EQUILIBRIUM CHAPTER ONE:

Now equilibrium is the very opposite of disorder.
Rudolf Arnheim

Emily Prentiss was pregnant, for the second time in her life. By the same man. Only this time, it was a deliberate action on both their parts. She'd asked him; asked him for one rather large favor three days after Matthew's funeral.

And Jon had agreed. Easily. For her. And then, he'd turned the tables on her. Demanded that instead of the sterile medical procedure she'd planned, they create their child just the way they had the last one—only this time would be way more enjoyable for her. He'd promised. And he'd delivered. Jon had apparently learned a few things in the twenty-three years since that first bumbling time of awkwardness. Things that ensured the one night they'd agreed upon had stretched into three glorious days she'd enjoyed immensely. But that was neither here nor there.

Knowing that this pregnancy had been deliberate didn't keep that same rushing terror from flooding her, as she sat in the sparse hotel bathroom, little white stick clutched in her hand.

It had been ten weeks since they'd made their deal, eight weeks since they'd spent an entire weekend acting on that deal, the first weekend they'd both had free since the night she'd walked to Jon's door, knocked with determination and laid everything she wanted before him. And damned if the man hadn't readily agreed, and then proved to be extremely fertile.

She was staring at the proof of that with eyes that watered, the proof clutched in a hand that shook. She didn't know whether to be happy or to check herself into the psych ward at the nearest hospital. What was she doing? She had no business wanting to bring an infant into her world! Who would watch this baby? How would she explain how this child was created? Did she honestly want to completely shake up everything she'd ever worked for?

Was she insane?

And this time she didn't have Matthew to help her. Didn't have Matthew to lean on.

Hell—she didn't even have Jon. She'd told him what she wanted from him and he'd agreed. He'd father her child and then walk away, being nothing more than an honorary uncle on the few times they'd see each other each year.

He'd agreed. She'd known he would for several reasons. He still felt guilty where she was concerned, for one. For another, Jon loved kids, but didn't want the responsibility of raising them. He doubted his capabilities, and as an international journalist, he would never be home with the child anyway. She rarely saw him and they lived in the same city.

But Jon was the last of his generation. Both his parents were dead, he had no siblings, no cousins. His branch of the Cooley tree would be dying with him. Just like her branch of the Prentiss family would be going with her. Until now.

She'd told him all this, told him that he was one of the only men she'd ever trust with something so important. Him—followed distantly by the men on her team. And she couldn't ask this favor of Reid, Morgan, Rossi, or Hotch. She wasn't that comfortable with them.

Jon had understood more than what she was saying, too.

With him as the father of this child, this baby would be a sibling to the one so long ago. Only this child would be different.

She'd seen the longing in Jon's eyes as he realized what that would mean to her. He wanted it, too. And he'd told her, told her how he wondered about what that child would have been like. What their lives would have been like.

So he'd agreed, but only under the condition that this baby be created from emotion on both it's parents' parts. That had seemed fair to her, so she'd agreed. After all, it wasn't as if she'd never slept with Jon. Or didn't still find him attractive. So they'd agreed, outlined their conditions. And then they'd followed through. And now here she sat, wondering…

What was she going to do now?

UHOHUHOHUHOH

Aaron Hotchner counted heads—Morgan, check, currently flirting with the hotel clerk. Reid, check, currently blushing at the smile of the other desk clerk. Rossi, currently grinning wickedly at the front desk supervisor. JJ and Garcia, check and check. Currently snickering over the rest of the team. Prentiss…Prentiss…uncheck.

Hotch didn't see a particular brunette head anywhere in the lobby. "Where's Prentiss?"

"Still in her room, most likely." JJ said, her face showing a touch of concern. "She wasn't feeling too great last night."

"Or this morning." Penelope—along for this particular case—said. "I heard her getting sick through the walls earlier. She said it was most likely the Chinese."

"Prentiss has a cast-iron stomach." Rossi said, turning from the fortyish woman behind the counter.

"Dave, you and the rest go straight to the precinct. I'll check on Prentiss and meet you there." Hotch decided quickly.

"You sure that's such a good idea?" Rossi asked and Hotch knew he was referring to the conversation the two men had had recently. It had escaped neither man that Emily seemed highly reluctant to be alone with Hotch in the weeks since her friend's death. They'd also discussed how she'd seemed unaware that she was avoiding the supervisor.

Not that she hadn't withdrawn from the rest of the team in minor ways as well, but it was more obvious with Hotch. She still laughed and played with the younger team members, but it was clear that her heart truly wasn't in it. And she never joined them for drinks after a tough case anymore. Never went to the movies with either Reid or Morgan.

No, about the only thing she did was visit JJ and baby Henry. And work. Both Hotch and Rossi had caught her at the office way into the night, working diligently on files. And not just her own. Derek's piles had somehow managed to shrink exponentially as well. And it wasn't Morgan working harder. It was Emily. All her.

And it concerned both men.

Hotch had seen the signs before. With Elle, with Gideon, even with Reid. And he wasn't going to lose Prentiss. Not if he could help it.

She was too…important…to the team. He wasn't blind to the roles she filled. She was a calm, steady mind when he needed it. She was a confidante for everyone but him, the first person they all turned to when something was weighing on them. Even Dave would turn to her when he needed a sounding board.

And the way she mothered each of the younger team members was nice to watch, Hotch had always thought that. Reid, JJ, and Garcia, all were younger than Emily and all somehow seemed to fall as her self-assigned responsibilities. Derek was more of her contemporary, but she still kept a tight rein on him. Hotch needed her. It was simple as that.

And they had been on their way to becoming friends, before she'd come to his office so obviously broken. She still worked, still remained the calm, coolly composed profiler who did a damned fine job, but something…something was wrong with her. And Hotch decided that today was the day he found out just exactly what that something was.

He nodded at Dave, letting the older man know he was going to get to the bottom of just what was weighing her down.

Because it wasn't simple grief. It was something else. Something they doubted she even knew they saw.

Hotch turned resolutely to the elevator.

(Once again, I do not know when Updates will come, but they WILL come. I promise. And I am trying to work on the other stories as well. But this one sort of jumped into my mind while I was napping last night…)