Welcome back. Glad to see that you'll returned for this weeks segment of Shadpup's Suspenseful Shenaniganisms: Strauss, the danish, and a trip to the potty. So pull up a comfy chair, fetch a cool drink and enjoy. And by drink I mean something non alcholic. Can't have ya'll passing out half way through.

"Mademoiselle?"

"Mademoiselle?" the voice repeated followed by a gentle touch to the shoulder.

Emily woke with a jolt, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat. Her right hand automatically going for the nonexistent gun on her hip.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" the voice asked again.

Emily turned her head in the direction of the voice and had to blink several times before the face of the concerned flight attendant came into focus. "I'm fine. Why?" she asked slightly confused. She gave her head a slight shake to clear it of the cobwebs of her latest nightmare.

"You were talking in your sleep."

"Oh," she said in a soft voice then gave the woman a rueful smile. "Guess I was having a bad dream. I apologize if I disturbed any of the passengers."

The flight attendant smiled back. "You didn't. I was the only one who heard you."

"That's good," Emily said and ran a weary hand over her eyes.

The flight attendant quickly studied the woman sitting before her. She took in the bandaged hand, the dark circles under the wary eyes, and the way she was curled into a tight blanket wrapped ball, pressing as close to the fuselage as possible. She wondered what had happened to this woman to make her view her surroundings with such trepidation.

"You look like you could use something to eat."

Emily shook her head. "I'm not really hungry."

"You should still eat something. It's a long flight. If not a full meal, a snack, oui?"

Emily smiled and nodded. "Oui. Merci."

"I'll be right back," she said before heading for the galley.

A few minutes later, she returned bearing a plate with a muffin, a croissant, a danish and a bottle of water. "I wasn't sure what you might like so I brought a little bit of everything," she said brightly as she unfolded the tray for the empty seat next to Emily's to set the plate and water down.

"Merci," Emily thanked her again, wishing she could call the flight attendant by name but she hadn't paid any attention to the pre-flight talk, preferring to retreat into her own head. "I like all of them."

"Good," she said with a smile. "I'll expect them to be all gone when I come back. My name is Josette if you need anything else."

"Merci, Josette."

Emily watched Josette walk toward the front of the cabin before reaching over to pick up the croissant. She eased her legs out from under her and stretched them, trying to get the kinks out from sitting on them too long. How long was I asleep, she wondered and took a look at her watch. A little after 3 a.m. it read so she had been out for three hours since she knew she had nodded off shortly after take off. She sighed. The nightmares were right on schedule.

When she tried to tear off a piece of the croissant with her right hand, it refused to cooperate at first. The fingers and the hand had stiffened up during her nap but the dull throbbing was still there. Now she was a little afraid that she might have done more damage to it than she had originally thought. That was not good but there was nothing she could do about right now. She'll just have to deal with the ache.

Nibbling on the croissant, Emily gazed out the window into pitch-black night thinking back on the hectic hours before boarding the red eye for home.

Once she had come to the conclusion that Ian Doyle was behind Jack's disappearance, Emily knew what she had to do. The time had come. Time to stop hiding in the shadows, to step forward and take her fate and now Jack's into her own hands. Through her carelessness, she had brought Doyle into the team's lives and it was up to her, and her alone, to expel him. With this newly found determination, Emily jumped into action.

The first thing she did was to contact several of the major airlines to reserve a seat on the earliest flights they had back to the States. She wouldn't pick which airline to fly on until she arrived at the airport. Emily then set about eliminating her presence from the apartment.

Grabbing her travel bag, Emily quickly stuffed her meager wardrobe inside. Any items that did not have any particular meaning, like books and knickknacks, she left behind. Anything of a more personal nature that she didn't want to go through customs, she would pack in a box to be shipped back to the States. She had to travel light. The less she had on her, the quicker she would get through customs unmolested.

Moving over to the bedroom closet, Emily knelt down and pried up two floorboards. From the space below she pulled out a cardboard box that held her two other passports and a modest stack of money both in Euros and U.S. dollars. Replacing the boards, she picked up the box and carried it to the kitchen table. This was her getaway stash. Every week since she has been in Paris, she would go to the bank and withdraw five hundred in Euros and then exchange half of it for U.S. dollars at a different location.

Emily left the U.S. dollars and the passports in the box. The Euros she would need to pay for the airline ticket and for anything else she might need before departure. What was left, she could change over at the airport. Fetching a towel, she wrapped up the money and passports into a tidy little bundle and tucked it in the corner of the box. She then added the laptop, a few books and Jack and Henry's drawings. If she hurried, she could the box shipped out immediately.

As she turned to give the apartment one last look, she inadvertently hit her injured hand against the side of the table, sending a new burst of pain down her arm. Wincing, she looked at the wounded hand realizing she couldn't go out with it wrapped in a blood-encrusted napkin. Heading to the bathroom, she opened the drawer that held the leftover supplies from her hospital stay.

Emily carefully peeled the napkin off her scraped knuckles, biting her lip when parts of the make shift bandage reopened some of the abrasions. Quickly she cleaned them and dabbed on a healthy dose of antibiotic ointment. She then applied a sterile pad over the knuckles and wrapped her hand with gauze to keep it in place. Satisfied with her handiwork, she headed back to the kitchen.

There were two things left to do and they were both sitting on the table. The cell phone and gun. Neither of which she could take with her. The gun was obvious, the cell phone not so much. Emily was worried that JJ might attempt to trace it once her friend realized she was on the move. She placed the phone on the floor and ground it to pieces with the heel of her boot. The Glock she dismantled.

