lease. You've been all kinds of grumpy the past few weeks. What changed? Do you have a new boo?" Morgan raised his eyebrows at me.

"Gross. Women can be happy without it being a sex thing. Not everything is a sex thing." Emily playfully tossed a pencil at him.

"I didn't say it was!"

"Actually, scientists have found that people are 44% more likely to report being happy if they are currently engaging in sexual intercourse once a week. The number goes up to 55% percent if intercourse is sought every couple of days." All of our eyes swing to look at Spencer, who is still flipping through the case file in his hand. He finally notices our silence and looks up at us, pushing up his glasses. "What?"

"How do you even know that?"

"I read it. In a book."

I exchange a smirk with Emily. "What kind of books have you been reading, Spence?"

The genius's mouth fell open, seemingly lost for words, when we are interrupted by Hotch.

"Everyone to the conference room. Something's happened"

The next 36 hours are spent in the nation's capitol. A team of unsubs was targeting young women on the streets. It's a fast, frantic search from beginning to end with little sleep or relief. When the black SUVs pull into the BAU, I'm not sure how we are even standing upright. We all shuffle in, go bags slung over our shoulders. Hotch tells us that the paperwork can wait, and to head home. We all agree appreciatively and gather our things. Emily suggests we grab some dinner and we agree to meet up at a diner nearby.

I'm almost there when it hits me: this is the first time I've eaten with the team in this sort of setting since intensifying my diet. No one notices your eating habits when you're in the field on a case. I'm about to go to dinner with a team of trained profilers, and pray to God I can make it through without anyone realizing the recent change. As I pull into the diner parking lot, I contemplate just going home. I could send them a text, say I'm not feeling well, and retreat to my apartment where I won't have to eat in front of others. It's tempting. I have my phone out to do just this when I remember Morgan's comment about me being grumpy over the past few weeks. I had been, of course. I was frustrated with my weight and with feeling inadequate compared t the rest of the team and the demands of this job.

I had to go to this dinner. I had to go and pretend like everything was okay. I would have to find a way to stick to my diet, while convincing the people I was closest to that everything was just fine.

(Intense stuff coming. Fave, follow, review!)