Coffee was all he needed. A day full of wasted time; a case that they could have solved on the plane if only the locals had been honest in their witness reports. But of course, a town of closeted, scared people would hide the information that would have outed them. Reid could understand that, but when a group of FBI agents have a case that's pertinent and several people's lives are at stake with a promise of confidentiality, there's a certain level of irritation that falls over the agents. His Unit Chief was up his ass about case files he finished ages ago, and his coworkers were still hung up on the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid had a life outside of work that included sexual acts. He wasn't a kid, as if that wasn't obvious already.

Reid sighed as he pushed the door open with his hip, his hair flopping onto his forehead and rudely slipping in between his glasses and his eyes. Ugh. He stopped to adjust his hair, sip his coffee, fix his tie, and set off toward his car.

"Hey! Wait!"

He stopped in his tracks, so suddenly that some of his coffee splashed from the open flap in the cup. He peered over his shoulder at the stern-looking man in a suit, his face completely in awe and his own coffee cup crushed in his fist, dripping onto the concrete.

"Hi...?" Reid had an itching feeling that he should reach for his gun, "What's up?"

"Sorry, I..." The man blinked a few times, "I just..."

Reid stared at him for a few minutes before mumbling a very bitchy (he admitted it) "okay, weirdo" and began to walk away. The hand on his shoulder had him drawing his gun as fast as his arms and hands would allow as he turned and aimed right between the eyes of the man whose stance hadn't changed, even while staring down the barrel of a lethal weapon. It was late enough so that not many people were on the street, and those who were... well, their attention was occupied by their phones or their dates. His free hand held the coffee cup, while his other hand seemed to have a tilt of its own, not used to holding the gun so unprofessionally. Reid wasn't about to lose a perfectly good and deserved cup of coffee.

The man nodded slowly, looking over him and trying to take in all of the panic and annoyance that was Reid, "Are you a cop or some kinda super spy?"

Reid huffed, squinting. "What do you want."

"I saw you in the shop," the man began, letting his hands slip into his slack pockets. "I don't know what happened, I just got this weird feeling."

"Like you want to sneak up on a scrawny guy and expect him not to react?"

"I didn't sneak up on you," the dark eyes flitted down before returning and locking onto Reid's, "I literally yelled at you."

"Same difference," Reid let his gunman stance slowly wilt.

"Anyway," he smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Aaron."

Reid eyed the hand, not moving. "What are you doing?"

"Introducing myself," Aaron said, tilting his head in the same direction as the gun was. "You can put the weapon down, I'm not going to hurt you."

"You thought about that sentence in your head. It went through filters in your brain, and you still thought it would be a perfectly un-suspicious thing to say," Reid said slowly. When Aaron nodded, his eyes twinkling with a smile, he finally holstered his gun. "Fine. But no funny business, or I'll shoot you in the leg."

"Threats, and I don't even know your name."

"Reid." First names were an invasion of privacy. If his coworkers used his last name, this total stranger with a tendency of coffee destruction would also use his last name. Logically.

"You don't look like a Reid," Aaron took a step closer when it was clear he wouldn't get shot. "Is it your last name?"

Reid squinted. This whole conversation, this whole day was a corkscrew he wasn't prepared for. Maybe he'd wake up in a cold sweat and go to work to see the world in a more realistic place.

"I'll take your deep concentration of thought as a yes." Aaron cautiously linked his arm with Reid's and began walking, half-dragging the younger man with him. "Blaise Park?"

Reid mumbled under his breath as he was haphazardly pulled across town, the heels of his shoes skidding across sidewalks and crosswalks and roads and burning through the rubber of his soles. He didn't mind, though. Anything to prevent him from going to an empty apartment with built up stress and irritation. He hadn't been convinced Aaron wasn't a serial killer, yet, but he hadn't noticed any micro-expressions to suggest that the man was anything less than he said he was—a lowly district lawyer.

Aaron slipped into a wooden bench overlooking a pond, Reid being pulled down with him, their arms still interlocked. There was no move by either of the men to change this fact, however Reid's arm was somewhat uncomfortable and his shoulder was awkwardly rotated.

"I take Jack here sometimes," Aaron said quietly, his quiet voice somehow still echoing through the wide space.

"Jack?"

"Oh, right. My son. He's turning seven in a few days," he leaned over a bit to speak, but his eyes stayed ahead, staring as the moon seemed to cast a spotlight on them.

"Cool...?" Reid grumbled, adjusting his arm so that the pain wasn't so bad. "I don't want to be rude... Scratch that, I don't intend to be rude, but why am I here?"

Aaron smiled and shrugged. "You ever realize when you look at someone that they have a whole world view? Like, they go home, have a night time routine, have loved ones, have people they hate, have their individual quirks? You see them and you realize they've got a complex life that you'll never be a part of, and it kinda makes you uncomfortable?"

"Sonder," Reid mumbled.

"What?"

"Sonder," he repeated, turning on the bench and freeing his arm so he could gesture as he explained. "It's a worldwide realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. The term was coined on a popular social networking site after a major population saw a pattern in how people talked about strangers; how it baffled them that everyone else had a personality and life that was variant from their own."

"Did anyone act on it?" Aaron asked.

"Not that I know of," Reid said quietly, leaving his mouth open as he tried to prepare for what to say next. "I guess it would make sense if they did, though."

"Right? Yet I tried, and I got a gun to my face," Aaron grinned as Reid's face turned red.

"With your profession, I figure you get many of those. You didn't even flinch when I aimed," Reid said quietly, fiddling with the protruding belt of his holster. "What is this?"

"A holster?"

"Not as smart as you look. I meant this, like... sitting on a bench beneath the moonlight and talking about stuff. What is this?"

"Whatever you want it to be, I suppose. I have nothing to lose."

Reid nodded, "Me neither. I don't want to give you false hope for any strenuous activity, but I was dreading going to my apartment alone."

"Sleepover?" Aaron reached a hand in his pocket and pulled out a phone. "I'll call Jessica and tell her not to expect me."

"Jessica?" Reid raised an eyebrow, wondering exactly how this guy was expecting to mention a woman without elaborating.

"Jack's aunt. Ex-wife's sister. I'll spare the details, since you visibly shrunk at the sound of a female name."

Reid shrugged, "I guess. Do you have a car?"

"Do you?"

The younger man smiled and shrugged, "I asked if you had a car, not if you drove one. You're being secretive."

"Not secretive," Aaron said, "Just trying to work in ways to know about you through conversation. Ward the sonder away."

Reid stood and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I have a car. Are you armed?"

"Always," Aaron held out his right ankle and pointed at it, "Safety is on, though, and I promise I won't take you hostage."

Reid squinted and ran a quick profile. Late forties to early fifties, well-off money-wise, exceedingly positive father figure, somewhat unhappy past, childhood was most likely mediocre at best. No indication of psychotic behavior or malicious/homicidal intent. He glanced down to where Aaron was still offering his leg and shook his head, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Need anything from your place?"