I hated almost every character in Max so I ditched them and put CM characters in instead. So, enjoy.

For the BAU, normal circumstances tended to be completely blown away when it came to anything involving the military. The United States military preferred to deal with their problems in house. There were scores of people whose only job was to find the discrepancies and get to the bottom of them. When the BAU's most specialized team received the request, they were beyond worried. Missing weapons from different units was one thing, but when the same battalion had the same problem it spelled trouble.

Like all other cases they worked, it was an interesting one. The battalion in question spent the majority of their time finding weapon stashes and beginning about three months previous, the first weapons had begun to disappear. For the most part, they were small weapons, worth about five hundred American dollars and as much as six times that across the border in Mexico. The few larger weapons were worth upwards of five thousand in the United States, the price rising at an exponential rate in Mexico. As the months continued on, what was missing grew bigger.

Included in the files were the standard interviews with every member of the unit, and all but one would be re-interviewed.

Kyle Wincott, the man in charge of the unit's dog, died in a fire fight within two weeks. It was that particular detail that warranted the investigation by the BAU. People didn't die in firefights under those circumstances. Wincott had known something, and the person responsible didn't like that.

The interviews for that incident revealed that Wincott had engaged in a tense conversation with Sergeant Harne minutes before he died.

The images Garcia displayed on the screen were not pretty, and the files on their tablets (and paper, in the case of one Dr. Reid) were even less so. They pushed the dog, a Belgian Malinois, forwards despite his instincts crying danger. Within a minute, two roadside bombs had been set off by a nearby insurgent. Within another two, Wincott was dead on the street with his dog standing over him.

In the beginning, the details of the profile were sparse. From Morgan was, "He's got to be smart to have kept them off this for so long. And an excellent actor."

With the consensus, they continued onward. JJ put forwards that his motive was the money. Double-crossing the United States army was beyond dangerous, and likely to get you killed. One didn't steal weapons from the government without cause.

They based the case in an army base in Texas. The majority of the unit lived in Texas, and most of them were on temporary leave as they worked to replace Wincott, the dog and Sergeant Harne. The former sergeant had received a general discharge, within two weeks of Wincott's death. There was no doubt in the mind's of the BAU that Harne was responsible.

But the only evidence was circumstantial, what they couldn't prove.

Within a day of arriving in Texas, SSAs Morgan and Reid were off to a nearby canine facility. The Malinois, Max, had received praise from the entire unit, with the exception of Harne. Max was set to be euthanized within a few weeks.

The dog was a great deal more interesting than the case itself.

"It's a little known fact," Reid announced as they approached the canine facility, "that animals develop PTSD just like people do. Except in animals, particularly dogs, it's near incurable. However, like schizophrenia, it can be treated. Most cases involve medications, but for a service dog that's not an option. Can't have a dog on meds in the field, so they euthanize them unless they're adopted. Generally by their handler, but sometimes by good Samaritans or dog lovers. Priority is first to the families of handlers, then to us, and finally to general adoption."

Agent Spencer Reid was a tall man of about six feet, but slight of build in comparison to the mass of muscle that one might expect from a man his height. Resting across his forehead was sandy brown hair shading over hazel eyes. In stark contrast to him was Derek Morgan, just a few inches shorter but holding an easy thirty pounds on the younger agent. Mocha skin, dark eyes and a shaved head.

Morgan nodded from Reid's side. "You're saying that they're going to put Max down?"

"Wincott has no family, so unless there's a surprise Samaritan, then yes. The police won't take a dog with PTSD."

A man of Morgan's age greeted them, well build beneath the subtlety of an army uniform. He led them to a large, ware-house like building, where the more dangerous dogs stayed. As he opened the door, the sound of barking assaulted their ears.

"Animals can come down with post traumatic stress the same as people can. Max bonded so closely with Kyle- his handler -that it's been nearly impossible to get him to follow orders from anyone else. Can't handle sharp noises anymore," his hands moved as he talked, not the expansive gestures that were more frequently noticed but the motions of a man who needed to keep his hands busy with one thing or another, "gun shots, explosions send him into a panic. These dogs were bred to work. Take away that sense of purpose, and they're lost."

