December 20, 2004 - Alexandria, Virginia

Zach was tired, the current case wearing him down, but not tired enough to notice that something was wrong when he arrived home.

Leaving the engine running, he exited the black Ford SUV and unbuttoned his coat, reaching for his FBI-issue Glock under it. Before heading towards the house that felt altogether too empty, he took the house key off of his key ring so that he wouldn't make any unnecessary noise.

All the while, the telling They are okay kept running through his head.

With Glock and key in hand, he took in a deep breath, centered himself, and went toward the house.

Anyone who watched, and was interested, would have seen a transformation come over the man's face as he first neared, then opened, the door. The man slipping quietly and efficiently into the too quiet house was no longer the loving husband and father, but a trained agent who hunted killers during his days, and sometimes his nights.

While he wished it was different, it was the only way he would be able to get through what he was almost positive would be coming.

Hallway. Living room. Kitchen.

Oh, God,

came the stray thought while looking through a kitchen that should have had remnants of cooking aromas still left.

Fighting back fear and despair.

Staircase, master bedroom, kids rooms........nothing.

The lack of evidence, as well as the scene that looked like a family just stepped out for a moment and would be back any second, gave rise to his worst nightmares.

Sitting down on top step, rocking slightly, hands - one still holding the gun - against his head, letting the emotions out for a second.

Zach then felt the control and training snap itself back and drew out his cell phone and dialed his boss, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Moving like a man forty years older than he was, Zach went back downstairs, left his house, locked the door, and waited inside the SUV.

When the team arrived, Zach explained what happened in as clear and concise a manner as he could.

After everyone but his supervisor had left, Zach turned bleak eyes to the man and said, "It's the Unsub we’ve been looking for, isn't it Carswell?"

"Yes," came the answer.

"It's unnecessary to tell you that, per procedure, you should be taken off the case, so I won't."

A ghost of a smile greeted the statement.

"If the result is the same as before, I'll hand in my badge."

With a grim laugh, Zach said, "If? How's that for denial?"

Carswell, knowing all the people in the B.A.U. better than they sometimes knew themselves, made himself comfortable.

"Tolliver, head to bed, take whatever you need to sleep, and I want you reasonably fresh in the morning"

Holding his hand up in order to forestall an argument, Carswell said, "One, you didn't hear me say to take whatever you need to sleep, and, two, you know that if you're dead on your feet you won't be off any help to me.

"And, if you are dead on your feet come morning, I will take you off the case."

Knowing when not to argue, Zach headed upstairs to bed.