The only thing that should surprise us is that there are still some things that can surprise us.

Francois De La Rochefoucauld

Lisa O'Reilly was numb. In her career with the FBI, she'd seen and heard things that no human being should ever experience. Yet, she'd managed to walk away from them with only a mild lingering tinge of the horror she'd witnessed.

It amazed her that a few simple words said over a telephone could leave her with a cold, creeping numbness. She sat, holding her cell phone, staring at the offending piece of technology as if it were the phone's fault. She thought, momentarily of throwing the phone at the wall, but her arm wouldn't move.

Her trance was broken by the sound of Aaron Hotchner's voice from the doorway to her office. "Lisa? Are you okay?" he asked, not waiting for an invitation to enter the room.

She turned her head to face him, her arm finally moving, allowing her to flip her phone shut and set it on her desk. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Just long enough to hear you say goodbye to who ever was on the phone," he said, stopping at her desk. "What the hell happened?"

"Just some follow up to a case," she dismissed, forcing on a smile that she knew he'd see through.

Placing both hands on her desk, he leaned forward and in a quiet voice, he said, "You've been feeling like shit for the past week and the morning after the doctors appointment that you had to be strong armed into, you look like someone just handed you a death sentence. I highly doubt that was follow up on a case."

"I'm going to have to find friends who can't profile me," she muttered, then, standing up so that she was face to face with her old friend, she proceeded to paste on her best poker face and lie her ass off, "Believe it or not, I am fine. I have not yet heard from the doctor, but I promise, when I do, you will be the first person I call, okay?"

Hotch's stance softened, "You know, I am allowed to be concerned when one of my friends is sick and acting strangely."

"I know, Hotch," she smiled, "And I'm grateful that you are concerned. God knows, if we didn't have each other to pull us through we both would have quit the Bureau years ago. But, trust me. I'm okay. You will be the first person I tell if I hear anything to the contrary."

He offered her one of his rare smiles, and then recalled his original purpose for coming to her office. "We won't speak of it again. Now, did you happen to find those missing child reports I'd asked for?"

She lifted a thick manila folder from her desk and held it out to him. "Tell Garcia they're out on the shared drive under CASMIRC. I just printed them out because I know you like the feel of paper between your fingers."

"Leave my fetish out of it," he returned in kind, then, "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she promised.

"Okay," he replied, walking to the door. "Call me if you need anything."

"Always," she winked, watching as he walked out of her office. Once he was gone, she allowed her mind to return to the problem at hand. She found that numbness was replaced with anger. She'd been sloppy, allowing herself to be lulled into a false sense that her life would actually go somewhat as she wanted. Of course, fate stepped in and now, she had one monumental problem to deal with. Looking down at her cell phone with contempt, she decided that she did not create this problem on her own; therefore, she wasn't going to deal with it on her own.

With a purposeful stride, she walked out of her office. The group assembled in her bull pen came from various law enforcement agencies across the country. Their combined experience was way more than any one person could attain in their lifetime, yet she'd been given the job of choreographing their moves. She likened it to herding kittens into a basket. They all had their own ideas of what they needed to do and would hop off towards those goals, she needed to rein them in and make sure their efforts were united. They'd all long since learned that they could only push her so far before the claws came out. They'd also learned how to recognize when Lisa was on a mission. The set of her jaw and her long legged stride told them heads were going to roll. For all of their bust and bravado, they knew to stay out of the redhead's very determined way.

This morning, they watched her go by, wondering which poor sap was going to feel her wrath. When she walked out of the double doors, they breathed a collective sigh of relief, knowing it was some other poor sap from some other department.

XXXXX

David Rossi finished his third cup of coffee of the morning. He'd been in the office since some obscenely early hour of the morning, pouring over detailed handwritten notes they'd found in the home of a suspected spree killer. This guy was one sick pup and just reading this crap was turning his stomach. However, if his hand writing was any smaller and cramped on the page, Rossi thought he would go totally blind trying to read it.

Looking up from the papers, he massaged his temples. Closing his eyes for a moment or two to rest them, he allowed his normally busy mind to simply go blank. His moment of peace was interrupted by the sound of his office door shutting. It wasn't a resounding slam, signifying the anger of his visitor, but it was definitely shut with force.

Forcing his eyes open, he found a very agitated Lisa O'Reilly standing in front of his desk. He knew it was cliché, but he really did find her amazing sexy when she was pissed off, color rose in her cheeks and her green eyes took on a certain glint, almost like when she was aroused.

"Don't look at me like that," Lisa snapped, pulling him from his desirous musings.

He knew instantly that he was the target of her wrath. "What's wrong?" he tried, bracing for her response.

"What's wrong?" she echoed.

"That's the question I asked," he countered, studying her. There was something in her eyes that told him that whatever was wrong was very serious. "Did you hear from the doctor?"

"Yes," she said, dropping into the chair by his desk. "They called this morning and gave me my diagnosis."

