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!

Charlotte POV

Slowly, my heart pounding in my chest, I scuttled over to Spencer, who was sitting in a small space nearest to the window in the meeting room we were using as the base of our investigation. The floors were shiny, the table was wide, the chairs were snug and the air was warm, and quite balmy against my skin. It was a nice place, the atmosphere fought against the freezing temperatures of the outside. I could see that it was snowing, only lightly, thankfully, but enough to warrant an extra layer of clothing, and maybe a pair of mittens for when we go out on the job.

My voice quiet, I asked, "Hey, Spencer.. Are-Are you feeling okay? You look a little.. Out of it."

His eyes widened, momentarily, and focused on me, rather than glaring at the scenario that surrounded us outside. He stammered, "S-Sure.. I'm fine," he ran a hand through his short, curly locks, and I had to quell the urge to literally squeal at how endearing he looked in that moment - like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was adorable. "I'm fine, really, why do you ask?"

"Just that.. Well, you seem kind of angry at something, and I just wanted to see if you wanted to talk about it," then I realised how fucking stupid I sounded, and tacked on the end, pathetically and thoroughly embarrassed, "Never mind, I'm just being stupid," and went to turn around, only to feel his hand, warm and soft, grasp my elbow, and force me to turn back to face him. His expression was unreadable, but he looked a little perturbed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words.

He shook his head, and said, "Look.. I'm not very good at any of this, I-I never say the right thing," and he shrugged, then looked past my head, and his expression exploded in annoyance, "Come on, Hotch is calling us."

Hotch placed the manila folder in his hands onto the cherry wood desk, and ordered, his SSA-face on, "Garcia, give us the details, please," and she stood, dressed somewhat normally considering her usual attire was.. Eccentric, to say the least. She nudged her glasses up her nose, and began, "This Unsub has, as of today, killed five women - Jemima Holloway, Sandra Baxley, Neeve Francis, Louisa Dennis and Rachel Smith, all found in their homes, in nothing but their underwear, hanging from their four-poster bed frames, with an inverted pentagram drawn in their own blood, somewhere in their room - within 15 paces of their body."

Morgan added, seriously, "They were all brunettes, women, between the ages of 20 and 25 years old, two of which had young children, who were in relationships with the fathers at the time of the murder. Now, I don't believe in coincidences, so I'm gonna say that he's stalkin' them before he kills them."

Rossi asked, "But why wait? Why not just kill the kids too?"

I had only been half-listening to the briefing that was taking place, because I was too busy reading over the files that were scattered over the desk, however at Rossi's question, I answered, absentmindedly, "He doesn't want to hurt the kids, theyre not his target - the women are."

Rossi turned to me and asked, "How do you know that?"

I reclined in the seat, and answered, "Like Derek said, the coincidences are as bright as day. They're all brunettes, they lived in the same town. Hell, at first glance, they all look similar, so I'm guessing that they're a substitute for someone in the Unsub's life. From the age of the victims, I would say they could represent that of a lover, but there were especially gruesome wounds around the necks of the women who had children, suggesting a quiet hatred for maternal figures, making me think that this guy has mother-issues. Probably some kind of abuse, or negligence."

I felt my face heat up as I recalled my time with Adams, and I felt Garcia place a small hand on my shoulder, in comfort, and I continued, "The Unsub wanted them to hurt.. The post-mortem examinations even say that seventy-five percent of the wounds were done prior to the murder. They were alive when he did this to them. He wanted to hurt them. He didn't cut deep enough to kill, but enough to cause substantial amounts of pain. He wanted them to know who he was. To fear him."

Rossi answered, "So what you're saying is we're looking for guy with mama-issues?"

I breathed out a small smile, and I answered, "Yep, the worst of the worst, David."

-0-

"Lewis, with me, we're going to interview the families of the deceased," Rossi said, from the bar, and I jumped out of my skin, effectively breaking my carefully constructed calm and relaxation, and instead, found myself being nudged into the Jeep, next to a well-dressed David Rossi, who immediately started up the vehicle, thankfully, as the cold had settled in my bones, not moments after I stepped out of the cabin.

"So, David, where are we going first?," I asked, after turning on the shitty radio, and wincing at the crap that began spewing out of the speakers.

He turned to me, and answered, absentmindedly, "To meet the husband of the last victim, Rachel - the mother of the 4-year-old girl. They're at their mother's house just out of town. We're going to have to travel a bit today."

Grinning, I tucked some hair behind my ear, and said, evenly, "I don't mind, but, why me? Shouldn't JJ be here instead, I mean, she is the expert in communications, right?"

He nodded, however the smirk on his lips told me he was fighting away a smile, and he said, "I wanted to spend some time with you, and see how you're getting on after your.. Well, you know."

Freezing momentarily, I turned to glance out of the window, and answered, stonily, "The stay at the hospital was long, but I made some friends over there - they took care of me. Very well, as a matter of fact. You cant even see some of the scars anymore, the steroid cream they gave me worked magic. The worst being the long one down the length of my back."

I winced at the memory, but continued staring, vacantly, out of the front window, before exhaling, deeply, and continuing, "It sucks, but I'm fine now."

