Okay, I don't own anything to do with the perfection that is CM or any of its affiliations. I do, however, have the pleasure of owning my OC, Charlotte. Hope you enjoy the story - and have a great day!

Hotch POV

Walking into work that morning, I felt more worn and bleary than usual. Jack had been up all night, running through the corridors, literally bouncing off the walls, screaming about some new toy that he just had to have, and it had taken both Beth and I almost two hours to get him to calm down. We all woke up late, having slept through our alarms, and rushed to get ready for work or school, in Jack's case, which was hell in itself, because of the sleep, or lack thereof, we had gotten the previous night.

Beth took Jack to elementary this morning while I rushed to get to work, which was a silent blessing for me, and as I had gotten too excited in my efforts to dress myself, pack my pack and find my keys all at the same time, I spilt coffee all over my shirt, meaning that I had to spend twenty extra minutes, that I really didn't have, to get ready again. I had been stuck, halfway ready to scream and tear my hair out, in traffic, for almost an hour, and when I pulled into the employee parking lot, there were no spaces left, which had me hitting my steering wheel in frustration.

I was growling under my breath about how pointless this morning had been as I stomped into the elevator, skin white and strained from the amount of tension I had in my clenched fist and jaw, and hair in an uncombed, uncontrollable mess. I barrelled into my office, and all those who were in my path met an icy, frosty glare, and they knew not to disturb me, or they would face my unbridled rage.

I threw myself into my chair, and saw that there were three manila folders, one on top of the other, and I sighed heavily, but went about doing my job anyway. I flipped open the first, and was met with a new case, a serial killer, in a small town in Alaska.

Great, we're going somewhere as cold and dark as my current mood. There have been 5 victims, all women, between the ages 20 and 25, all brunettes and petite in size, and the community they were all from was equally as small. They were calling for us to help catch this guy, and Erin had, under some pressure from her superiors, agreed to send our team.

What with Emily gone, having left to go and work with Interpol in London, our team had suffered a loss. A very Prentiss-sized loss, and it was obvious that we were hurting. We've accepted the fact that she had gone, and we're happy for her as a unit, but that didn't mean we just stopped caring about her. I always expect her to push open my office door first thing in the morning, or throw out some sarcastic comment about Reid, but it never comes, because she is missing. She keeps in contact with us, when she can, and keeps us informed on her new life. She missed us greatly, but she was having an amazing time in London, and we were glad for it.

Now, with her gone, we had an opening in our squadron, and we needed to fill it and fast. If we didn't, we'd be lacking in some form or another. I still didn't know who was coming in, only Strauss was aware of it. I was supposed to find out this morning, but I was late, so I'd have to go and find Erin and wrench it from her, manually. I flipped the folder closed, and went on to the second one. It was a report that needed signing, completely routine and usual. It was, basically, an overview on the case we had just come back from, and all it needed was my signature. However, if I didn't read through this carefully, it would be a complete disaster, for everyone included. I scratched my signature along the dotted line at the end of each paper, and when I was done, I folded the folder closed, and moved on to the next.

When I turned the first tan page, I was shocked to see the face of Charlotte Lewis - whom I hadn't seen for at least 2 months. I had always wondered how she had been, often asking Rossi, who was the only member of our team who still held contact with the young New Yorker. Not because we didn't want to, but because it could be taken as weird if we just suddenly all began bothering her with e-mails and text messages. The last I had heard, she was doing well in physiotherapy, her recovery coming along fabulously, but that had to have been a month ago, at least.

As I read through her file, I was shocked to see the true extent of her injuries after her run in with Edward Adams. In the photographs that were attached, she had been wearing a simple, dotted, blue hospital gown, but every patch of skin on her hands, legs, feet and face was battered, bruised and a completely different colour to the her original NYPD profile picture. There had been detailed recounts of her recuperation through the time she spent at physio, and I was astounded with how much progress she had made, especially in the short amount of time she had made it in.

She was a strong one. I saw it the moment I looked into her eyes.

I wondered why I was being shown all of this information, and on the final page, my queries had been answered. A single dotted line was vacant for my signature. This was the form that would permit Lewis onto my team, as an honorary member of the BAU. This made me raise an eyebrow, questioningly.

Not that I was ungrateful, because Jesus, I was. She was a brilliant detective, and an amazing person, who did the very best she could with the cards that she was handed. She shouldn't have been on the FBIs watch list, let alone actually first place for the opening. I pulled out my phone, and called the person I needed to talk to the most right now.

Rossi.