Every woman is a rebel, and usually in wild revolt against herself.Oscar Wilde

Rossi would have loved to say that after the initial shock wore off, Lisa embraced her pregnancy and became the picture of a happy, glowing, pregnant woman. But this was Lisa, and Lisa's views on life were just a bit different.

Being over 40, she was automatically deemed a high risk pregnancy, this didn't sit well with her at all. She resented the fact that she was considered old for a first pregnancy and made sure her obstetrician was well aware of that fact. To his credit, Dr. Jack Walker took her tirade in stride and wisely stopped referring to her age as a factor in her pregnancy.

Once Dr Walker told her that the first three months were the most critical and that if she carried the baby past 12 weeks, she should be in the clear, Lisa decided that no one, not even their families would know about the baby until she passed the first trimester. She didn't want to get anyone's hopes up.

He went along with her, until a very concerned Aaron Hotchner cornered him in his office late one evening, long after Lisa had gone home. Despite her constant assurances that she was okay, Hotch did not believe for one second that she was. Figuring that if anyone knew the details of Lisa's condition, it would be Rossi, he went to him for answers. Closing the door and swearing his friend to secrecy, Rossi told him the truth, down to Lisa's reasoning for not sharing the news with him. Hotch understood and vowed to not only keep the secret, but to help his friend keep an eye on Lisa.

If pressed, Rossi would have to say that keeping news of the pregnancy to himself was much easier than watching her deal with the morning sickness. Prior to her diagnosis and for three long weeks afterwards, it wreaked havoc with her world. Only it wasn't just in the morning, it was all day long. Food turned her stomach, as did her old stand by, Diet Pepsi. The only things that she could hold down were pretzel rods and Dr. Pepper. Neither of which were normally stocked in the vending machines. Without being overly obvious, he'd managed to make sure her office was always properly stocked with both.

Eventually though, the morning sickness wore off and, although she still couldn't stomach the Diet Pepsi, she was able to eat normally during the day. She'd lost five pounds, something that didn't thrill the doctor, and he made her promise that she would eat sensibly but work to put that weight back on.

Stepping on the scale, that warm May morning, she looked crestfallen. "I don't get it," she said, walking back into the bedroom. "I'm eating. I really am…but I've only gained three pounds."

"Give it time, you'll gain more," he promised, buttoning his shirt. He watched her walk through the room, wearing only her bra and panties. Her body was changing, he could see it already.

"What?" she asked, pulling on her blouse and buttoning it. "Damnit, my freaking boobs are getting bigger." She cast an evil glance his way, "And before you say anything stupid, think twice."

"Sorry," he laughed, "I'm not complaining."

"We'll see how much you complain when I go out and buy all new clothes and charge them to your black AMEX," she sniffed, pulling at the blouse, "How bad does it look?"

"Relax, it looks fine."

"Yeah, right, sure," she sighed, pulling on a pair of black trousers. She pulled up the zipper, holding her breath while she tried, unsuccessfully to button the top. "Shit…"

"Lisa, you're pregnant," he gently said, "You knew this was going to happen."

"Yeah, I know, but this soon? If my waist is going at 9 weeks, what's it gonna look like at 20?"

With a smile, he stepped to her, taking her by the arms, "Stop beating yourself up, would you? It's not like you went on a junk food binge. There's a little person in there and as he or she grows, you're going to have to make some room."

She narrowed her eyes, "So, I'm an expandable mobile home, huh?"

"Personally," he said, "I like the changes…"

"That's only cuz my boobs are getting bigger. Wait until I look like a Volkswagen Beetle, then we'll see how much you like the changes," she shot, glancing over his shoulder at the alarm clock. "You need to go to work."

"And you don't?"

"I have to stop at NCMEC headquarters on the way in, I'll be along by noon or so," she explained, giving him a quick kiss. "Let me try to find something to wear."

XXXXX

David Rossi sank into the hotel bed. Sleep wasn't going to come easy, but he knew it had to come. With a yawn, he looked at his watch. It was nearly 11, he debated calling Lisa, thinking she might have fallen asleep. Usually, on the nights they were home, she would stay up to watch the 11 pm o'clock news, but lately, it was a stretch to make it til 10.

