ANOTHER CHILD WENT MISSING. In the few hours it took for the team to nearly complete their first task, we got the news that the unsub had struck again. Instead of a smiley face balloon tied to the bed frame, this one was found on a bench in one of small local parks. A mother and child were playing at a nearby playground, noticing the girl when they had first arrived and the ballon when they were leaving.

"Her name is Rosalyn Kennedy." The lead detective Josh Hannen comes into the conference room where Hotch and I had just finished conducting the family interviews in. "Fourteen years old. Her parents are on their way now."

"Good." Hotch nods in his direction. "Cypher, I'll need you to interview her parents, John and Mandy Kennedy, and get back to me. I'm meeting Reid and Rossi at the latest abduction site. Are you able to handle that?" He asks cautiously. He's been tiptoeing around me this entire time, knowing my history, and my struggle with this case in particular.

"Yes sir." I smile in acknowledgment, gathering the stack of notes he took during the last interviews.

I want to be strong. I don't want him to be walking on eggshells around me, gauging my every expression and movement as if I'm a bomb ready to break down at any malfeasance.

I need to be strong.

Hotch gives me a kind look, resting a hand encouragingly on my shoulder. I tap the paper against the table to straighten the pages out and setting them aside as he rushes out of the precinct.

The parents of Jace Klyd hadn't given us a lot of helpful information. However Tristin Feltons family had mentioned she was feeling a bit depressed due to their parents upcoming divorce. The Klyd family didn't disclose this to us, but with a quick phone call to Garcia- Aaron was able to found out they too had gone through a divorce.

It may be a connection, or coincidental. The divorce rates are increasing high, with around one couple filing for divorce every thirty-six seconds. Two thousand and four hundred per day, and with those numbers there's an average of eight hundred seventy-six thousand couples divorcing per year.

Two of those could very well have been Triston and Jace's parents, but right now it's the only connection we could glean from the interview process.

I notice detective Hannen pull a chair out from the interview table. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to assist me in interviewing the parents." He says simply. This being the first time he had spoken to me since I had the displeasure of meeting him a few hours ago. His eyes seem to stare through me, as if I wasn't even there.

An amused huff escapes me. "I'm assisting you? Funny. Your assistance is not needed, detective."

"I'm not about to leave the life of a child in the hands of another child." He mutters, not taking his eyes off of Hotch's notes that he somehow got his hands on.

Okay. I see how it is.

I bite my tongue at the opportunity to retaliate with a comment about how I outrank him despite being half his age. But ultimately I decide against it. He's not worth the time or energy.

"Fine." I scoff. "Try to keep up."

He dosent have a chance to respond because the distraught parents being escorted by an officer came up to the door.

"Mister and Missus Kennedy." Detective Hannen stood, outstretching his hand for them to shake.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at how ignorant he's being. The couples' child has been taken- they obviously don't have the physical and mental energy to conform to communal greetings. The Kennedy's hands were holding onto each others tightly, and they were not willing to release each other to please the detective.

"I am agent Cypher, with the FBI." I introduce myself, gesturing for the couple to take a seat across from me at the table. "I-I know this is a very difficult time... but I need to ask a few questions that may help us find Rosalyn. Is that alright with you?"

John Kennedy nods, his voice shaking as he forces himself to speak for them both. "Wh.. Whatever you... We will do whatever you need, agent."

My heart aches at seeing the pain in his eyes. Both of them are devastated, trying to lean on one another for a comfort that won't be complete until their child is safe. Mandy screws her eyes shut, tears falling down her cheeks.

"When did you last see Rosalyn?" Detective Hannen's voice is flat without compassion or sensitivity as he beings the questioning.

"This morning." John answers again. "She was heading off to school... how... I don't... how did she end up in the park?" At this his eyes filled with tears, but he didn't allow them to fall.

I offer a ghost of an empathetic smile, trying to keep my head above water as my throat grows dry. "That is what we are trying to figure out, Mr. Kennedy."

"How long has Rosalyn had behavioral issues?"

The question caused Mandy to gasp, and caused Johns sadness to contort into anger.

I look over at Detective Hannen slowly. Disbelief and intrigue making me hold back on backpedaling for him.

"Behavioral issues?!" The mother stands, pointing in the detectives face. "Our Rosa doesn't have behavioral issues! She is at the top of her class, she dosent get into trouble. She isn't like the others!" She all but yells, her gaze turning almost deadly.

"She wasn't at the park in the middle of a school day for no reason." He adds fuel to the fire. "What do you suppose she was doing out of class?"

"Thats enough, Detective." I stand just before the parents rage could overtake the room.