He stopped them in front of the quietest of the cages, in which a young and dark Malinois rested on his stomach.

"Max can't serve here and he's a danger everywhere else. How we doing, Max?"

Approaching the kennel in a gentle manner wasn't enough for the dog, and Max sprang to his feet to bark at Reyes, who raised his hands in surrender and backed up.

Then Max turned to Reid and Morgan, large ears perked towards them and his barking ceasing in favour of regarding the newcomers. Reid regarded him back, hazel eyes scanning over the creature. "He's different than most dogs I've come upon," Reid admitted as he gazed at Max. "Most can't stand me."

Reyes laughed. "I trained this dog for half his life, there's no better dog around."

"Yet he's scared of you."

"Trauma does strange things to all of us."

Reid knelt before the cage, ensuring that his movements were gentle and unthreatening. Reaching a single hand forwards until it was scarce within Max's reach, Reid settled in to wait. Prepared to pull away if Max decided he didn't want the agent nearby, the dog regarded Reid's hand.

Waiting came in the form of a long, tense minute. The dog remained shock still, body tense and ears perked towards Reid. Then, as tense and cautious as a squirrel in the open, Max pressed his nose through the bars to nose Reid's fingers.

Voice soothing, Reid spoke. "Hey there, Max. You're not feeling so great, are you." The dog licked at his fingers, and Reid turned his hand over to allow Max to snuffle his palm. "You're a good boy though, aren't you. Just need a little time, right?"

Behind him, Morgan let out a long sigh before murmuring to Allen, "We're not even surprised by stuff like this anymore."

"He's an expert on dog psychology?"

Morgan rolled his eyes, preparing to speak before Reid beat him to it.

"Agent Hotchner likes to say that I'm our expert on everything. I have no official credentials in the field of dog psychology, but I've read enough papers to have an accurate understanding of that field." He kept his voice soft and soothing, gentle to Max's ears while still informing Allen of his credentials.

The man let out a soft huff, tapping Reid's shoulder and passing him a red Kong toy.

Immediately upon seeing it, Max perked up and pressed closer against Reid's hand, begging in the only way a reserved army dog could.

"Ah," Reid reprimanded, raising his right hand in a fist, a firm motion that could not be ignored. The dog before him sat, and was rewarded with a few gentle coos and the chewing toy. He sat back, plopping onto the floor of his kennel and contentedly chewing at the Kong.

"Has he been around anyone in the unit since Wincott died? And by any chance do you know the details of what happened?"

"Some of the guys on leave have been by to see him," Reyes replied. "Harne hasn't been by, and if the guy's are to be believed it's because Harne was prepared to kill Max then and there. Corporal March says that Max was acting aggressive, guarding Wincott. He stopped Harne from killing Max and grabbed the dog." Reyes' eyes, rather than resting on the agents, rested on the young dog. "He's a good dog. It would be a shame to put him down."

Reid turned his ever-curious gaze to Reyes. "He's not going to be put up for general adoption?"

"Danger everywhere else," Reyes replied.

Morgan let out a long sigh. "Sergeant, for the time being we need to be off to do interviews, but would it be alright if we brought Max along? Just to see how he reacts to everyone individually. While he isn't a witness in any official capacity, dogs have some pretty spot on instincts."

In response, Reyes chewed at his lower lip, thinking. "If he didn't like Agent Reid, I'd say no in an instant. But as is, I don't see the harm in it so long as I come along." He paused to stare at the dog. "There's a van with a kennel in back, if you're willing to switch cars. In this state, I can't allow him to go anywhere without that and a muzzle. And we can't bring him around to a dozen different houses, they need to head to the base."

"Already the plan."

Reyes shrugged, but grabbed the leash that hung next to the kennel. He glanced at Reid, offering it to the young agent with a smile. "You mind doing this?"

The unit consisted of about fifteen men, all build like Morgan and most with hair cut in a similar style- short, and out of the way. Though all were under thirty, all had more scars than one would expect on the average person. Most were simple nicks, while others were long and harsh.

