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

The day had been long and trying, and up until now, completely worthless. Greg Jones was far too intelligent and certain in his own abilities, Martin Hathaway was too confident in himself to be considered our unsub, he had that God complex that some men only wish they could pull off. Luis Cruz could have been our guy until we found out that he was gay - bursting in on a two men half naked can do that to a person and we had already established that homosexual men do not fit the description. Hal Thompson had a genetic defect in his leg that disallowed harsh and sudden movements, which should have come up in the research that Garcia but didn't, and as soon as we stepped into Franklin Dupree's house, he came on to me. That was too assertive for our unsub.

The final house that we had on our list was Martin Travis, 29 year old male living in the suburban area of Staten Island. The journey was lengthy and the weather seemed to skyrocket, making the air inside the car seem humid and sticky. I regretted wearing my fur lined boots to work that day, however I knew it would only plummet once we got back into Manhattan. Hotch informed me that once we got this over and done with, we would get something to eat and then get back to the office, of which I was perfectly fine with. More so, in fact, as I was starved.

Hotch knocked on the door, and a 5 foot 10, pale, blonde hair, blue eyed man stepped outside. He saw Hotch, and in an instant his demeanour changed from the quiet, curious citizen to a frightened, nervous wreck. He recognised Hotch as an alpha male, what with his dark hair and sharp eyes, and then his gaze slid to me. Anger… No, pure unadulterated rage filled his gaze and I knew.

"It's him."

That set him off, and instantly his front door slammed shut, ricocheting a little and sliding back open again. Hotch drew for his weapon, and I did the same only to find my satchel missing and my gun vacant. Hotch indicated that I go around the back and I did so, while he went through the front, chasing the unsub. I kicked open the fence and hopped the gate, only to see the unsub trying to scale the wall. I grappled with the lapel of his coat, and dragged him down, both of us falling to the grassy, hard floor.

I could hear Hotch approaching, rapidly, and I knew all I had to do was keep the unsub occupied. I collected myself faster than he did, and was able to block the wayward swing he sent me with my forearm. I sent a hard knee to his solar plexus and heard him groan in pain. Using the opposite leg, I hopped backward and swung strongly with my left hand, connecting heavily with his nose bridge. I felt it break under my fist, and saw a rivulet of blood trickle past his lips and down his chin.

I used this moment of incapacitation to wrap my right forearm around his neck, and used the left as a brace to increase pressure on his trachea and pulled his head towards my body - fully gaining control over his ability to breath. The headlock didn't last long as I saw Hotch out of my peripherals, and he took charge of the unsub, throwing him onto his front and handcuffing his wrists together and pulling him onto his feet, although he swayed slightly.

"Michael Travis, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law.."

I phased out of the rest of Hotch reading Travis his Miranda rights and I found myself walking to the car without much thought being put behind it - I was working entirely on instinct, but I had no inclination as to why. I hadn't been badly injured, maybe just a bruise or so on my back where I fell on it a little to hard, and I wasn't suffering from shock - there was no reason why I would be. Why was I feeling so detached from my body? It was a euphoric feeling like no other. Where did it come from?

I was pulled out of my thought process by the rather distinctive slamming of the door on the drivers side, and the shaking of the car as Hotch slid in.

Hotch's hand fell on my thigh, in an attempt to make me focus, and he professed, "We got him, Charlotte. You did good."

I smiled, blindingly bright up at him, and I could feel the tears stinging my eyes, but I couldn't let them fall. I only ever wanted to be good at my job. The job I was born to do. Help and protect people. That's all I ever wanted to do. A thought flew through my mind, and I couldn't help but frown when I wailed, "That means we cant get any food, right?"

Hotch laughed good-naturedly, and nodded his head, and responded with, "Yeah, no food until we get back to the station. I've called the rest of my team, they know we've got him - and that we should be back within the hour. Let's hurry and get this scumbag clocked in and then we can chow down. I'm starving."

I glanced back at our suspect, and felt a twinge of something close to smugness creep into my heart. A smirk of satisfaction made its way to my face and I saw the aggression seep back into his eyes, however he was unable to do anything, so I wasn't afraid. Not so smooth are you now, asshole.