The ringing of his cell phone jolted him from his thoughts. Lifting the phone, he flipped it open and placed it to his ear. "Rossi," he gruffly said.

"Oh, I see how it is," Lisa's voice began, "You go off to the Big Apple and forget about me."

He smiled, "I didn't forget about you, Little Girl. It was nonstop all day. This is the first I've stopped since this morning."

"I figured," she allowed, "I also figured you wouldn't call me because you thought you'd wake me up."

"Speaking of which, why are you awake?"

"I dosed off around 9," she said, her voice growing quiet, "Guess I must've rolled over to your side of the bed, because I woke up. I'm getting used to having you around."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said with a smile.

"I've been sleeping alone for a long time, Agent Rossi," she returned, "My little world worked very well. Then you came along…now I don't like sleeping alone anymore."

"It's no picnic here, either," he admitted,

"I'm guessing that means you're no closer to solving this than you were last night, huh?"

"Every time we think we're getting a handle on it, something changes," he tiredly replied.

"Ah, one of those."

"Yeah," he agreed. He knew what she was going to do next and he wasn't going to let her. It was late and where talking out a case with her usually helped him process details he may have overlooked, he was not going to keep her up all night. "And, if you were here, we might be sitting up all night hashing this out."

"The phone works just as well, you know that," she offered.

"It's already late. You need your sleep," he gently said, his words met with silence.

"Don't do this," she quietly returned, a trace of anger in her voice.

"Do what?" he asked, surprised by her tone.

"Dumb me down because I'm pregnant," she continued.

"I'm not dumbing you down. But you know damn well you're probably exhausted. You've been through hell the past few weeks and need to rest."

"That may be, Dave, but you're obviously frustrated by this one and maybe I can help."

"I'll make you a deal," he returned, not willing to get into an argument with her. "If we're no closer to solving this tomorrow night, I'll call you and we can sit up til sunrise talking, okay?"

"Now, you're placating me," she returned, her voice softening a bit, "But I don't want to argue. It's late and we're both tired."

"I promise you, I will call you tomorrow night,"

"Don't make promises you can't keep. If something comes up…"

"I am promising you," he softly said, "And you know I keep my promises."

He could hear the smile in her voice, "If you can." She yawned.

"You need to go back to sleep. Call me when you wake up, okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

"I love you, too," he said, then added, "Both of you."

Her soft laughter made him smile. "Well, I don't think he's able to convey emotions yet, but I'm sure the feeling's mutual. I'll email you the ultrasound pictures tomorrow morning. See if you can get Hotch to pull them up for you."

"I'm not that much of a caveman, I can open an email attachment, Little Girl," he laughed, feeling a tug of regret at missing her appointment. "I'll be looking for them."

"Worry is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained."

Arthur Somers Roche

Lisa sat numbly, remote control in hand, listening while the MSNBC anchor talked about the explosion in New York. Two blocks from the Federal Building, a black SUV exploded, no further details were available at this time, but the block had been cordoned off by NYPD.

Her hands shaking, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Rossi's number again. And again, it went to voice mail. Flipping it shut, she turned back to the image on the television. Clearly shot from behind the NYPD barricades, she could see a smoking black SUV. She couldn't see anyone or anything near it. Before she could take in any further details, the face of the in studio anchor returned to the screen.

The anchor stated that their cameraman had been prevented from shooting any further footage by NYPD. They would follow the situation as details developed, but now, they'd go to their Washington correspondent.

"No!" Lisa said, the sound of her own voice startling her. "Your Washington correspondent? Who the hell cares?" She stood up, deciding that she needed to move about the room a bit. Flipping open her phone, she hit redial and again went right to his voice mail. This time, instead of hanging up, she left a message. "Dave, it's me. MSNBC just reported that a black SUV exploded two blocks from the Federal Building in New York…" she felt her bottom lip tremble, and bit it for a moment, cursing her hormones. "I know you're probably in the thick of things up there but if you can just take a minute and call me. Just to let me know it wasn't you…" she stopped, getting a grip on her emotions. "I love you." She said, flipping the phone shut.