Putting on her coat, Emily slid the remains of both into its pocket. Slinging the travel bag over one shoulder and tucking the box under her other arm, Emily slipped away into the Paris night, pausing here and there along the river to drop the pieces into the churning water below. Once her pocket was empty she hailed a taxi to catch the flight she was now on.

During her reminiscing, Emily had finished the croissant and not wanting to disappoint Josette after all the trouble she had gone through to bring her a snack, she ate the others and downed the bottle of water. Feeling full, she settled back into the cushions, pulled the blanket tighter and let the droning of the engines lull her back into what she hoped was dreamless sleep.

Hotch was making his way to the conference room when he was waylaid by Erin Strauss.

"Ma'am," he said in greeting, keeping his face impassive.

"Agent Hotchner, I just heard about your son. Is he alright?" she asked with what he thought was a look of concern. With Strauss you could never quite tell if she was being genuine or just being polite. He was leaning toward the second.

"He's fine," he answered and spun her the tale that the team had concocted at the zoo.

"Good." Her duty done, Strauss turned the conversation back to business. "What are you and the team currently working on?"

"Nothing at this time. It's been a quiet week so we are using the time to catch up on paperwork and are about to review some files. That is where I am heading now." Hotch pointed to the conference room.

"I'll leave you to it, Agent Hotchner," she said briskly. "Let me know if a case comes up." And walked away.

"You'll be the first to know," Hotch said quietly with a sarcastic tone.

"I take it Strauss ambushed you," Rossi asked in amusement when Hotch stormed through the door a few seconds later.

"She did."

"Did she buy it?"

"Hook, line and sinker," Hotch said with a small smile. The rest of the team couldn't help but smile along with him.

"Everyone take a seat," he ordered, pulling out a chair. "Let's get started." The team quickly sat down. "What do we have so far?"

"Nothing," Morgan said, slapping the table top in disgust.

"I think I have something," Garcia spoke up. "I was going through the exit footage and found this." She hit a few keys on her laptop and an image appeared on the large monitor. The team gazed at a picture showing a man with a sleeping child resting against his shoulder.

"Unfortunately both of their faces are turned away from the camera and before you ask," she waved a fuzzy topped pen at Reid who quickly shut his mouth, "there are no other angles and no reflexive surfaces to get a reverse image. Anyhoo, I ran it through my program that measures, you know, height, build, inseam etc. and it matches Doyle's physical description," Penelope concluded softly.

"Hotch? Do the clothes the boy is wearing match Jack's?" JJ asked.

"Yes," he said firmly, staring at his son, hoping this is not the last image he will ever have of him.

Rossi looked around the table. "Now we know how Doyle got him out."

Morgan shook his head. "No one is going to pay any attention to a father carrying his tired son out after a long day at the zoo."

"Any cameras in the parking lot?" Reid asked.

"None," Garcia said sadly. "The zoo is in the process of upgrading its surveillance system and the parking lot is scheduled for next week."

"So we don't know the type of vehicle or in what direction he went," JJ said matter of factly.

"Yep." Penelope turned to Hotch. "How long has our little G-Man been gone?"

"Six hours," he answered without looking at his watch.

"Why hasn't Doyle called with his demands?"

"He will," Rossi said, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled before him. "When he is good and ready. He's going to make us sweat for a while."

The sound of the door opening ripped Jack from his sleep. Bolting upright, he scooted backwards until his back was pressed against the wall. Keeping a firm grip on the red panda, he pulled his legs up tightly to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. Eyes wide in fright he watched the door swing open.

Ian Doyle slowly entered the room, eyes looking for the little boy. Spotting him huddled on the mattress, he walked over and set a plate and glass on the floor. He crouched down so that he was eye level with Jack.

"Are you hungry? I brought you a peanut butter sandwich and milk."

Jack shook his head.

Doyle shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll leave it here in case you get hungry later." He stood up and headed back to the door.

"I gotta pee," Jack said suddenly.

He turned around and gave Jack a half smile. "Come along then."

Jack hesitated, the call of nature battling with his fear of the man. The call of nature won. He climbed to his feet, clutching the stuffed animal like a security blanket and slowly walked over to Doyle's side. Doyle held out his hand and Jack grudgingly took it.

Doyle led him to the bathroom and waited patiently outside. Once he was finished, Doyle took him back. Jack pulled his hand free and scurried into the room. Spinning around, he shouted defiantly, "I want to go home!"

The man looked down at him with the same half smile on his face. "I'm afraid that isn't going to happen any time soon, Jack. Your Dad has a task he has to complete before I can let you go."

"What?" Jack asked warily.

"He has to find my son."

"You lost him?"

Doyle let out a small chuckle. "In a way. A woman that I thought I loved stole him from me."

"Why don't you ask her to give him back," Jack asked, the question sounding perfectly reasonable to his six-year old logic.

"I can't. She's dead."

"Oh." Jack's thoughts immediately turned to his Mom, which in turn increased his desire to go home. "I want to go home," he repeated.

Doyle's eyes narrowed. He was across the room before Jack could even blink. Grabbing Jack by the front of his shirt, he pulled him closer until they were face to face. He could see the fear in the boy's eyes and enjoyed it.

"Stop the whining," he hissed in Jack's face, giving him a shake. "You are going to behave and do everything I say. If you don't, I'm going to kill your Daddy. Understand?"

Jack nodded wordlessly.

"Good." He let go of Jack and straightened out the front of the shirt. He then pointed to the food. "Now eat. I have a phone call to make."

Gee. So many things going on. Emily's heading home. The team figuring out how Doyle got Jack. How Jack is doing with Doyle. Now don't forget to press that review button. It's been complaining about how it is being ignored. It hates that. So turn in next week for the next exciting segment: Profiling and the new toy boy.