He stared at me, incredulously, and I rolled my eyes at his disbelieving nature. I wasn't lying when I said I was fine, I truly was. Sure, I suffered from nightmares from time to time, but sleeping pills usually worked a treat - I could take a few when I was feeling particularly down, and ended up snoozing the night through, without any drama.

Okay, so flashing lights, or loud sounds sometimes give me headaches, and make me jump and tense up more that usual, but that's entirely normal for someone who experienced something as traumatic as I had.

It wasn't PTSD, I could tell that it wasn't. Besides, Mortimer Bird cleared me after my stint in under his psychiatric care - for all intents and purposes, I was as fit as a fiddle, and planned to stay that way.

"You sure you're okay? I mean, it must have been traumatic," he asked, concerned, and I blanched, covertly, before muttering, "Yes. I'm fine, David, don't worry about me," I reached out to hold his hand, comfortingly, "I'm fine, believe me."

"What about those two agents that were in the office the other day - what's their story?," he asked, interestedly, and I simply smiled to myself, before answering, "Those are my handlers, Cade and Ledger, they were the ones who collected me from NYPD. They helped me out of a tough situation.. And now they're.. friends of mine."

He grinned then teased, "Just friends?"

I made a face, before murmuring, "Yes.. Just friends, stupid," and laughed, before moving the conversation along, quickly.

-0-

We arrived at the Smith household within half an hour after we slid into the Jeep, and, Jesus, it was horrible. The family was torn to shreds; the kid, a little 4-year-old girl by the name of Alana, was barely able to stand without the strength of her father, a man named Martin, aged 30. Her blonde hair tied up in two ponies, and the sight of her tears falling down her chubby flushed cheeks made my heart lurch in my chest, and I felt terrible.

I could see from the red-rims of her dad's eyes that he had been crying, but was trying to keep strong for his daughter - a feat that seemed to prove harder and harder for him to keep his cool throughout the conversation.

As soon as we entered the house, he asked his mother to take his daughter away into the next room, so that she wouldn't have to see or overhear the conversation that would eventually take place.

"Sir.. I'm sorry to have to do this in such a difficult time, but we need to ask you some questions, is that okay?," David asked as he took a seat in the single brown leather settee. I found a spot on the other sofa, and looked to the man in question, noticing that the anguish and.. Physical pain he was experiencing was too intense to be bogus.

He was hurting and I hated to do this to him, but we needed some answers, and fast, otherwise more women would be dying. I stepped forward then, knowing that in these more stressful situations, people as a whole reacted better when females asked the questions, as they regarded them as less intimidating, as well as more sensitive and emotional. Hey, what can I say? Sometimes it's true.

"Mr Smith," I began, to which he simply interrupted, "Call me Martin, please."

I repeated, quietly, "Martin..," then continued, "When was the last time you spoke to.. Your wife?"

"The morning of the day she..," he broke off, and I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, understanding his pain.

Nodding, interestedly, I hummed, then asked, "Okay.. Now, were you the one to find her?"

He nodded, and out of my peripherals, I noted that Rossi was taking notes. I asked, "At what time, approximately, do you think this was?"

"I know it was exactly quarter to five, because I switched on the TV to watch the game, but I realised the house was too quiet, so I thought Rach might have been asleep, so I checked on her, but.. But she wasn't," and it was then that the tears enveloped him, and he fell into my shoulder, seemingly unable to keep himself propped upright any longer. I patted his shoulder, sympathetically, and glanced at Rossi, who simply nodded, understanding that it was time for us to go.

"Sir," and when he didn't respond, I stated, more firmly, "Martin.. Come on," and pulled him up, so he was looking at me, his blue eyes wet with tears and full of agony, "Your daughter needs you. She's next door, waiting for her daddy, and you need to be her rock, because this is hitting her just as hard as its hitting you. Now, please, take a few moments to collect yourself, and when you're ready, go to her, and comfort her.. Because she's gonna need it."

He nodded, shakily, and stammered, "O-Okay.."

I sat back down, beside him, and said, firmly, "I need you to tell me exactly what you remember."

He ran a hand through his hair, and his eyes suddenly seemed far away and unfocused, as he recalled, his tone pain-laced and heart-wrenching, "The.. She was.. In her underwear. Just.. Rocking back and forth from the.. Noose. I couldn't.. I couldn't even scream, I just- Jesus, I stopped breathing. I ran to her, I slipped. I got to her, I shook her, I called her name. her lips.. They were blue. I knew she was gone, but I couldn't.. I couldn't just leave her like that. I called the police, I was crying, I think I screamed, but I'm not sure. Her eyes.. God, her eyes were so blank. Red, even. I think she might have been crying too, but.. It- I'm sorry, I cant."

Shaking my head, I assured him, honestly, "No.. Thank you, Martin. You've done enough. I'm so sorry for your loss. This.. This wasn't fair. Nobody deserves this. But you have a beautiful daughter, and she's going to be confused. So many police, and its always so loud. Hold her close, keep her near. She'll keep you sane. Believe me.."

Rossi and I stood to leave, and let this man grieve, however he grabbed my sleeve, and begged, hopelessly, "F-Find him."

Without pause, I replied, filled with burning honestly and blazing anger, "We will, Sir. I swear."

"P-Please."

He saw us out of the house, with a pathetic sniffle and a thankful, unstable handshake, and we slid into the Jeep, and drove onto the next house.

Jesus Christ, today was going to be a long one.