Series 6 One-Shots – Supply and Demand

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.

So we have made it, as promised one for each episode. Can't believe I've managed it. This one may have a few spoilers I've picked up from online for Series 7 so be warned. Also a few predictions of my own (CBS are you listening?). These are in no particular order and are not set straight over the episodes, but over the months we miss.

Thank you for the support and advice I have received, I have really enjoyed writing these and each had really helped with my character focus (well think it has). Thank you too, to those who have voted on my poll, I'm away next week so I will leave it open until the 5th. If you haven't voted yet please do.

Prompt:

Garcia: We were supposed to talk a...

. . . . .

"Spencer, look at you," Diana shrieked, as he walked into her room, "Do you ever eat anything? I swear you get thinner every time I see you. I should, I could, get you admitted in here with me, the food is good and then I could keep an eye on you."

Reid rolled his eyes, shuffling uncomfortably as his Mom pulled him into a hug.

"Mom, I'm fine. I eat plenty, I'm really into Indian food at the moment, mainly due to a great new restaurant I've found, but the food is amazing."

"I swear I don't know where your adventurous streak came from. It's not me, and it definitely wasn't your father," Diana added as she returned to her seat.

Spencer sat down opposite her. He fidgeted with his hair. He was never sure why visiting his Mom made him so nervous, but it did. Maybe it was because she read him as easily as any of the numerous books in her room, or that he felt uncomfortable knowing he caused her to be cooped up here.

"What's wrong?" Diana said, having watched her son.

Shifting again, Spencer looked up.

"How did you know you were sick?"

Diana moved closer to her son, looking him in the eyes.

"I didn't, I don't, and I still have to be told daily where I am and why. Others notice long before you do. You telling me you're sick?"

"No . . . yes . . . maybe," Spencer muttered, "I keep getting these headaches."

"Have you seen a doctor? I can call one," Diana rose, making her way to the door.

"Mom, stop, sit down," Spencer paused, "The doctors can't find a cause."

Diana had sat down again. She was staring out of the window; slowly she turned to face him and her eyes intent.

"Shhh, you never know who is listening, be careful what you say."

"Mom," but he knew it was too late. In her lucid moments his mother was herself again, but when her illness processed her, Dr Diana Reid was nowhere to be found.

"Nurse," Diana suddenly shouted, "Nurse."

A young nurse came running, "Diana?"

"Get this man out of here, now!"

"But Diana, he's your son."

"My son is in the FBI, does he look like he is in the FBI? He couldn't catch a cold, let alone a criminal. GET HIM OUT!"

"Sorry Dr Reid," the nurse apologised.

"Don't worry, maybe tomorrow will be better, I'll try again."

"Maybe," the nurse smiled sympathetically.

Or maybe not, Spencer thought to himself.

. . . . .

Erin Strauss sat in silence, her husband Henry sat opposite her, speechless.

Neither spoke, as neither knew what to say. Henry had been dealt some tough blows from his wife over the years, but nothing had prepared him for this. Looking up he could see the tears in her eyes. He tried hard to remember the last time he saw her cry; maybe when Alice was born, possibly before then.

"Are you sure?" he murmured.

Erin nodded, "The biopsy results came back today, and Dr Anna rang me and asked me in straight away. It's cancer. She wants to operate and get treatment started straight away."

Slowly Henry got up and poured them both a large scotch. Passing a glass over to his wife, she took it, sipping slowly. It was going to be a long night.

. . . . .

JJ sat at the breakfast table, coffee in hand.

"You sure look pleased with yourself," Will smiled, as he joined her.

JJ returned the smile, "I have something to tell you."

"U –Huh," he nodded, not concentrating on her words, more her bare legs and stiletto heels.

"I'm returning to the BAU," JJ paused hoping it may sink in, "as a profiler."

"Really," Will added, tracing his eyes upwards.

"Did you hear a word I just said, or are you too busy with other things?" JJ commented standing and closing the short distance between them. She bends to give him a kiss as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I heard it all baby, surprise, surprise you have found a way back into the BAU. To be honest, if it means you dress like that more often, you can work where ever you like."

JJ slapped him gently.

"I don't remember needing to ask your permission."

"You don't, and you'd ignore me anyway if I disagreed," he added, kissing her softly.

. . . . .

Sat in the bland room, she ached. The pain may not be as intense as it was, but it was still there; a daily reminder of what she had been through.

Moving slowly Emily made her way to the window. She knew her 'death' was only a temporary solution; giving her time to heal. Physically she was healing, but mentally she struggled daily.

The isolation was debilitating. She had spent her life moving from one place to another, but this was different. Before all of this she had been settled, for the first time in her life she had felt at home, with a family.

But Doyle had taken that all away. Forced her into the corner, taking the only option she could see at the time. And now she was paying the price, and would continue to, long after Doyle was finished.