They spoke in hushed tones, crowded together into groups of three or four. One tapped his foot in a constant, unending rhythm while another shifted his wait every thirty seconds as though he couldn't get comfortable in his own shoes. Yet a different man brushed fingers over his short-cut hair time and time again.

As well as any profiler, Reid knew why. Though different than what was associated with stims, these were as such. The constant repetition, likely repeated hundreds of times previously, worked patterns into the brain and the brain found those patterns soothing, and thus when in stress repeated them almost constantly in an effort to relax.

At Reid's side was Jennifer Jareau, JJ as they called her, tall but shorter than him still and with golden hair falling to her shoulders.

She too regarded the soldiers. "They're tense," she noted, dry as the desert.

"The last time they were called in for interviews was days before Wincott died. There would be some bad memories associated with doing interviews." His tone was reasonable, thoughtful.

Reyes materialised next to them, a firm grip on Max's leash as the dog strained forwards. Passing the leash to Reid, he let out a long huff, flexing his fingers. "He may be hurt, but that dog has not lost any of his strength. Dr. Reid, Agent Jareau, you should probably ask them to come see him one by one, so as not to overwhelm him."

"You're the expert," Agent Jareau replied. She glanced down at Max, who sat calmly next to her, ears perked forwards so that the sprung over his head. With no doubt it was his ears that were the dog's cutest feature, shooting up from his head like a pair of rockets.

As though noticing her gaze, Max looked up at her and she cooed back at him.

"I'll ask them to come in one by one."

She slipped into the room on silent feet, and despite her quiet grace she was noticed instantly by every man in the room. Though she was shorter than most of them by a solid five inches, an argument could be made that she was as imposing as they were. She addressed them in a clear voice: "Sergeant Reyes has brought Max here, and we were hoping that you would all be willing to come back and say hello to him."

The effect of her words was immediate and noticeable. Those that had been shifting their wait or clicking metaphorical pens stilled, gazes turning to rest on her in a slow, constant motion.

One of the men, Corporal James March, spoke up almost immediately, arms crossed over his chest and voice eager but worried. "How's Max doing? Vet said they sent him home right away."

She gave him a polite smile, replying, "Sergeant Reyes says that Max has been doing very well recently." In a display of her diplomatic skills, she neglected to mention that 'recently' was confined to the past few hours and only when Reid was near to the Malinois. "You can ask him more questions yourself. I'm afraid I don't know all the details." She addressed the rest of the group. "One at a time, if possible."

Corporal March was the first one in. A few inches shorter than most of the others put March at about 5'5, brown hair cut so that it couldn't be longer than half an inch, sticking straight up from his head. Dark eyes surveyed the room quickly before resting on Reyes, Reid, and Max.

The dog was calm, mahogany coat flat down his spine and sharp eyes turning to survey the newcomers. Upon laying eyes on March, Max tensed but relaxed within a few seconds.

"Hey there, Max," March cooed at the dog. "Somebody's looking an awful lot better. Mind if I come closer?" He did, in slow obvious steps, each motion projected before it happened until March knelt in front of Max. Though disgruntled, Max allowed March to get within a few inches of his ears before giving an annoyed snort and shifting backwards. March dropped his hand to his knee, and Max immediately perked his ears up to gaze at him.

The Belgian Malinois was slowing climbing in the military's metaphorical dog ranks. Though the imported German Shepherds were still greater in numbers than the Malinois, the latter had been found to make a better military working dog. Smaller and lighter, they were easier to pick up by their handlers should the situation call for it. While the dull browns that Malinois typically came in was a step up in camouflage from the dark browns and blacks of Shepherds, it was the athleticism of the Malinois that put them even farther ahead. Along with their keen noses and ears, Malinois beat out the Shepherds with ease, to the point where military dog breeding programs in the United States wouldn't accept any other breed.

"Can you tell us anything about how Max interacted with the unit before Wincott's death?" Reid inquired, keeping his voice gentle.

March tipped his head to watch Max, and the dog shifted in likeness. "Kyle was always his favourite," the man replied. "But that was always to be expected. Whenever anyone would grab a Frisbee, he'd follow them out and we'd play monkey in the middle with him. Most of the time it devolved into tug a' war. You're just too good for us, aren't you Max?"

