So I'm venturing into Criminal Minds territory for the first time with this one. But Reid's battle against his own mind is a plot line too compelling not to write about. This will be a case fic, and also an OC romance I suppose. It may start slow, but things will heat up quick, and the OC will show up in the next chapter.

Chapter 1: The Heat

It was hot. Too hot to be standing around, waiting, baking in the midday sun. Even with his sunglasses on, Reid was squinting, trying to discern the blurry, bleached out shapes in front of him. The sun's rays were like daggers, shooting straight through his eyes and into his brain, bursting every now and then in especially piercing throbs. He thrust his hand into his worn leather bag retrieving a small bottle of Advil and popped the cap, sighing at the singular pill that rattled around inside. One pill wouldn't even begin to take the edge off. He popped it in his mouth anyway, swallowing it dry. It was better than nothing.

He took a step back, leaning against the side of the large SUV, and let his head drop, his eyes snapping shut. Relief flooded his head, the throbbing momentarily ebbing as he rubbed at his eyes beneath the glasses. He wished he had had the foresight to buy more Advil before he came into work. Now he would have to wait at least nine more hours for any kind of relief. Not that the Advil did much really. It only chipped away at the pain, clearing the fog just enough so he could think more clearly, concentrate better on his work. But even then he could feel himself slipping, his mind refusing to work the way it used to, rebelling against the pain. And now people were starting to catch on, ask if he was ok, throw each other concerned glances every time he excused himself early from dinner or showed up late to meetings. Prentiss had even tried to start a conversation about his odd behavior, casually inquiring about how he was feeling. She probably thought he was using again. They all probably did. And that was fine with Spencer, it was good actually. It was better than the truth. The truth was horrifying. The truth was everything he was afraid of. The truth was what kept him up at night.

He heard footsteps and looked up. Morgan was walking towards him, a sheen of sweat covering his dark skin. He leaned against the SUV beside Reid and wiped at his forehead. "Man, it's a hot one. It's days like this that got me wishing for good ole DC cloud cover."

Reid gave a small nod, tilting his head back to glare up at the sun. It was directly overhead now, beating down with unrelenting force. They had been in Arizona for almost two weeks now, and each day seemed to increase in heat by about five degrees. It wouldn't have been a problem really since he rarely went into the field anymore. He usually hung back at the station, holed up with his maps, nice and safe and cool in the air-conditioning. Especially now with the headaches, he didn't trust himself with a gun. Not when his aim was so unreliable to begin with. But now, now the city was experiencing rolling blackouts due to the heat. His cool, safe haven had become a sweltering convection oven of bodies. The only relief he now got was in riding in the SUV's to the crime scenes, windows rolled up tight and AC blasting.

"It's going to be another ten minutes or so," Morgan continued. "The lab guys are still taking pictures."

"What're we looking at?" Spencer asked, rubbing at his eyes one last time before straightening up and turning to face Morgan.

Morgan shot him a brief glance of concern before continuing. "Same as before. White female, approximately 24 years of age, stabbed repeatedly in the chest. She fits the type, small, brunette, blue eyes."

"Same ritual as the others?" Reid asked, trying to sound interested in the details though all he could really think about was the stabbing pain behind his eye. Always the same place, right behind his right eye, so piercing it felt as if it was shooting through it. Sometimes the pain would expand to envelope his entire head, making it one big throbbing mass, but usually it remained tightly situated behind his right eye. Even on good days the dull ache never completely went away.

"Same thing," Morgan answered. "He dressed her up, made her play house for a couple days, then killed her. No signs of rape or sexual assault, just like the others."

Reid shook his head, looking down at his feet. "It doesn't make sense," he said softly, almost to himself. "He's clearly power driven, wants to control everything about them, to dominate them, but he doesn't touch them until he kills them. It doesn't fit."

"I know," Morgan replied. "This guy doesn't even fit his own profile."

An officer walked over, signaling that the house was clear for the agents to enter. Morgan nodded at the officer, looking back over at Reid.

"Ready kid?" he asked.

Reid nodded, squinting behind his glasses as he followed Morgan into the house. It was a small house, but nicely furnished. It was simple, homey. In the living room there was a decent sized TV, a comfortable looking couch, and dozens of framed pictures of friends and family. The fridge was fully stocked, the kitchen relatively clean, and the coffee pot was still on. Everything was ordinary, completely average. Everything except the dead girl that lay face down in the middle of the living room.