Then what? Emily sighed. She couldn't exactly return as if nothing had happened. As far as her team, her family, were concerned she was dead.

How would she ever get them back?

. . . . .

Seaver slowly placed the lid on the box. That was the last of it. Looking around at the empty bullpen one last time she knew she had made the right decision.

She had seen enough in her short time in the unit to rethink her options. This wasn't the world she wanted to live in. Live, exist would be a better description looking at some of her colleagues. No she had made the right choice.

She was sure she vaguely remembered Rossi telling her one of his pearls of wisdom. What was it?

'A weak man has doubts before a decision. A strong man has them afterwards' *– well she had no doubts.

. . . . .

Hotch sipped the amber liquid slowly, as he returned to the pile of work on the desk. He didn't know how much longer he could do this. He didn't know how much longer he was supposed to do this.

Covering for Strauss had meant to be a short term solution, but it was dragging on. He had no idea when she would return, if she would return.

Sifting through the paperwork he contemplated once more the possibility of handing the responsibility of the team over to Morgan. He'd stood in before; he was more than capable of running the unit again.

Hotch had every intention of staying with the team, but in the meantime it would reduce his work load and get Morgan back where he belonged.

. . . . .

Morgan got it, he didn't like it, but he got it. He had agreed to the temporary transfer for one reason and one reason only; to stop people asking him. By the time he had finished New York would not want him back again – ever.

He was in foul mood, and being 260 miles away from in 'solace' was not helping. God, he missed her. He missed the whole team, but wasn't likely to admit it to the others. Though the thought of the looks on Hotch and Rossi's faces if he did, almost put a smile on his face.

Leaving the coffee shop, he started down the street towards the office. It was raining, heavy, but he was in no rush. The only thing that concerned him was the number days until he was home again. The countdown had started.

Looking up as he waited to cross the road, he saw her. Just a fleeting glance but he was certain. More sure than he had been about anything in a long time.

"Hey," he called, trying to make himself heard above the traffic, "Hey, wait up."

Dodging the traffic he ran after her. It was her he knew it, but how could it be? She was dead.

"Hey," he shouted again. "Prentiss, wait, it's me."

The woman stopped and turned. Not long, but long enough.

Long enough for him to be sure; Emily Prentiss was alive and living in New York City.

. . . . .

Kevin opened the box again, and then he flicked it shut again, as he waited nervously at the table. He should have picked her up, he knew it.

It wasn't as if she was late, well not yet anyway. He had been early, just in case she was early, or in case there was a problem at the restaurant, or, or, or just because he could.

This was his third attempt at proposing and he was determined it would go smoothly this time. The first attempt a case had come up and he had been left sitting at the table, alone, half way through the main course. The second attempt the restaurant had been forced to shut due to an unexplained outbreak of food poisoning. But this time, this time he would get it right.

. . . . .

David Rossi sat back. He had no idea why he had agreed to this. Anna, wife number two, had rung the week before. She was in town and wanted to meet up. He didn't know what it was about her, but even after all these years he couldn't say no.

Sitting in the restaurant opposite her, he tried to let the news sink in.

"You know Anna, one more husband and we'll be on an even score."

"Trust you David to make a joke out of it," she snorted, "I thought you might understand, help me even."

"Come on Anna, this isn't your first divorce, and as I remember it you did really well out of the last one, all by yourself."

"David, you are starting to sound very bitter in your old age," she quipped.

Dave smiled, she always had been a match for him; bold, confident, intelligent, articulate and downright gorgeous. Nothing had changed over the years.

"I don't know what you want Anna. I'm willing to help, if I can, but I need to know how?"

"David its simple, my marriage is over. I have the kids we always wanted, ok they're grown up, but they're still my children. I'm only missing one thing."

"And that is?"

"You!"

. . . . .

Garcia sat at her desk. Her huge array of fluffy pens, brightly coloured characters and flashing screens surrounded her.

This was her life. It was her world and she had created it. Everything in the room told a story, well to her they did anyway.

But what was this room if she didn't have her friends, her family? Then, no matter what she filled it with, it was an empty shell.

They had taken JJ away, she had lost Emily. Penelope Garcia wasn't prepared to have her family broken up any further. She would fight to keep them together, no matter what.

Looking back at the screen she knew she shouldn't do what she was about to do. She knew that if it was traced back to her then she would be in trouble, a lot of trouble. She also knew she was good, too good, and if they found out it was her then she deserved to lose her job.

With a final click it was done. That was all that was needed, a little electronic persuasion to guarantee the future of her favourite team, well for the time being anyway.

. . . . .

What lies in our power to do, lies in our power not to do.

Aristotle

. . . . .

*the quote is from Carl Kraus and was read at the start of Series 5 episode 1. I realise this was long before Seaver, but felt it was the sort of thing he would actually say.

I really couldn't decide how to finish this series so I thought I'd follow the shows lead and leave you with plenty of unanswered questions!

Thank you.