She looked tired, defeated, but the anger was still there, simmering. What the hell had that doctor said to her? "Okay, Little Girl, spill it. No matter how bad it is, we'll get through it together."

Anger flashed back into her face and she hissed, "You're damn right we will. It's your fault anyway."

"My fault? What's my fault?"

In a quiet, controlled voice, she said, "You got me pregnant."

"I what?" he asked, needing to hear the words again.

"I said you got me pregnant, what part of that do you not understand?" she hissed.

"Pregnant," he repeated, trying desperately to control the smile he felt forming.

"Yes," she said, "And don't you dare smile at me!"

"I'm not smiling."

"Oh, yes you are," she insisted, "Don't even tell me you aren't."

"You have to admit, this isn't tragic news. The way you waked in here, I expected something worse."

She stopped, looking at him with venom in her eyes. "Of course this isn't any big thing to you. You did your part already. Now, it all falls on me…"

"Wait a minute," he said, standing up. "It does not all fall on you."

"Really? You're going to carry this thing for nine months and give birth to it?"

"I can't do that," he softly said, "But you make it sound as if I'm going to walk away from you."

"That's not what I meant," she sighed, looking down at her hands. "Don't you get it? This was not supposed to happen. Check my medical records, it's all there, blocked tubes, tipped uterus and the very neatly written words that chances for conception are minimal even if they went in and unblocked the blockage." She looked up at him, "So, just how is that you managed to produce one of those little buggers strong enough to bust through all of that?"

He laughed at her line, knowing instantly that it was the wrong thing to do. "I'm sorry," he quickly said.

"Oh, I don't think you are," she returned.

"Do you think I did this on purpose? Like I had a sperm pep rally and taught them some tube blockage end run?" he returned, still laughing.

"You're not funny," she shot back, standing up.

"Lisa," he soothed, taking her by the arms, "I promise you, I didn't do this on purpose."

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. He could see rationality returning to her eyes. "I know you didn't. This is just the last thing I ever thought would happen. Come on, Dave, you know the whole story."

"I know," he said, "I'm just as surprised as you are."

"But you're smiling," she said, glaring at him. "You're happy about this."

"I suppose I am," he thoughtfully said.

"What? What are you thinking?"

He shook his head; he wasn't going to take it there. He didn't want to tell her about Janelle, wife number three, and how she had discovered she was pregnant, some time shortly before he started his affair with Lisa. Janelle didn't tell him, she simply went and terminated the pregnancy. It didn't fit in with her plans. He found out during one of their last, heated arguments, when she threw that hurtful tidbit at him like a dagger. All of the guilt he'd felt over cheating on her disappeared, replaced with a burning hatred. His third divorce was his most bitter and he fought her every attack, although, looking back at it, he should have just given her what she asked. He probably spent more money in legal fees fighting her than he would have spent if he would have just given in.

"Dave?" she asked, her anger momentarily replaced by concern. "You can't push me off. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I was wondering what your intent was," he began, maneuvering the conversation back to her. Still haunted by the past, he wanted to know if he was going to lose a second child to vanity. Although, deep in his heart, he knew she wouldn't do it, he still needed to hear her say it.

"My intent?"

"Yes, your intent. It is still your body and despite what the Pope says, abortion is still legal…"

"Oh my God," she said, anger returning. "You did not even go there. What on earth would possess you to ask me such a thing?"

"With the head of steam you had walking in here, I don't know what you were thinking," he tried, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn't misjudged her.

"This may not be what I had planned on but there's no way…" He watched as she struggled with her thoughts, trying to find a way to put them to words. She took a deep breath and gathered herself, then, in an even tone she spoke. "I was told that I would never have a child of my own and now I am. How could I ever possibly even think of not having it? I came in here to tell you but no matter what you said to me, there was never a doubt that I would go through with this."

He smiled at her and pulled her into his arms. "I know, I just needed to hear you say it."

"You're leaving out pertinent information," she insisted, as he held her at arms length and studied her. "There's something behind this."

"There is…and I'll tell you later…but right now, I just want to focus on this," he smiled broadly. "We're having a baby."

"Oh God, we are," she laughed. "How screwed up is this?"

"This," he said kissing her, "Is everything I could have ever wished for."

"Really? You're not just saying that because I'm pregnant and could have a major mood swing at any time."

"Shit, I forgot about that part," he dryly returned, earning a swat in the arm. "Ow…"

"Watch it you," she said, finally gazing out of the window of his office. "Um…Dave…we're on display here."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "Eventually they're going to figure it out, Little Girl."

"Oh God," she sighed, "How am I going to do this? With all of the stuff I see every day…"

"You will do it," he firmly said, keeping her grounded, "And you will do it well. I know you. You love this job too much to abandon it. Just remember, if it gets to be too much, I'm right here."

"Okay," she said, with a look of determination. "We're going to do this. Together, right?"

"Together," he agreed.