"Hush, adults are speaking." He pacifies before going on the defense. "I'm sure you're both aware of the opioid outbreak in the state. Amongst teenagers especially."

"Are you- are you-" The rage in Mandys eyes darkened, and she began laughing. "Insinuating-"

"Hannen, I have to ask you to leave." I don't let Mandy continue. If I was a mother, that opioid comment would be the words that landed me a life sentence. And I don't really feel like being witness to a murder today. Especially during the first real interview and task Hotch has assigned me to do myself.

She can kill him in the car lot.

"You cant-"

"I just did." I meet his stare, not wavering and glaring right back at him.

Reluctantly he does leave. Getting up, not bothering to push in his chair as he storms out like a toddler having an temper tantrum.

"Our Rosalyn dosent have behavioral issues." Mrs. Kennedy repeats in a harsh tone.

"I believe you." I assure softly. "I'm sorry about him... Uh- you mentioned Rosalyn is in the top of her class? Thats amazing!"

"Yes." The fathers smile is small, hidden by the gloom of the situation, but it is there. "She is going to be an architect."

I can see it flash behind their eyes as the words came out of his mouth. The realization that she may not have the future they had been planning for. She may not have a future at all.

"We are doing everything to find your daughter." I start, having to fight off tears again as it hits a little close to hime. No. No. Be Strong. I want to be strong. "My next question might be sensitive." I inform after a moment of silence. "But I wouldn't be inclined to ask it if I didn't think it could help us find Rosalyn."

"Anything." Mandy says without hesitation. "Anything if it will help."

"Are you two in the works of a divorce or separation?" After I ask the question their faces contort in confusion.

"No. No." Mr. Kennedy shakes his head. "Why? If we were, would he let my little girl go?" A small bit of hope shines through his voice, a hope I cannot feed.

"Can you tell me about her friends?" I change the subject. "Did she have any contact with anyone in person or online that could want to hurt her?"

"No." Her mother says through a sniffle. "Everyone loves her."

I nod. "Did she have any electronics? A cellphone, tablet, laptop?"

"A teacher found her phone in her locker." Mr. Kennedy says slowly. "We have gps enabled on it. Her phone never left the school."

The rest of the interview went smoothly. Well, as smoothly as it possibly could given the circumstances. After I had gotten all the information I needed I made sure to see the Kennedy's out of the precinct, wanting to be there just in case a certain detective with a talent of offending the bereaved decided to pay them another visit. Only after I had promised to let them know of any developments, they finally took my advice to go back home. I hope they can find some solace within each other, and get some much needed rest under the pretense of returning just in case Rosalyn happened to show up.

"What's up, sugar-plum?" Garcia answers my call with her usual fervor.

"Hey Garcia, I just sent you a phone number. Could you possibly go through the hard drive and see if there is any suspicious activity or people that Rosalyn Kennedy had been in contact with?"

"Perfect timing!" She gives a short laugh as she begins clicking away on her keyboard. "I just got the command to comb through the others electronics. I'm on the hunt! I'll call ya when I've bagged something."

I smile at her witty comment. "You're the best."

"Tell me something I don't know." And with that, she blew two kisses before hanging up.
••••

So far the unsub has taken three children. Two with the trauma that comes with watching your parents going through a divorce, and one with seemingly a perfect family life. Perhaps the divorced parent's thing isn't really connected after all.

Then as far as I know we have nothing. I'm sure the others have leads and ideas they've generated while out, but it seems we've resorted back to square one— boredom threatening to overtake me as I sit in the precinct waiting for my next assignment, and no one relaying any updates back to me.

It would be difficult to hold two teenagers while at the same time abducting another. So either our unsub has already murdered the first two children- freeing up his time and energy for another, or he has a second location which they are keeping the first two. But my guess is that our unsub has a partner in crime, making it easier to keep the children subdued.

We would know if the children were dead. Nothing about this unsub hints at 'subtle'. They don't seem the type to go to great lengths to hide what they've done.

It's been three hours since the Kennedy's left. I can hardly stand the radio silence anymore— taking out my phone to call Hotch, but before I had a chance to dile his number commotion distracts me from outside.

Even from the front doors of the police precinct I can see her, Rosalyn Kennedy, and more notably her blood slowly spilling onto the sidewalk.

Time seems to slow in the way it always does when something horrific happens as I rush out to her. Pushing past the group of people that started to gather around like moth to a flame.

I can feel my heart beating in my ears, my head growing light as the old course of adrenaline hits me.

"Rosalyn!" I fall to my knees at her side, habitually assessing her condition.

