(Alright! Chapter 5! A few things

1. I changed my username from Jordon5 to littleoblivion. This is in reference to the E.E. Cummings poem, Don't get Me Worng Oblivion, which is wonderful and you should read it.

2. I posted the last chapter for Nothing Left earlier today and it is officially complete! Please feel free to read if you haven't already.

3. I encourage you to be thoroughly impressed by the math I did to write the statistical overview that Reid gives at the end of this chapter.

4. Oh I changed the city the team is visiting from Palo Alto to Orlando. It flows better with timelines.

Anywho, read and review!)

"I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past." Thomas Jefferson

Emily

On the plane ride to Orlando, I try to focus on the case in front of me but I have a hard time focusing. To be honest, I'm concerned about leaving JJ home alone. Yes, my brilliant wife was strong and independent, but especially following this morning's meltdown, I wanted to be with her. Not to mention, every day brought us closer to the baby's arrival. What if she goes into labor and I'm not there? This was of course a very real possibility. So much of my time was spent across the nation and I was more than a little worried that she would go into labor while I was in the field.

Of course, if that were to happen I would fight tooth and nail to get back home. Hotch hadn't said as much but I was fairly sure that the BAU jet would be at my disposal should this happen. And I hadn't been kidding about what I told JJ; my mother was not above calling in favors from high places when needed. This was something that I had hated as a teenager of course. There is nothing quicker to reassure your classmates of your freak status than your diplomat mother bringing in the prime minister to talk to your class. We have admittedly not had the greatest relationship throughout the years. I don't think I'll ever forget the awful night when I had confessed to my mother I had not only gotten pregnant but then gotten an abortion.

I had had the procedure done the day before. It hadn't been at the most reputable of clinics. I was of course underage and Italians weren't exactly pro-choice, so my friend Matthew found a doctor in a town a few hours from Rome. It had been over quickly and I hadn't had any major complications; for this I count myself lucky. I had access to large amounts of money thanks to swiping my mother's pocketbook and a wonderful friend who was willing to help me. If I had been forced to go the back alley option like many girls in my position I could have died.

Even though the procedure had gone well, I was experiencing some major stomach pain. I assumed and frankly hoped that this was normal. One of the cramps had just passed when Mother came bursting into my room.

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! What the hell is wrong with you? You stole my checkbook? What if you had been busted with it, and been arrested? Do you ever stop to think out the consequences of your actions?" Her words hit more than she knew. I could feel the pain coming back and a sweat broke out across my brow.

"Mom, I-"

"And what exactly was so Goddamned important that you needed to steal money from your own mother? Is this drugs? Emily Prentiss are you on drugs?" I could see the fire blazing in her eyes and spit flew from her mouth as she yelled.

"What? No, I'm not on drugs, it's not-" I let out a gasp and clutched my abdomen as the pain became acutely sharp.

"Oh please spare the theatrics, you're not getting out of this that easy." I fought the urge to roll my eyes and instead gritted my teeth.

"I am not doing drugs, that's not what this is about. Can you please just-" I squeezed my eyes shut as the pain strengthened.

"Then what? Why did you steal my checkbook?"

"It's not important!" I desperately cried.

"Something obviously was very important. Stop being so dramatic and tell me- Oh my God, Emily!" I had sunk to my knees, hands pressed to my stomach. She knelt in front of me. "What's wrong?" She demanded, concern creeping into her voice. I could only moan in response.

"I'm going to call an ambulance." She began to stand and I clutched her arm.

"Don't." I whispered.

"Emily, you're sick, you need a doctor."

"I'm fine." I insisted, shaking my head.

"You are obviously not and frankly this is absurd-"

"I got pregnant." I blurted out.

Time seemed to stand still. I finally managed to raise my eyes and look at her as the pain began to lessen.

Her face was frozen in shock, and then her shoulders sagged as she let out a ragged exhale. "Emily… No." She seemed to age twenty years in front of my very eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't… I thought I was… I'm sorry."

"You had such a promising future." I began to cry, partially because of the disappoint in her voice but also because it was one of the only times I could remember her acknowledging how hard I worked to make her proud.

"Mother, I… I…" The pain hit my stomach again and I leaned over.

"We'll get through this. We can find… Some sort of boarding facility. Where you can go and have the baby. And then it'll go to some family. Then you can come back and continue your studies. And we can put this behind us." Her face was once again calm and collected. My sobs intensified.

"No… No…"

"Emily yes. We cannot let this ruin your life. You are too smart, too talented to be reduced down to some knocked up idiot girl, raising the babies of a lowly Italian punk who doesn't care if she lives or dies!"

"Well don't worry, because I'm not having anyone's baby!" I yelled out, anger finally getting the best of me.

She turned her head to the side, ever so slightly. "What… Emily what do… Oh my God…" The last part came out in a horrified whisper. "What have you done?"

"I'm sorry! I was so scared! I'm not ready to be a mother. And I didn't want to disappoint you. So I… I… I'm sorry Mother." The tears streamed down my face as I desperately apologized.

We stayed like this, both on the floor, me sobbing and clutching my stomach, her sitting back on her heels, watching me with blank eyes, for what seemed like hours. Then she stood and walked for the doorway.

"You say you didn't want to disappoint me, Emily… But this. You getting a… You should have told me… I can't believe you did this." And she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving me crying on my bedroom floor.

