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The last time you’d gone to the BAU, you were newly pregnant and your wife was being held hostage hours away.

If you were honest with yourself, you’d avoided this building for a reason. That fear was still so fresh in your mind that it was easier to stay away.

But this was where your wife worked, where your friends worked. You couldn’t avoid it forever.

So, today, you’d decided to be brave and surprise your wife with lunch. You were 36 weeks now and going slowly stir crazy at home. Nesting had come on strong, but with the nursery finished and your hospital bag now packed, there wasn’t much left to do but re-fold onesies you’d folded a dozen times and wash clothes that didn’t need washing. 

When the elevator door opened on the sixth floor, the bullpen was a flurry of activity. Agents buzzed between desks, and phones rang throughout the room, but your sole focus was on finding the woman you loved.

JJ, Morgan, and Reid were sitting around Reid’s desk while he attempted one of his magic tricks for them. Emily had told you that Hotch had been called away to testify, so she was filling in as interim Unit Chief. As soon as he was back, her maternity leave would start, and you couldn’t wait to have her home with you. Safe.

“Y/N!” Spencer said, stopping his experiment in his tracks when he saw you waddling toward them. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing Em lunch,” you said, holding up the bag of takeout. 

“You should be resting,” JJ chastised. 

You rolled your eyes. “Jayje, I was going crazy at home. And you know how that feels because you worked so late in your pregnancy that you went into labor here.”

JJ blushed. “That was not my finest moment.”

“Is Em free?” you asked, shifting your weight as a familiar discomfort rolled through you. You’d been experiencing braxton hicks contractions for a few weeks now, and you were already over it. 

JJ nodded. “In her office, finishing paperwork from our last case.”

“The UnSub got away,” Reid whispered. “She’s been taking it pretty hard, but Strauss told us that we can’t investigate further unless we get new evidence.”

You heart sank. You knew how closely, how personally, Emily could take these cases. Having a suspect within reach and then losing track of them drove her crazy. 

“Thanks,” you said with a nod, before making your way toward her office.

You rapped your knuckles on the door twice before peeking your head in. “Surprise,” you sang.

Emily’s head snapped up and a smile lit up her face as you made your way inside, shutting the door behind you.

“Y/N,” Emily breathed, jumping to her feet.

“I brought you lunch,” you said, setting down the bag on the coffee table and taking a seat on the plush blue couch on the other side of it.

Em took a seat next to you, and you swung your feet up so they rested on her lap—your favorite position to take when you were watching TV at home. It was habit at this point. Emily massaged your legs. You blew out a long breath that sent your bangs flying and rubbed the side of your belly that was still sore from the practice contractions. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emily murmured.

You smiled at her. “I know, I wanted to.” You paused. “And, I guess I was feeling a little stir crazy.”

“Well, since you’re here,” Emily said, reaching forward to grab your lunch. “We might as well eat.”

***

There were few things Emily hated more than when an UnSub got away, and with this being her last case before maternity leave, that frustration was only heightened.

But you always knew what Emily needed, proving that once again when you strode into her temporary office in your baby blue sundress and sandals, lunch in hand. Her relief to see you outweighed her concern that you should be resting at home. But she knew if she brought that up, you’d point out that Emily wasn’t at home either.

Instead, she decided to enjoy this unexpected time with her wife, portioning out the takeout that you’d brought for lunch. Emily handed you your container first, along with a plastic fork, before grabbing her own portion and digging in.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” you said in between bites of food.

Emily waffled over how many details she wanted to share. She knew you liked hearing about her cases, and she wasn’t one to keep secrets—not anymore—so if you asked, she liked to be honest in her response. 

But she thought of your blood pressure, which had improved on the medication but could still trend higher than was ideal. At your last ultrasound, Dr. Keller said that you could try for a natural birth, but there was still a chance for a c-section, and Emily knew how badly you wanted to avoid surgery. 

In the end, she decided on a middle ground.

“At first, the UnSub’s goal was to maim, not kill. He shot his victims in careful spots that would keep them alive but injured.”

“So he was good with a gun,” you interpreted.

Em nodded. “We profiled a background in either the military or law enforcement. Our role started as a consultation to the local PD, to help them build a preliminary profile. But once the murders started, they brought us on to assist in the investigation.” 

You watched Emily with rapt attention, hanging on to her every word. With her left hand, Emily reached out to hold yours while she continued. 

“The escalation was fast and… severe. Instead of a single, careful wound, he started shooting his victims several times.”

You inhaled sharply, and Emily reminded herself to ease up on the details. She shot you an apologetic glance and noticed that you’d dropped her hand to rub at the side of your belly where the braxton hicks contractions had been bothering you. 

Emily shook her head. “It took the police a while to even realize the cases were connected because the MOs were so different. We found him eventually—an army veteran named Kyle Pope. We thought we had him cornered. Morgan and I were the closest, so we went in first and didn’t wait for backup. We didn’t—” Emily broke off. “I didn’t think we had time to wait.” 

The raven-haired woman sighed. “The warehouse he was hiding in had long been abandoned, so we thought it would be simple. But he’d made the inside a maze. Once we were inside, the doors locked behind us. He ended up escaping, and we couldn’t even try to follow him until the rest of the team came and broke the doors down.” 