Sitting down at her computer, she typed in the MSNBC address and waited while the site came up. Much to her disappointment, there was nothing more available. Quickly, she logged into the FBI network and smiled. Thankful for her high security clearance, she was the recipient of an alert from the New York Bureau. Her smile quickly faded when she saw that due to the possible terrorist activity the street had been blocked off to everyone including first responders. No further details were available at that time, but would be provided at a later time.

"Shit!" she spat, closing the browser window and looking at her phone. "Come on, Dave…just call. Just for a second. A text message, anything!" A burst of inspiration hit her and she flipped open her phone. Searching her address book, she found what she needed. Detective Sgt Steve Franchetti, NYPD. Steve spent six months working out of the CASMIRC office. They'd formed a great working friendship and kept in touch since he returned to NYPD nearly a year ago. Lisa dialed his number and waited, listening to the rings.

After three rings, his rich Brooklyn accent answered, "Franchetti."

"Stevie Boy, it's Lisa O'Reilly," she said, trying her damndest to sound cheerful.

"Hey Lisa, how are ya?" he said.

"Kinda worried, Steve," she said.

"Was that your crew in the SUV near the Federal Building?" he asked, his tone serious.

"I don't know, Steve, that's the problem," she admitted. "I have some good friends that were up there…"

"I don't know anything, Kid. I'm off duty tonight and didn't even bring my radio. If you want, I'll drive down to the station and put an ear out."

"I can't ask you to do that, Steve," she said, praying that he would anyway.

"How good are these friends?" he asked.

Without thinking, she blurted out, "One of them is the father of my child…"

"Child? Did you go and get yourself knocked up?"

"I did," she said, "Nobody knows yet, well, except for me and him, so keep it under your hat."

"Will do," he said, then, "And I'll drive down and nose around. If I hear anything at all, I'll call you."

"I owe you Steve," she sincerely said, welling up with tears.

"Ah, just name the baby after me," he teased. "I'll call you later."

"Thanks," she choked out, as they broke the connection. Catching her reflection in the window, she grew angry. "What the hell are you crying for?" she admonished herself. "God damned hormones," she spat, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Okay, get a grip, O'Reilly, do not jump to conclusions and do not fall apart." She quickly dialed Rossi's number again and listened while it went to voice mail. Resisting the urge to throw the phone, she disconnected and looked at the computer again.

Sitting at the desk, she pulled up her personal email account and logged in. She'd gotten home late after a busy day. Exhausted, she sat down in front of the television to eat the Chinese she'd picked up on the way home. She hadn't even thought of checking her email since early that morning. So now, to distract herself, she pulled up her new mail and studied the listing. There was one from her brother, one from her friend Debbie from college, but the last one caused her to pause.

It seemed a lifetime ago that she'd emailed him the latest ultrasound pictures, but it was only 9:30 this morning. Apparently, he managed to sign into his private email account at some point during the day and he replied. Clicking on the email, she watched as it popped open on her monitor.

From: Hollowman

To: PhilyRedHead

Subject: Re: Baby Pictures

Hello, Little Girl,

I told you I was capable of logging into my own email account and opening the attachment. I'm happy that everything went well at the dr this morning, still sorry I missed it.

I've looked at the ultrasound pictures three times and I'm sorry, but the kid still looks like an alien, must take after your side of the family.

I've got to go, but I promise I will call you tonight.

I love you, too,

Dave

Lisa re-read the email twice before she realized that the tears were flowing again. Grabbing a tissue from the box near the monitor, she wiped her eyes, then blew her nose with a resounding trumpet, before throwing the tissue in the trash. "Enough," she said, standing up. "You are not going to sit here like some kind of movie heroine. Think, O'Reilly. Who can you call?" And then, a burst of inspiration hit her. "Kevin Lynch!"