We haven't spoken of the abortion since. A few years later I graduated high school and went to Yale. I had worked tirelessly to put it behind me and make her proud. And for the most part, I like to think that I have succeeded.

As we settle in for the rest of the flight, I find myself next to Rossi.

"You said Jen is under the weather, right?"

I nod. "Yeah. She's not feeling great so she's staying home and working from the Bureau."

He nods back at me. "And you? How are you feeling? Nervous?"

I smile and let out a slight chuckle. "Nervous is definitely a word I could use. We're seven and a half weeks out. But… I like to think that we're ready."

"Well I'll let you in on a secret: You're not."

I can't help but laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence!"

He smiles back and ruefully shakes his head at me. "Don't get me wrong! I'm sure that you're very prepared. But reading the books, preparing the nursery, going to the crazy breathing classes… It helps but believe me when I say that you two will be scared shitless when she goes in to labor. And when she finally has the baby. And probably the first couple of months. But it'll be okay because that's just the road of a new parent."

Oh I don't doubt you." I lower my voice a bit so that only can hear me. "I'm worried I won't know what to do. I mean, JJ yeah, she's going to be a great mom, no doubt about it. But I'm not like her! And… I don't know. I'm so excited. But I'm worried I won't take to the role of 'Mom' as naturally as she will."

"You shouldn't doubt yourself, Em." He looks at me for a moment. "Is this feeling because of Italy?"

I clear my throat. "Partially I guess. I would definitely consider it a factor."

"Well, you shouldn't let it weigh in on this happy time. You were young. You did what needed to be done." He says simply. "And as for you not naturally being a maternal being, I think you're selling yourself short. I've seen you work with kids in the field. Hell, I've seen you take care of Reid." We both smile as he jerks a thumb towards our unit's youngest member. "It's going to be fine. Just wait and see."

We arrive in Orlando and go to the hotel. It's already dark and it will be more efficient to get a good night's rest and wait to visit the police station first thing in the morning. We check in and I find myself alone in a small room overlooking the back alley. It makes me miss Jayje. Even years ago, before we got married, before we began dating, before I had even admitted to anyone in the unit that I was attracted to women, we had shared a hotel room when in the field. It was nice to have someone in the other bed, someone who I could bounce ideas off of while I waited for sleep to come. Of course, once we became an item we began to share a bed. It made the awful cases a little bit better to be able to hold her in my arms and breathe in her sweet scent. It kept away the nightmares.

I change into pajamas and wash my face. I think about calling JJ to let her know that I'm at the hotel and all is well, but decide to instead send a text. I had already woken her up once today, and God knows she needed rest. I send the message and turn out the lights, snuggling under the sheets while missing my other half.

The next morning finds us at the police station. We are set up in a conference room, crime scene photos and maps already pinned to boards for us. We are chasing a serial killer who is killing men throughout the city. All the victims were white and in their late thirties to early forties, but that's where the similarities ended. The victimology crossed economic brackets and neighborhoods. Two were married and one was in a relationship, with only one having children.

"Could they just be victims of opportunity?" Morgan throws out.

"But what are the chances of it being three white guys in their late thirties?" I ask.

"Actually, the odds are decent. Orlando is thought of as being very ethnically diverse but 63.4% of the population is white. Compute that with the fact that 48.4% of the city is male and 16.2% is in the desired age bracket and it comes to 4.97% of the city. Meaning that with an approximate population of 185,951 residents, the unsub is pulling from a potential suspect pool of 9,242, rounding up. Well, 9,239, giving the recent events. Really, the largest possible suspect pool when looking at the most local census would be white females, ages 25-34, who at 12,366 make up 6.65% of Orlando."

I try not to look impressed by the sheer enigma that is Spencer Reid and fail dismally.

"Well… Be that as it may, we still don't have a why. What makes these men special out of the 9200 that Reid has so helpfully supplied?" Rossi asks.

Hotch's phone rings and he presses accept. "You're own speaker Garcia, what have you got?"

"Okay so I've been doing some digging and I've uncovered a whole lot of icky. I was checking into bank statements, phone records, medical junk, my usual jazz, when I noticed that all three of our victims had visited the emergency room several times in the past couple of years."

"They were ill?" questions Hotch.

"See no, they were all fine, but y'know who wasn't fine? Their wives and girlfriends, who were all brought in for a myriad of injuries such as sprained wrists, black eyes, and I quote 'falling down the stairs.' So I watched a video of a baby panda riding a rocking horse for a bit and then I looked into the victims' criminal histories. Turns out the Rodney Eckles had been married previously and his wife filed for a divorce after he beat her within an inch of her life with a baseball bat and Joe Henderson had been in fights his entire life, not discriminating about what gender he was walloping."

"They're all domestic abusers. That has to be the link." states Morgan.

"But how is this unsub finding that out?" Reid twirls a pencil between his fingers as he leans back in his chair.

"Thanks Garcia. Oh, and is JJ in your office with you?" I ask before Hotch hangs up.

"Oh our resident bun in the oven wasn't feeling well so she is still at home. But at 5 o'clock I am turning off my computer and relocating to your living room so I can supply JJ with soup and yummy ice cream. But I will be available via cellphone if you need my tactical brilliance."

"Oh… Okay well keep us updated. On both fronts!" I try to avoid the funny feeling in my stomach. This was not like JJ. She didn't take sick days. Even when she honestly should she always shouldered on. Her taking two did not bode well with me at all. What in the world was going on?