Emily kept to herself the detail that, when Spencer and Rossi found Pope’s hideout, it was papered with photos of BAU team members. They still didn’t know if their involvement in the case is what caused him to escalate, or if facing off with the BAU is what he wanted all along. 

You reached for Emily’s hand, stroking the back of it with your thumb. “It’s not your fault.” 

But Emily was already shaking her head. “It was my call. I was point. If we’d waited for backup, we might’ve gotten him.” 

“Or he still would’ve gotten away,” you said, echoing what the rest of the BAU had said in the aftermath. “You’ll never know for sure, and wondering will only drive you crazy.” 

Emily leaned over to kiss you. “You always know how to make me feel better.”

You blushed. “It’s my job.”

The two of you finished your meal in a comfortable silence, letting the hustle and bustle of the bullpen be your background noise. So when that background noise hushed to an unsettling silence, Emily’s stomach dropped to her feet. 

You were still eating happily, unaware that anything had changed, and Emily wanted to keep it that way.

She lifted your legs long enough to free herself and stand, making her way to the windows that overlooked the BAU. 

Agents throughout the room had their guns raised, while unarmed FBI employees ducked behind desks. Every weapon was trained on a white man in his 40s, with shaggy, dirty blonde hair in a button-down and slacks. 

Kyle Pope was here. And in his arms, being held hostage against the barrel of his pistol, was a young, college intern who’d only started at the FBI a few weeks ago. She trembled, tears brimming in her eyes.

“What is it?” you asked quietly.

Slowly, carefully, Emily closed the blinds and turned off the light, plunging the office in darkness. 

“There’s a situation,” Emily said. “I need you to stay in here. Silently. I’ll come get you when it’s over.”

Emily helped you to your feet and ushered you to the corner of the room near her desk. Gently, she eased you to the floor and kissed the top of your head. 

“I love you,” she vowed. “I’ll be right back.”

Grabbing her gun from its holster, Emily ducked out the door, locking it behind her.

Leaving you, speechless, in her wake. 

***

You sat on the floor of the office, between the far wall and your wife’s desk. The room was completely dark, leaving you at the mercy of your other senses. 

Your back rested against the wall, and you crossed your legs under your protruding belly, rubbing small, soothing circles on it. 

She’ll be okay, you thought, unwilling to utter even a whisper aloud. She’ll get us out of this. 

A sharp, rippling pain laced through your lower back, and your belly went tight as a drum. You bit your lip to keep silent. 

It was possible that these weren’t braxton hicks contractions, you admitted to yourself, as this one lingered and strengthened before tapering off. 

Not now, baby girl, you silently pleaded with your daughter. Please not now. 

As if in defiance, a rush of liquid spilled between your legs and onto the carpet below you. 

*** 

“Kyle Pope,” Emily said, slowly descending the stairs into the center of the bullpen, bypassing the rest of her BAU team, whose glares she felt in her back. 

“That’s close enough!” the man yelled, pressing the gun against the young intern’s temple. Taylor—Emily was fairly certain her name was Taylor. 

“Okay, okay,” Emily said, lowering her gun but keeping it in her hands. “We can talk about this, Kyle. There’s no need for any rash decisions here.” 

He scoffed. “I know I’m not getting out of here. The least I can do is try to take as many of you with me as I can.” 

Emily channeled her years of training into keeping her face perfectly composed. Inside, her heart raced, and all she could think about was you, and the baby, hiding in the office. 

No. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.

“That’s not true,” Emily continued. “It’s up to you whether you walk out of here alive, or if you’re rolled out in a body bag.” 

Kyle’s eyes scanned the room. Emily wasn’t sure if he was searching for his next victim or trying to scheme a way out, but she needed to cut off his line of thinking quickly.

“That girl you have? Her name is Taylor. She just graduated from college. She’s an intern who’s been here—what, two weeks?”

Taylor nodded as much as she could beneath Pope’s grip. “Three,” she said, voice hoarse.

Emily smiled at her. “Three weeks. She’s just a kid, Kyle. She hasn’t done anything to you. Let her go.”

Kyle snarled. “She works with the FBI, which makes her just as guilty as the rest of you.” 

“Why?” Emily said, chancing another step forward. “What are we guilty of?” 

“You all claim to seek justice, to protect innocents from dangerous criminals. But when my nephew OD’ed on some dealer’s poison, all you were able to arrest him on was a weapons charge?” 

Emily cringed. She was familiar with the rough details of the case—Penelope had uncovered them when they were profiling Pope. But she never would’ve thought that it had caused all of this. 

“We did the best we could,” Emily said, keeping her voice calm. “We all hoped for a different outcome.”

“He only spent five years in jail. Five years!” The man shook his head. “You left me with no choice.”

The first victim he killed, Emily realized with a jolt, was the man responsible for his nephew’s death. They hadn’t been able to put those pieces together before Strauss had shut the case down. That was the escalation.

And this, now, was his vengeance. 

