Author's Note: Hello, wonderful readers. At any rate, we have just a few announcements for everyone today.

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First, please remember to try and spare a few moments over the upcoming three weeks and VOTE for your favorite authors and stories in the "Profiler's Choice Awards" at "Chit Chat on Author's Corner" forum. You have through the end of November 30, 2010 to let your vote be heard and we want to hear from each one of you. If you don't know much about forums, links can be found through either my profile (ilovetvalot) or my awesome co-author (tonnie2001969). Remember, anyone that wants to help advertise the awards has our unending gratitude and there is also a short blurb you can use on our profile pages.

Thank you to everyone taking the time to vote and advertise for us. We appreciate each and every one of you. The responses are starting to roll in and we have a tight race running in several categories. Let your opinion be heard. It is not necessary to vote in EVERY category. If you only read certain pairings, feel free to only vote in those areas. The important thing is to vote.

Free one-shots to the next five people to cast their votes...any pairing and three prompts of your choosing (I'll use two!). Let's all get on the ball and have some fun!

Second, we also have great new interviews with several of our nominees. Today, we are "getting to know" specerfan109. More interviews are coming soon!

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Shall We Not Revenge?

Staring down at the chocolate-smeared face of his only son, Aaron Hotchner suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He wasn't exactly certain when his normally ordered life had been turned on its axis, but it had apparently happened sometime in the last sixty minutes.

He fought back a wince as he heard his son's peals of laughter as Jack tried to hold on to the rambunctious puppy apparently attempting to climb Mt. Jackster. The puppy that had been mysteriously delivered just a mere three minutes earlier, complete with a yellow bow tied around his jet-black neck. Also complete with a collar that declared him to be named "Trouble."

Rubbing his hand over his jaw, Hotch knew that it didn't take a profiler to know that was positively a prophetic name. It was more than obvious that Trouble…with a capital T….was invading his home.

Now if he could just find out who had opened the flood gates…

It had started innocently. A small brown box had been waiting for them when they had arrived at home. He had warily opened the parcel, his agent's instincts hovering barely below the surface, only to be mystified by the wide selection of candies contained inside. But his son had taken the box as a gift from the gods, literally diving into the wrappers and coming up with sugar-filled gold.

The sealed lid had assured him that the container had not been tampered with, so with a long suffering sigh, he'd let his son dive in...the young hopeful face had been too much to resist.

However, the surprises hadn't ended there. Less than thirty minutes after the chocolate extravaganza had commenced, another knock on the door had diverted his young son's attention. Opening the front door, Hotch's confused gaze had settled on the delivery man standing impatiently on the other side of the door.

"Jack Hotchner?" the blue shirted man had questioned, his shoulder drooping slightly as he met Hotch's eyes.

"That's me!" Jack had yelped excitedly, tugging on his father's trousers. "That's me, Daddy! He asked for ME!"

"May I help you?" Hotch had asked warily as the man in front of him gestured down the well-lit hallway, stepping slightly in front of his enthusiastic son ever in protective father mode.

"This is it, guys," the delivery guy had called down the hallway to someone obviously just out of sight. "Bring it in!"

Watching as two other men laboriously carried something down the hallway, Hotch had frowned. His vision obscured by the gentleman standing in front of him, he could only see that whatever was coming toward his door was a cumbersome load. "What is this all..." he trailed off as his son suddenly shrieked.

"Daddy! It's my drum set!" Jack had whooped, jumping up and down beside his dad as his eyes widened, the blue and red metal capturing his undivided attention.

"You ordered a drum set?" Hotch had asked, lowering his horrified gaze to his small son. He'd known his little boy was determined when he wanted his way...but this...

"No, silly," Jack had scoffed, shaking his head as he and his father stepped back while the two men carried the large set inside the living room, "It's the one I showed Aunt Penny last week."