Reid cringed when he saw her. No matter how many bodies he saw, no matter how gruesome the scene, he never got used to it. The first initial twinge of revulsion never went away, the twisting in his stomach, the tightening in his throat. His gut reaction, no matter what, was always to run. This all happened in a fraction of a second, and then he was fine. His mind would clear, his stomach loosen, and he would be able to do his job. But that first moment, he always dreaded that first moment. He tried to enter crime scenes last so that the rest of the team never saw the flash of terror that always gripped him. He already knew he was the weakest member of the team when it came to things like that, he didn't need to give them any more reasons to treat him like a baby. But it was hard not to cringe, it was instinct. The moment he stopped cringing, Reid thought, that was the moment he had lost to the job.

He wondered if the other agents experienced the same thing every time they saw a body.

Or maybe it was just him.

"Reid." Morgan's voiced cut through the fog. Reid's eyes snapped up to meet Morgan's. "What do you think?" he continued.

Reid looked back down at the body. She looked so fragile, like a broken doll, her pale skin contrasting harshly against the crimson of the blood that pooled around her. She looked just like all the others, dressed in a retro 50's dress, now stained with blood, hair curled into a 50's style bob, her makeup done perfectly without a single smudge. She was cared for lovingly before she was brutally murdered.

"Same MO and same signature," Reid replied. "He doesn't seem to be evolving or de-evolving in any way. He's just…comfortable."

"Well hopefully he'll get too comfortable and start messing up," Morgan said, leaning over the girl to get a better look at her face. "Then we can catch this sick bastard."

Morgan stood and walked over to a lab guy to ask about the blood splatter, but Reid stood rooted to the spot, staring at the girl's lifeless body. He wondered what she was thinking right before he killed her. If maybe she thought he would actually let her go. There was never any sign of a struggle at any of the scenes. The unsub somehow convinced the girls to play out his sick fantasy for three whole days without the neighbors or police ever finding out. Some of the neighbors even reported seeing the victims out watering the plants with an unfamiliar man only hours before they were killed. They pretended everything was perfectly normal and gardened while a serial killer stood at their side.

Reid cringed again, this time at an especially painful stab in his head. The heat was becoming too much. It was making him nauseous. Or maybe it was the headache. Or all the blood.

Whatever it was, he had to get out of that house.

He walked to the door, signaling to Morgan that he was going outside, and practically ran to the SUV, yanking open the passenger side door and sliding onto the hot leather seat. It burned him through his pants, sending tingles up his spine. He searched frantically through his pockets for the keys so he could turn the AC on and finally get some relief, only to realize that Morgan had them. "Perfect," he sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating whether to go in and ask for the keys from Morgan, or to just wait it out. He definitely didn't want to go back into that house with that broken girl lying in a pool of her own blood, dozens of men standing around snapping pictures and examining her body. It was grotesque in a way. It was immoral really. But it was also necessary. And his job.

The sound of the driver's door opening snapped Reid out of his mental battle. Morgan was sliding onto the seat, grinning at him. "Can't handle the heat pretty boy?"

"Just drive," Reid muttered, closing his eyes in anticipation of the air that would soon be flowing through the car.

Morgan laughed and turned the car on, air instantly blowing from the vents. Reid groaned in satisfaction, angling the vents so they hit him directly.

Morgan shook his head, still laughing. "It's not even cool yet. It's just blowing hot air at you."

"It's better than nothing," Reid mumbled. "The heat here wouldn't be so bad if there was any wind. A breeze, a single gust, anything. But there's nothing, the heat just…sits. Everything about this is place is just so—so stagnant."

Morgan was silent for a long moment before replying. "I don't know exactly what it is. Maybe it's the heat, or maybe it's the case itself, but this place makes me feel…stuck."

Reid glanced over at Morgan. His eyes were glued to the road, his face tense. The vein in his neck that only showed when he was really angry or really stressed was clearly visible. He was being serious. Slick, cool as steal Morgan was feeling the heat just as much as Reid was. Reid didn't know if this made him feel better, or worse.

"We just need something to set things in motion, to kick start things again," Morgan continued. "A new piece of evidence, or a deviation from the pattern. Things have been going too well for our unsub, he's been lucky. He'll mess up, or someone will make him mess up. You'll see. Something's gonna break him."

Reid looked back to the road, miles of desert stretching out in all directions. "I wish whatever it is would hurry up."