"Call an ambulance." Someone orders.

"Where did you find her?"

"Did you see the car that dumped her here?"

"Is she dead?"

No, she's not dead. Not yet.

She isn't going to die— I can't let her die.

I pull off my cardigan before tugging down her blood stained jeans and press the bundled up fabric to the gunshot wound in her thigh.

"Give me your belt." I demand to the man closest to me.

He stares at me with a baffled look as he tries to process what I've just said to him. "W-What?"

"Give me your belt!" I say louder, the urgency in my voice seems to break through to him because he immediately begins undoing his pants.

I take the belt and fasten it as tight as possible a few inches above her wound, tight enough to cut off circulation. Hoping it will bide us some time so she doesn't bleed out before an ambulance arrives.

She allowed me to do this without so much as a scream from the unbelievable pain that pressure would have caused. My breath hitches at the realization.

"You— Keep steady pressure on her leg." I grab another person from the crowd who happened to be closest to me. She immediately bends down, holding the fabric tightly.

"Oh god." She gags as I move my hands, leaving her with the duty of not letting this child bleed to death.

I press my ear to Rosalyns chest.

"She is not breathing." I announce out of habit to no one in particular.

I open her mouth and feel as far back as I can with my fingers as chaos ensues around me. People are shouting, screaming, crying, no one is taking control of the situation. That is, before Hotch's car pulls up.

"Back up! Everybody, back up!" He and the others rally's the crowd, forcing them back as far as possible allowing me to tend to her.

I take my fingers out, and tilt her head to peer down into her windpipe.

Her throat has a blockage.

"Hannen!" I shout at the man who came out to see the train wreak. "Get me a blade, a lighter, hand sanitizer, and a hollow instrument." My voice is clear, and authoritative, which by the shocked look on his face takes him back a little.

"Hollow... hollow instrument?" His rude condescending tone from earlier is now gone, replaced with confusion and slight panic.

"An empty pen cartridge— a small tube— a straw." He nods. "An unused straw." I clarify, but he still dosent move. "I need them here, and I needed them here thirty seconds ago, Hannen!"

His eyes widen. "Right. Right!"

I turn away from him and began compressions as he runs back into the precinct. 

"Remember- steady pressure. If bloods still pouring out like that you're not pressing down hard enough." I look at the woman who is holding down my cardigan to the child's wound. She cringes at the squelching sound the blood from Rosalyn's wound made when she presses down harder.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." She screws her eyes shut, whining at the gory site.

"One. Two. Three. Four." I chant under my breath with each pump I do against her chest. "One. Two. Three. Four."

"Ambulance is five minutes out." Hotch informs me.

"Good." I breathe. "Two. Three. Four."

"Here here- I got it!" Detective Hannen comes out again, handing over all the tools to Hotch.

"Great, here's your freaking metal." The snide remark leaves me before I could even think. Adrenaline and desperation making my filter temporarily drop. "I mean- thank you."

"What do you need first?"

"Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four." I put just ear to her chest again, after the compressions her heart is still not beating. I need to get her airway clear if it has any hope of starting up again. I stretch out my hand. "Sanitizer."

He squirts a bit in my palm and I rub my hands together before grabbing the rest of the supplies from him.

"What are you doing?" The woman at her leg asks as her eyes grow impossibly wide.

I don't take my focus off the knife as I run it over the flame of the lighter.

She can't die. Shes just a kid... she has her whole life ahead of her.

"She is going to be an architect."

I won't let her die.

"Performing an emergency tracheostomy." I mumble. "You may want to close your eyes."

I press my hand to her throat, feeling for the blockage, once I found it I placed the now disinfected blade of the knife a fourth of an inch below it.

"Oh god no!" The woman squeaks, turning to look away.

Gasps and shocked screams erupted through the crowd as I carefully sliced through the delicate flesh of her neck. Blood trickles down her throat, as I grab the empty cartridge of a ballpoint pen. Finally I carefully insert the tube into her trachea below the blockage. The sirens from the ambulance are now closing in, thankfully.

I begin my compressions again, using the entirety of my body weight to force against her chest.

You have to accept the fact that you're hurting them. Potentially cracking ribs or bruising their lungs. But it's worth it. It's worth it to keep them alive. Because ultimately...

"The end always justifies the means."

"One. Two. Three. Four." I blow a bit of air into the pen in her neck, watching as her chest rises. "Come on. Two. Breathe. Four. One. Two. Three. Four. Come on. Rosalyn. Three. Four. One. Two. Three. Four. " I continue compressions and breathing into the tube for about a minute until finally I hear the small wheezing of air coming in and out the pen.