Signing the ticket the third man had shoved underneath his nose, Hotch's mind had struggled to keep up with what his son was jabbering. But he'd only needed two words to realize what was happening...AUNT PENNY. Thanking the three men and tipping them generously, Hotch had closed his front door, wincing as Jack struck a stick against the cymbals.

"Jack," Hotch had hissed, barely holding on to his rapidly vanishing sanity, "The neighbors, son," he admonished, rubbing his temples as he came to grips with the fact that Penelope Garcia was after her pound of flesh.

In spades.

"But, Daddy," Jack had whined in the tone only five year olds could perfect, "I gots to play! It's in my blood," he'd chirped, striking the drum with a well placed stroke.

Opening his mouth to chastise his child again, Hotch's eyes had widened as another knock landed against his door. Oh, sweet God, he silently screamed...what other pain was Garcia intending on inflicting tonight?

The barking dog should have been his first clue.

Now, as boy and beast rough housed in the floor at his feet, Aaron Hotchner knew he was beaten. And he was man enough to accept his lumps, letting the chips fall where they may.

"Daddy, he loves me!" Jack shouted happily as the little Lab furiously licked the chocolate smears on his face. "He really, really loves me."

"Uh huh," Hotch agreed weakly, watching as the puppy pounced across his little man's chest. "He does."

"This is the best day ever, Daddy!" Jack giggled exuberantly, his small fingers trying to hold on to the silky fur of his new best friend.

"Yeah," Hotch said dryly, reaching in his pocket for his cell phone. If it got any better, he was going to be forced to dig his own grave. "You two play in here for a minute while I make a phone call, okay?"

"'Kay, Daddy!" Jack nodded, attempting to pull his discarded drum stick from his new pet's mouth as the Lab chewed greedily on it.

A portent of things to come, Hotch recognized grimly, watching as the pup scampered toward the leg of the coffee table.

Walking into the kitchen, he dialed Garcia's familiar number, grimacing as he heard her chipper, "You've reached the all knowing Oracle...speak and you will be heard."

His command was simple. "Cease and desist, Garcia. You've made your point."

"I'm sorry. Who is this?" Penelope Garcia asked, plopping on her couch as a wide grin formed across her lips, victory almost within her grasp.

"You know very well who this is," Aaron Hotchner ground out, his hand tightening on the cell phone as he heard a crash in his living room, followed by childlike laughter mingled with the high pitched barks only a puppy could perfect. "A dog, Garcia? Seriously?" he hissed, squeezing his eyes closed as the commotion in the next room intensified. "You couldn't just be satisfied with the torture the chocolate and drums would inflict? You had to go for broke?"

"Purely benevolent gifts for my sweet nephew, Boss," Garcia stated breezily, waving a careless hand in the air as she spoke.

"Benevolent, my ass," Hotch grumbled. "This was calculated evil on your part," he said, raising his voice as Jack beat his drums in the living room. "If I get evicted, you should know that Jack, Trouble and their drums will be living with you."

Shrugging, Garcia smiled as she remembered the moment earlier in the train station when her obviously delusional boss had chosen to share her personal life with the world at large. "Mess with the bull and get the horns, Agent Hotchner. You outted me...you knew I'd retaliate accordingly."

"You call this accordingly?" he yelped, peeling the phone away from his ear and holding it out toward the living room, a symphony of laughter, drums and barking dog in the background. Jerking the phone back to his ear, he demanded, "Well?"

"No," Penelope denied sweetly, crossing her ankles as she settled happily against her pillows, "I call that sweet, sweet taste of revenge, Boss Man. You have a good night, my pretty," she declared, hanging up her phone with a flourish and a victorious fist pump in the air.

Blinking slowly as he dropped the phone to the kitchen counter, Aaron Hotchner shook his head.

It was now official.

As he listened to the cacophony of sound being created in his living room, he decided that unsubs and terrorists had absolutely nothing on the diabolical mind of a righteously angered Penelope Garcia.

And he had to wonder...was she done with him yet?

Finis