A/N: Very short introductory chapter for a longer story idea that I've been toying with. Will involve the whole team and hopefully have a bit more substance/plot than other things I've been writing! Rating as T for now but might become M depending on how dark it becomes. Let me know what you think of the intro/idea :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Criminal Minds.

Drip. Drip. Drip. She didn't know where the noise was coming from but it's steady rhythm was oddly comforting. It was slow and constant. Like a clock. Not that time was a concept which made any sense to her anymore. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. Minutes passed; or maybe it was hours. The blade on the floor glinted in the light and the splashes and smears of red stood out against the white tiles of the bathroom floor.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Was any of it even real?

/
/

Several months earlier.

It started on a Tuesday morning. Emily Prentiss woke up with the easily recognisable symptoms of a hangover. Her mouth was dry, her head was pounding and she didn't remember clambering into her bed. Girls' night on a Monday? Whose brilliant idea had that been? As her stomach churned at the thought of moving from her bed she became aware that she had been woken by a ringing phone. She reached over to the bedside cabinet, unwilling to fully open her eyes to the sunlight she knew would be penetrating her room, and retrieved her cellphone.

"Prentiss," she croaked, her tongue feeling fuzzy as it came unstuck from the roof of her mouth.

"Emily?" came JJ's slightly puzzled, but surprisingly perky, voice.

"How do you sound so alert?" Emily groaned.

"Em, are you OK?" JJ asked. "It's already ten o'clock," she added, at her friend's silence.

"What?" Emily exclaimed, sitting straight up in bed and opening her eyes, despite the pain across her temples which was caused by the sudden, intense light. "Sorry, I don't know what happened," she puzzled aloud.

"I managed to stall Hotch – I told him you were at the dentist and must have forgotten to tell him. But I'm not sure he bought it. You'd better get here soon."

"Thanks, JJ," Emily replied, rubbing her forehead as she tried to remember how she had got into such a state. She didn't remember drinking that much.

"If you're that hungover then you should take a cab," JJ instructed with concern. "You probably shouldn't be driving."

"I'll be there soon," she responded, agreeing with her friend that she would phone for a taxi. She couldn't remember the last time she'd let herself get so drunk – not that she remembered much of this time either. Though she was almost certain the combination of Garcia and happy hour had something to do with it!

After a quick shower, a couple of painkillers and a change of clothes, Emily left her apartment and climbed into the back of a waiting taxi, which she had called after ending her conversation with JJ. As she closed the door behind her, she glanced back, sure for a moment that someone was there. But putting the sense of unease down to her hangover and anxiety at showing up so late for work, she turned her attention to the taxi driver and confirmed her destination.

Meanwhile, a young man leaned against the stairs of an apartment building, taking a long draw of his cigarette. He was tired. He'd spent the whole night waiting. Watching. But it had worked. She'd emerged from the building looking dishevelled and confused; it was amazing what one little pill could do. He inhaled again, closing his eyes and turning his face to the sun, as the cab pulled away. Smiling at his success, he stubbed out his cigarette on the wall. It was time to go home; he had so much to plan for.