Why The Whip-poor-will Sings – Chapter 1

A/N: This first chapter is short, but necessary, following chapters will be longer; I promise! Enjoy …

*** Disclaimer – I do not own any part of Criminal Minds. This is strictly for entertainment purposes and to improve my writing skills. ***

The end of the day before it began …

During his early years of residency, he had learned why he shouldn't become attached to patients; and that they were patients, never people. After 30 years of practice, he had done fairly well; there had been only a handful of patients, for whom he had broken his number one rule. He had succeeded in convincing himself that he wasn't emotionally attached to them; he considered those few patients (not people) to be nothing more than a source of personalized medical references; information always at the ready, in case it could be useful in treating a current patient; that's all it was, nothing more.

During the course of his long career, he had met and successfully treated thousands of patients. He never regretted his decision: choosing psychology over medical. Never being one who dealt well with blood and guts, he found it easier handling minds instead of bodies. To him, the challenges of the mind were vastly greater than the sum of ills that the body could produce; and the death toll was much lower.

He could never understand how medical doctors managed their high death tolls, how could they bear those burdens and keep functioning. He had only experienced those few deaths, spread across a 30-year span; he was very grateful for his lack of experience in those kinds of matters. Each of those deaths had occurred early in his career, as well as occurring early in his treatment of those patients. He continued to take great solace in the knowledge that others had failed them, not him.

The beauty and the curse of scales were their insistence on leveling themselves, one way or the other. He wasn't surprised when that song popped into his head, "You take the good. You take the bad. You mix them up, and then you have the facts of life; the facts of life." It was things like that which kept him forever enthralled with the mind, and the worlds of psychology, psychiatry, sociology, anthropology; and last but not least, philosophy. He doubted if Socrates could have said it any better than that song "The Facts of Life".

Most people would be amazed by the various types of things that kept him entertained; not to mention, how crucial those things had been in maintaining his own sanity. "Out of the mouths of babes" still held true, when so-called foolish jingles could state age-old concepts in such clarity; yet most people still didn't get it. They were hopeless, and he would always find patients amongst them. He did not consider his patients to be fools, on the contrary, he thought of them as survivors clinging to floats … slowly sinking, while the fools frolicked away their lives.

He knew that he could not postpone it any further; he had run out of options; he had no choice. He could not (and would not) make one of the nurses place the call for him; She deserved much more dignity than that. The time differential didn't matter. He took a few calming breaths, trying to find his professional voice. It was useless. Snatching up his phone, he punched in the numbers and waited.

As the jet flew back to Quantico, the team's mood livened. They were always glad to return home, after a successful case. It had been bad (of course), but they'd seen so much worse; they were always grateful for the quick and easy cases. As usual, they were in their usual order: Hotch at the furthest end of the jet, Rossi in the middle, and the younger agents pooled together chatting and playing cards. After extremely bad cases, Rossi usually sat with Hotch and wordlessly they encouraged each other not to lose faith; and the younger agents talked out their doubts and grievances with the wrongs of the world, and the oh-so-many injustices.

Tonight's flight home was a good time for the team. Outsiders would never understand how they could joke and laugh after being first-hand witnesses to such horrors. This ability was what kept them on this side of sanity; it was what kept them from burning out … as Gideon had burnt. A year had passed since he had left the BAU. Every day, thoughts of Gideon were always in their minds; and memories of him filled those enormous holes in their hearts. Yet, they never talked about him anymore; it was best to keep some self-insecurities to oneself.

As they left the jet and headed towards the SUVs, Morgan threw his muscled arm across Reid's shoulder, "You feel like hanging out with us tonight?"

"No, I'm really exhausted. I didn't get much sleep last night. I just want to go home and go to bed."

"That's what I intend to do once I find me a honey," Morgan snickered. The team laughed, except for Garcia and Reid; both were frowning for different reasons.

"I'm taking Reid's advice (for once) and heading home," Rossi interjected. Surprisingly, he managed to hang out a lot with the younger agents; Rossi was rather pleased with himself for knowing when to say "no" to partying; his body was no longer as young as his mind.

"That goes for me, too! Reid! Come on, I'll give you a ride home," said Hotch, as he quickened his pace towards the first SUV. He would never (ever) admit to the team how much he always liked driving the first SUV; he knew it was childish, and that was why he never said anything. As they climbed into the vehicles, the team hollered out their goodbyes to each other as Hotch and Reid took the first SUV, Rossi took the second one, and Morgan drove the third SUV (with the ladies!).

During the past year, Hotch had somehow managed to half take on a semi-quasi mentor role regarding Reid. Neither of them had ever discussed it, it just seemed to have formed itself between them. They were both fine with that. There was no pretending that Hotch had replaced Gideon; he was just a part-time surrogate mentor. This role allowed Reid and Hotch to talk freely with each other. It also allowed them to enjoy non-awkward silences. They both needed and enjoyed the quiet, neither one turned on the stereo.

Reid's phone ringing startled both of them, and they laughed at each other while Reid answered his phone. Because it was late, they both automatically assumed that it was Morgan (or the girls) calling to beg Reid to join them. That's why he answered his phone and chuckled, "No! I'm not coming. I'm tired and I'm going to bed, alone!" Reid was still chucking for a few seconds until he realized that no one had replied on the other end of the call.

"Guys?" Reid asked, frowning at Hotch; who did likewise.

"Dr. Reid?"

Reid's frown quickly changed into a grimace. He recognized the voice. He knew it was his Mom's doctor. He knew it meant trouble; to which degree, he was already dreading. His whole demeanor plummeted as he replied, "Yes, Doctor. It's me."

A/N: Again, sorry this is such a short chapter. Some might call it a prologue, but I'm calling it a short chapter. The next chapters will be longer. I hope you've enjoyed it. Feel free to let me know what you think. Take Care.