At 36 weeks pregnant, Hotch had ordered you off the field, which meant you were stuck in the BAU offices, confined to Penelope’s lair. “It’s for your own good,” he’d said in that no-nonsense tone of his.

So, for the past week, you’d been helping out where you could—running searches, offering insights, anything to feel useful. Penelope had been thrilled to have you around, calling it “nesting in the digital realm.” Jordan Todd had also been shadowing you, preparing to take over your cases once you went on maternity leave. Your wife, Emily was very relieved you were out of the field. shes been extremely protective since you got pregnant. Always worrying.

You shifted in your chair, rubbing your stomach absentmindedly.

Then you felt it—a deep, dull pressure low in your abdomen. It wasn’t painful, exactly. Just… noticeable.

“You okay?” Jordan asked, glancing up.

“Yeah,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just a Braxton Hicks contraction.” You’d had them for weeks now. No big deal.

Except it happened again. And then again, a little stronger this time.

You shifted again, discomfort creeping in. Penelope, ever perceptive, narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay, mama bear, what’s with the fidgeting?”

You shrugged. “I think I might be having contractions. But it doesn’t really hurt, so—”

Penelope squeaked. “You think you’re in labor? That’s not something you think, it’s something you know!”

Jordan straightened. “How far apart are they?”

You checked your watch. “Um… maybe 2 or 3 minutes?”

Penelope gasped. “THAT’S LABOR.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, real labor is supposed to be, like, unbearable. This is just—” But then another contraction hit, and this time, you had to grip the desk.

Jordan was already on her feet. “I’m getting Hotch.”

Penelope clapped her hands together. “Oh my God, I get to deliver a baby in my sacred lair—”

“No one is delivering a baby in your lair,” you muttered, standing up—only to feel something shift inside you.

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “I think my water just broke"