***

You knew Emily’s phone was sitting on top of her desk—you could see it from your limited vantage point. You had no way to tell your wife that you were in labor. And even if you could, you weren’t sure that you would. You couldn’t risk distracting her. And while you couldn’t make out much of what was happening on the other side of the door, you’d heard Emily say Kyle Pope’s name and were able to put enough pieces together to know it wasn’t good. 

But someone needed to know—you were racing against time before you’d lose your ability to labor silently. Each contraction was stronger and longer than the last, leaving you on all fours, panting under Emily’s desk. Sitting had become unbearable, but you couldn’t risk standing and giving yourself away. 

There was one person on the team who you knew would not only have their phone but be monitoring it, so you pulled up Pen’s contact info. 

I’m in Emily’s office, you typed, squinting against the bright light of your phone. My water broke. 

A call immediately came through from Penelope, but you sent it to voicemail and messaged again. Can’t talk. UnSub might hear. 

Got it. Penelope sent back in a flash. How far apart are your contractions? 

Six minutes or so? 

Oh, thank god. You have some time.

Try saying that to me when a human being is trying to tunnel out of your body. 

Point taken. Let me see if I can check on the team through our cameras. 

Slowly, you worked your way back into a sitting position while you waited for your next contraction, keeping your eyes glued to your phone screen, waiting for three dots to appear. Surely this was almost over. They’d arrest this man soon.

Right?

You remembered Emily telling you once that a talk-down could take hours. You weren’t sure how much time had passed since Emily had locked you in here, but it already felt like an eternity. 

As another contraction reared its ugly head, you were violently reminded that you didn’t have hours. 

Easing back onto all fours, you swayed your body back and forth, forcing yourself to take deep, shaky breaths. An involuntary moan slipped through your lips, and you clamped a hand shut over your mouth to muffle it. 

Your phone lit up, but you couldn’t focus on anything until the pain ebbed away, freeing you for a few more minutes.

Panting, you sat down once more and held up your phone. 

I can’t see what’s happening. Pen texted.

When you hadn’t responded, she’d sent another. Y/N? Are you okay? 

Contraction. You sent back. Pen, I’m scared. 

I know, hon. Let me see what I can do. 

You didn’t know what that meant, but you resumed rubbing circles on your belly and blew out a breath, hoping that she’d come to your rescue soon. 

***

“You don’t want to do this, Kyle,” Emily said, calmly and with authority. “You know you don’t. Your nephew wouldn’t want you to throw your life away like this.”

It was the first thing she’d said that had caused any sort of emotional response in Pope. Something flickered in his eyes—fear? Pain? And Emily knew she was on the right track.

“Look at Taylor.” When he didn’t, Emily nodded. “Go on, look at her.”

His eyes flickered to the girl he held hostage, and it was the final blow to his bravado that Emily needed.

“Oh, God,” the man whispered. 

His grip on Taylor loosened, and the young girl stared helplessly at Emily. When Emily was confident she would be safe, she nodded, and Taylor ran to the nearest agent, who whisked her away. 

Finally, Kyle started slowly lowering his gun, but Emily kept her eyes trained on it. She wouldn’t lose her focus from this man until he was safely in custody.

But before agents could move in and arrest him, a deep moan sounded from behind Emily. From her office.

Cold water spread through Emily’s veins as she turned out of habit toward the sound—toward you—when a shot rang out and pain spread through Emily’s arm. The force of the shot sent her tumbling to the floor as a chorus of gunshots responded to Kyle’s. 

Emily knew the man was dead, but all she could think about was you.

***

Bang.

BANG. BANG. BANG. 

The standalone bang hung in the air for less than a second before a chorus of gunshots followed, and you choked back a scream. Had they heard your cry? You hadn’t meant to let it loose, but your contractions were inching closer together, and the pressure from your daughter descending was only increasing. Even rocking on all fours wasn’t enough anymore—you were wishing desperately for your birthing ball, anything to help. 

The office door flew open, and you jumped back in fear, but it was only JJ. 

“Are you okay?” 

You pursed your lips and shook your head. “No,” you choked out, finally letting a guttural moan out that bounced off the walls. 

“I need a medic!” JJ shouted.

“Emily,” you panted. “I need… Emily.” 

JJ knelt at your side while a couple of paramedics rushed into the room. 

You jolted at their presence before remembering that Pen had probably called them for you. 

“I’m going to stay with you for now,” JJ said calmly. 

“JJ, what’s happening?” 

The medics were hooking up monitors to you and around your belly before lifting you onto a gurney. 

“How far apart are your contractions?” 

“Four minutes,” you said. “Where’s my wife?” 

“We’ll have you to the hospital soon,” one man vowed.

“I don’t care about that—where’s my wife?” 

The men escorted you down the ramp, where another, larger group of paramedics was huddled around someone on the floor. JJ danced into your field of vision, and you struggled to peek around her. 

All you caught was a glimpse of raven hair against the gray carpet before you were whisked away and onto an elevator. 

“Emily!” You screeched. 

“She was hit,” JJ said. “But she’ll be okay. She’ll be right behind you.” 

When your next contraction hit, your scream wasn’t just from the labor.

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