The dog tipped his head again, regarding March with an easy relaxation.

"When he got tired out, he'd flop down by Kyle and pass out. For the most part, he just ignored us." He paused for a long moment. "Friendly but brusque. The only one he didn't like was Harne."

Reid tipped his head in inquiry, rocking forwards onto his toes. "He didn't like Sergeant Harne?"

"No." March shook his head. "He's the only one that Max didn't say hi to in the mornings, and he was only ever around Harne when Kyle was. We always thought it was odd, seeing as Kyle and Harne grew up together."

"You're saying that Max actively avoided Harne?"

Max turned to the agent and whined at the sound of his name, receiving a few little clucks for his troubles. Satisfied, the dog turned his attention back to March.

"If Kyle was with Harne, Max would be with them too. But Max always spent a little time with each of us without Kyle, except for Harne." March smiled at Max. "He's looking good. A lot more relaxed than when I last saw him."

Reyes grinned at the man. "I wouldn't believe it if I didn't know better, but Dr. Reid here is responsible for all of that."

A wicked grin turned in Reid's direction. "You hurt Max and believe me when I say this: I will not be so cordial when we next meet."

Reid's lips twitched into a grin as March brushed from the room, calling for Mathew Smith to enter.

In the eyes of the law, one Mmaxton (former MWD) could not be considered a character witness. Despite the fact that dogs were some of the best judges of character in the world, and the fact that trained military dogs had even better senses, the fact that Max was an animal incapable of speech decreed that he could not be a witness.

However, anything Max did could be recounted by one of the other witnesses.

Varying incidents were accounted by varying members of the unit, least of all the firefight that had cost Wincott his life. That they went over thrice, once from Rodrigues and from March, and the third time from Harne himself. What really synched the case was a recording taken by a distant relative of one of the people involved in the deal.

Harne was charged with a variety of crimes, from possession of non-licensed weapons to treason to the unintentional manslaughter of Kyle Wincott. For his crimes, Harne received multiple life sentences. The status of his discharge was also changed to dishonourable, though that was the least of the man's worries.

His biggest worries, perhaps, were what would happen to him throughout a lifetime in prison without parole.

The evening the jury brought the verdict into the court room, Reid went to Lackland Airforce Base to meet with Sergeant Reyes.

In the few short months since they had first met, Reid and the sergeant had spent a great deal of time in each other's company. For the first few weeks, they met only when it was necessary in relation to Max, but as time continued on, that changed. At the end of the first month, Reid began visiting at random when it was convenient. With each time Reid stopped by, Max gained back a little bit of his former personality, his confidence in all areas increasing. While he improved under the gentle tutelage of Reyes, it was only with the help of Reid that his recovery took off.

Despite living in Quantico, Reid found himself in Texas with great frequency. The majority of the time, he was interviewing someone at one of the Texas prisons for archival purposes, and every now and again he flew down to consult on a recent abduction or murder. Each time he did, he ensured to stop by Lackland Airforce Base for the sole purpose of seeing Max.

Under the steady guidance of both Reyes and Reid, the dog had made enough progress that he was deemed able to be taken by a law enforcement agency.

That particular day came in mid October, with the air growing brisk is Quantico but warm in Texas. For all that it hung at twenty degrees, the sky was a dull grey blanket that left everything shaded from the sun's glorious light. There were occasional peeps of the sun through the clouds, bare flickers creating patches of sunshine that beat down upon their little space before once more being covered by the unending roll of clouds. Despite the overcast skies, it did not rain, and though in time the same clouds would swell until they dropped the liquid gift upon the land it would not happen for another few days. The area surrounding the base was acres of grass fields and forests. The grass rustled in the soft wind.

As was usual for the base, there were small units in training going through the motions of their mornings runs, and daily exercises. Young handlers were being paired with their canine companions, spending time with them for the simple purpose of bonding.

He was greeted at the door by Sergeant Reyes, unflappable as ever in his uniform and long-since accustomed to Reid's random visits.

Even the freshest recruits were accustomed to Reid's presence, giving him polite nods as they went. There was a certain understanding between the agent and the soldiers, a knowledge that they all served their country in different ways but for the same cause of a better world.