I put my ear to her chest again. Shes breathing. Her heart is beating, slowly, but it's beating.

You're not dying on me.

A smile spreads on my face as I lean back on my heels, wiping the sweat off my forehead. I open one of her eyes, using my phone flashlight to check her pupils. Their response is concerning, but I can't do anything about it here.

My attention goes back to her leg.

"I can take it from here." I hold down the fabric to her wound tightly, nodding at the woman before she scrambled away. "You did a great job!" I call out of breath to her before she disappears in the small crowd.

I continue firm steady pressure until the ambulance pulls up.

"What do we have?" One of the EMT's calls as they get out of the ambulance.

"Rosalyn Kennedy. Fourteen year old Caucasian female. She has a blockage in her throat. Her heart rate is holding at forty-nine. Possible brain hemorrhage. GSW to her left leg." I sit back on my heels as the paramedics run up to her.

"Thank you, Doctor." One of them nods as they bring out the stretcher.

My small smile falters as something deep inside of me breaks at his words.

Doctor.

I'm not a doctor.

I missed my chance. Now I never will be.

My thoughts of self-pity were cut off by a heavy fabric suddenly being draped over my shoulders.

I look up and see Aaron had taken off his suit coat and wrapped it around me to replace my cardigan which had been taken away along with the girl and the ambulance. My lips part to thank him, but I notice his brows are furrowed and his eyes are far off staring to my right.

I glance that way to find Prentiss and Spencer, the latter speedily coming in my direction with concern painted on his face.

"Nicolette! Are- Are- Are you— Are you hurt?" His voice is shrill, panicked. And I've got to assume it's the same reason all the others are acting strange. It can be traumatizing seeing someone in the state Rosalyn was just in.

"No," I say hastily as I stand from my knees. "No I'm fine... why wouldn't..." My cheeks darken as I'm hit with the realization— I took my cardigan off.

"But-" he begins but I don't let him continue. I can't let him continue.

"I... I... I've gotta.." I don't even have a chance to finish my jumbled mess of a sentence before Aaron comes between us, putting an arm around my shoulders and guiding me back into the precinct.

He glances back at Spencer's worried self as we near the doors. "Interview the witnesses with Prentiss."

I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I was stupid enough to do that. My jaw clenches, as I wrap my arms around my middle from within Hotch's large suit coat.

"Thank you, Sir." I breathe once we are safe within the police precinct walls.

"You're alright?" He asks, glancing around at the officers and detectives bustling around us.

"I think so." I hope the team didn't see them, but I especially hope Spencer didn't see them.

He definitely saw them.

"No one— and I mean no one will ever want you. You're wounded."
"But-"
"Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me you're not repulsive. Go on. You can't, can you doll? Deep down, you know I'm right. I am always right."

"Take a moment, collect yourself." Aaron starts. "Clean up in the bathroom, and then head home. Get a new change of clothes. Meet Garcia at the office, we will keep you informed. Keep the jacket, I'll get it back from you after the case is solved."

I glance down at my bloody tank top, and dirt covered pants. Pulling my arms through the sleeves of the suit coat, the excess fabric hanging from my hands. "Yes, sir."

"That was smart acting, Nicolette." Hotch begins before I could leave. "Rosalyn will have a chance to make it. And be a witness to help find the others. Because of what you did today."

Well that makes me feel a bit better about humiliating myself. Instead of having to bury their daughter this weekend, the Kennedy's will be in her hospital room. Her future still possible.

I helped.

"Thank you." I give him a sad smile. "It's what I love."

He nods. No doubt remembering the letters years ago where I went on and on about the medical programs I was looking into.

Oh, how things change.

After I leave the washrooms, I don't look up from the ground— opting to make a quick exit from the police station. I wrap Aaron's suit coat tight around me, the excess fabric making it easy to hide my damp tank top which I tried in vain to scrub some of the blood out of.

The cab I called had just turned down the street, giving me a few seconds of loitering beside the sidewalk. I tell myself not to look around, in the small chance I'd meet someone's eyes.

And of course that is exactly what happened.

Spencer's eyes connect with mine from across the crowd. He is in the middle of talking to an older couple who saw the unsub dump Rosalyn.

He nods along, listening to what they have to say, but his brows furrow upwards as I make eye contact.

'Are you okay?' He mouths, before saying something to the couple, his eyes never leaving me.

—I'm okay.— I sign to him, just as the cab pulls up.

I don't have time to see if he signed back, because I hop into the car. Desperate to get out of these bloody clothes.