Okay. Let's hope this isn't a load of bullshit, because ain't nobody got time fo' that. Read, review, favorite and all that good shit, okay? Yes. Thank you, and do like my url says and have a great day! X

I led the members of BAU down into the cockpit of the room, all of us were standing directly opposite the transparent glass boards, that we used for evidence and data logging. This was my job. This was what I was good at. I mean, PhD's in mathematics, engineering, quantum mechanics and forensic science came in handy when it came to cases like this. I heard light mumbling behind me, and I glanced backwards, catching the eye of one Spencer Reid, the child protégée and one-man-surplus-of-information.

It was almost funny considering he had so much general knowledge stored inside his mind, it almost gave me a head ache thinking about it. I mean, I had a great memory, I needed to if I was going to study, memorize and understand all of the subjects that I did at university, but his was just ridiculous. It was frightening, and a little bit endearing, if I were being honest. He was tall, almost lankily-so, but it worked for him. His slacks lay low on his hips, and his white, button up was tucked into his trousers. He wore a thin, pinstripe black tie and a obsidian waistcoat over his shirt.

He was a very handsome young man. He was a strong 27 years old - only 4 years older than I am right now. His hair was cropped short, and curled outwards, making it seems very outlandish and uncontrollable. For some reason, I was attracted to this hair cut - it suited his face. Walking along beside him was Derek 'I-Like-To-Fuck' Morgan, and his stupid, bright, wolfish grin adorning his face. His head was shaved, and there was a light stubble adorning his cheeks and chin. Lord, he was charming. He was about 6 foot of pure chocolate deliciousness, and I could only imagine how he acted in bed.

At those thoughts, my eyes flew open and a light blush coated my neck, and I turned to face forward once more. I didn't need that distraction. He was nothing more than a distraction. A very sexy, hunky, muscular dist- DAMN IT. I rolled my shoulders and took in a deep breath. Next to Morgan was Hotchner, and boy was he a worry-wart. His face was completely stoic, giving no indication of how he was feeling or even what he was thinking. On the surface, he either seemed furious or just detached. For a person who spent all of his time studying others, he sure as fuck perfected a way to show as little emotion as possible. I needed to learn this from him.

Beside Hotchner was Rossi, and he seemed to be very relaxed and impassive about the whole situation. His dark-skinned, stubble-covered face held a small crooked smile as he took in the whole NYPD office. I forced myself to push my straying thoughts out of my mind, and walked even quicker, if that was possible. They kept up, easily, of course, the trousers I was adorning left little to no room for free movement. I knew I had put on weight after my stint in hospital, and I would have to book an appointment at the gym, to make sure I worked myself into an early coma.

Oh wait, bad joke. After pushing open the doors that would lead me to my untimely figurative death, I led the group to the centre, immediately falling into the details of the case, who and what suspects we have in mind or in custody, and answering any questions thrown at me. If I were to be labelled as anything, it would be a stickler for details.

"So.. We're looking at a white man, between the ages of 25 and 35. He would have recently been released from prison, having served time for something menial, like robbery or grievous bodily hard. He grew up in a home without a mother, she probably left him and his father for another man and family, which is why he spends a lot more time working on the women, rather than the fathers. The fathers all had been shot, close range in the chest, directly in the heart, killing them instantly. The mothers, however, were tied down, forced to watch as their families were killed and then, after approximately half an hour, they were shot, once in the chest, and one in the face - making the attack far more personal. Every family had children, two as a matter of fact, and they were gunned down in their beds, while they slept. The coroners said that they died after the father did," I looked down, grimly, and clenched my fists lightly, the anger swelling in my gut, and I continued, "This unsub is intelligent, but very withdrawn from society. He probably suffered some kind of abuse at the hands of his father, which is why he takes out the men first, seeing them as danger, and ultimately more powerful than he is. This indicates that the perpetrator is slight in build, maybe even weak in some people's opinions. He is the type of man that everybody over looks; the janitor, the plumber, the engineer. Someone who nobody looks at twice. This enforces his inferiority complex, and this is his way of acting out, so to speak. Also, he's unable to think for himself. Or at least when it came to the weapon of choice. The Son of Sam used the same weapon in his own crimes, and it seems like he almost had to coast off of the accomplishments of others."

I had been speaking with my back to the group, using my hands to properly convey what I was speaking about, and as I turned around, I noticed the questioning, and almost irritatingly surprised, which in a way, sort of pissed me off. I read their books, both Gideon and Rossi, I needed to, if I was going to be a good profiler. Why would it be surprising that I did so? Who did they think I was? Oh please.

"Well done, this is very interesting. You've given us a very detailed template; do you have any suspects in mind?"

Because I'm really crappy with keeping up on schedule, I'm giving you guys a second chapter. I hope your happy with it :)