Reyes brought Reid back to his office, and promptly shoved a pile of paper at the young FBI agent.

"Here," he said as though it was the most logical thing in the world. Reid, scanning through the papers for a scant few seconds, looked up at the sergeant and frowned at him.

"These are papers for Max."

With lips twitching into an amused smile, Reyes replied, "Yes. They are."

"For the BAU to take Max."

Reyes nodded along with Reid, and when the agent didn't speak again he said, "You didn't see this coming?" His voice was laughing and gentle. "You're a profiler, and every time you're in Texas you drive out here to see him. He didn't start to improve until you came into the picture, and you're aware just as well as I am that most groups won't take a dog with PTSD. I know you well enough now to know that you're not going to let Max be put down."

Slowly, Reid began to nod. "He would be a help on cases, especially those involving bombs and abductions. And in taking down unsubs." For a long moment he didn't speak. "I just need Hotch to get this approved?"

"Your Section Chief as well, but there shouldn't be too many hiccups. Officially, Max will be the K9 unit of the BAU, and in all likelihood he'll end up living with you." He paused for a minute and considered. "There will need to be a quick investigation to make sure that there's space for him and that he'll get enough exercise every day."

He paused and sighed.

"Reid, I know you've been looking for a larger place. It wouldn't be that much of a stretch to find somewhere on the edge of Quantico. You could even share with one of your coworkers. JJ, for example, would be delighted to have more space."

Three days later, Reyes received a series of files detailing the transfer of one Mmaxton (former MWD) to the FBI, with his handler being SSA Spencer Reid of the BAU. The files were immediately accepted, and arrangements made to have Max sent up to the FBI Academy at Quantico for a short period of training with Reid.

For the most part, the training was basic. A great deal of time spent learning commands, and an even longer amount of time spent learning to care for a dog.

Reid was a quick learner, soaking up the information as quickly as it came. He took to caring for Max with ease, taking note of dog first aid and the scant grooming that Max would require. What he did more of was the psychology of the dog, how everything was a game. If Max did something well (such as bringing down an unsub or locating something), he had to have a reward, generally with a little play time and some petting.

Training lasted for two weeks, and in that time Reid also helped teach a few seminars on criminal profiling.

The seminars served a dual purpose: they helped Reid to keep busy in what time he had off, and they helped to get Max accustomed to the bustle and atmosphere that he would likely spend a great deal of time in while working in the field.

Max adjusted to the new world, shy around the bustling atmosphere initially before warming up to his new world. In a true show of the characteristics that he was chosen for, Max was quick to explore the Academy's campus. The ringing shots that only months ago would have him trembling with his tail between his legs did not phase him. Even the presence of explosions similar to those that had come close to taking his life were but flies in the dog's eyes.

At the end of each night, Reid returned to the apartment that would only be his for a short time longer. The remainder of his team was in San Diego, a boy having reappeared after being kidnapped exactly a year previously.

For all that Reid should have been with them, he also knew that being in Quantico with Max would do more help in the long run.

Their first case came in early November, with the murder of a college student in South Carolina. Rich and white suggested a crime of vengeance, seeing as a local man had been killed by a rich college student who had never been charged thanks to his family background. Sexuality suggested a hate crime, seeing as Douglas Clark's former partner had come in to give a statement.

In the end, it turned out to be neither, nothing more than an abused and misguided young woman who believed too much in fairy tales.

After the case finished, when they all plopped down on the soft couches the jet provided, Max sat himself down before Reid and flicked his ears upwards, unusually pale features making a face with an expression that was all too notable: please let me on the couch with you.

Reid laughed to himself, ruffling the dog's ears. "Come on you goof," he said as he pat the area next to him.

Immediately, Max took advantage of the invitation and leapt up, plopping down so that his front half rested on Reid's lap. Careful fingers soothing over the dog's head, soothing down the few ruffled strands of fur. Looking down at the dog (his dog), Reid felt himself overcome with a peculiar feeling he hadn't felt in a very long time. It was something that felt suspiciously like home.

"Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart." Marcus Aurellier.