Hi, everyone! Just wanted to let you know that I'm currently revising/editing some chapters that I felt were not "good". Don't worry, the plot will stay the same. But I felt these earlier chapters weren't my best because I didn't spend a lot of time editing, like I do now. Plus I didn't have a Beta then, either. (Annber03, you rock!) I know this unusual, but I want my readers to have the best experience possible while reading. The things I added to this chapter were only to make it more believable and accurate.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Criminal Minds.

Hope you enjoy this revised version!

25 year old Teagan Wellers pushed her bangs out of her face and sighed, staring at the computer screen. She had to type up this assessment and place it in her client's binder by noon.

"Ugh," she sighed again. "I can't concentrate."

She decided to go to the lounge and get herself her third cup of coffee of the morning. So much for sleeping tonight. After being slapped by a client and a string popping on her guitar during one of the music therapy sessions she led, she was feeling drained. She had only been working at Medstar Georgetown University Hospital for about 6 months as a music therapist. She worked with many populations, from pediatrics to geriatrics. Right now, she was supposed to be filling out an assessment on her newest client, a child with Cerebral Palsy, who had been referred to her by the child's treatment team, but she had been staring at the screen for so long that the words were starting to blur.

Teagan stood up from her black leather swivel desk chair and stretched. She took a quick glance around the office she shared with the hospital's other music therapist, Gene Richardson. Her desk was scattered with Post-It notes, folders, paper clips, guitar picks, and other small items. Behind her desk, lay her guitar, which she kept locked tightly in a case. She looked over at the other desk in the room, that of her coworker, Gene. Neat and organized, as always. He wasn't there at the moment, though—he was off in pediatrics, leading a group session.

Teagan leaned down to retrieve her purse in the hopes of finding change, only then to hear a sudden knock at her door. She jumped, startled, and hit her head on the ledge of her desk.

"OW!" she exclaimed, rubbing the spot she hit.

"Excuse me," a soft voice stated. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." Teagan looked up and saw a man with short, tousled brown hair staring back at her.

"Um, it's fine. I'm, uh, a little clumsy."

The man was tall and lanky. Extremely tall, actually, compared to her measly five foot, half inch self. His eyes were noticeably dark in color…liquid chocolate, almost. And the circles underneath them…clearly he didn't sleep much. Now that she was standing closer to him, she could see flecks of blonde highlighted throughout his chestnut hair. Damn, he's gorgeous.

"I'm a little lost," the man stated. "Is radiology on this floor?"

"No, I'm sorry," Teagan replied, shaking her head. "It's on the next floor. Just take the elevator and go up one more level."

"Okay. I'm sorry I bothered you," he mumbled. "Thanks so much for your help."

"No problem."

Teagan watched the man exit out of the office and head towards the elevator. Poor thing. I think everyone's gotten lost here at some point, this place is so ridiculously big. She then resumed searching for change in her purse. After finding some, she left the office and headed towards the lounge for coffee.

Dr. Spencer Reid headed towards the elevator. He pressed the button and proceeded to wait for the elevator to arrive. As he waited, he snuck a glance at his watch, and sighed. He was late for his CAT scan. Reid was hardly late for anything. If only I'd driven here instead of taking the Metro for once….

He had made this appointment a few days ago, after being referred to Dr. Keith Skarsgard by his current physician, Dr. Harry Brubeck. Dr. Brubeck could find nothing that caused Reid's headaches, but had referred him to another doctor to see if there was something he had missed.

Spencer refused to believe that his migraines were psychosomatic. Whatever Maeve had told him to do to relieve them before her death had been helping, but now they were getting steadily worse, if that were possible. They had been terrible before. He took his vitamins daily, like Maeve had suggested. He even swapped from coffee to tea, but nothing seemed to be working.

The elevator dinged then, shaking Reid from his thoughts. He boarded, hitting the button for the floor he wanted. A few moments later, he stepped out again, glancing around as he did so. There was a waiting area to his left, where a few patients sat filling out paperwork or reading magazines. A receptionist sat behind a large desk, smiling brightly at him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm here for a CAT scan," Reid stated.

"All right," the receptionist replied, reaching for a clipboard and pen. "Just sign in right here and we'll call you back shortly. Who are you seeing?"

"Dr. Skarsgard," he replied. The woman nodded in response.

He walked over to the waiting area and sat down in a rather uncomfortable chair. He grabbed a book from his ever-present messenger bag to read while he waited. After he had finished three books, a nurse called his name.

"Spencer Reid?" He stood and followed the nurse into another area, who began to take his vital signs. She looked down at his chart.

"It says you're here for a CAT scan, right?"

"Right."

"Here's a hospital gown," she stated, handing it to him. "After you change, make sure you remove any metal, such as earrings, watches, and such. Do you have any metal plates or shunts inside?"

"No."

"It also says here that you have been suffering from headaches, but there's no known cause. Have you experienced any headaches in the past few days?"

"No."

"The past week?"

"Yes."

"How long did it last?"

"Three days," he replied.

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you rate your headaches?" she asked.

"A 10. At least, when they first start. They will sometimes ease to about an eight about forty-eight hours in or so."

"Hmm," she replied, jotting down more information on the chart. "I'll give you a few minutes to change and then we'll start your CAT scan. Then you'll see Dr. Skarsgard for the preliminary results, okay? The full results won't be back for a few days."

"Okay."

Ten minutes later, the nurse returned and instructed him to lie flat on his back on the narrow examination table. He squeezed his eyes shut and lie perfectly still as he was slowly pulled through the scanner.

"All done, Mr. Reid," the nurse said some time later. "Wait here and Dr. Skarsgard will be in shortly." Reid nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, a tall, graying man stepped inside the room, carrying a sense of authority about him. Reid wasn't sure why, but there was something off about the man. He had never given Reid any reason not to trust him, but something felt out of place.

"Okay, Dr. Reid," Dr. Skarsgard said, never looking up from Reid's chart. "I'm looking at the preliminary results and I don't see anything." Reid sighed heavily. Why doesn't anyone believe me?

"If I do find something," Skarsgard began, "I will do a follow-up. The full results should be back in about four days and I'll send them to Dr. Brubeck as well."

"Thanks," he replied. "I stated earlier that nothing had ever been found on a CAT scan. I had one done a few years back and the results were inconclusive."

"I really don't think it's necessary to run more tests," Skarsgard stated, finally looking up from the chart. "There's simply no evidence to suggest that your headaches are caused by any internal factor."

"Well, something has to cause them," Reid snapped. Why is he being so difficult? I'm not crazy… I'm not.

"Dr. Reid, given your family history, don't you think that they could be psychosomatic?"

"Yes," he replied angrily. This is getting nowhere. Why do all doctors think I'm making my headaches up?

Most doctors saw his family history and that his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic and chalked his headaches up to that. He was 33. Well past the age of onset in males for schizophrenia. He knew when his head ached and throbbed with pain. He knew when the pain became so unbearable that he nearly passed out from it. There was no way he could or would make this up.

"What did you say you did again? You work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI?"

"Yes," Reid replied.

"I suggest," Skarsgard began. "That you take a vacation. And then I'm sure you'll find all these 'headaches' will go away." The man then left the room without so much as a goodbye. Reid narrowed his eyes. Are you kidding me? Did he really just leave?

Spencer grabbed his messenger bag from the floor and exited, heading towards the elevator, clearly vexed. I need yet another opinion. If Maeve was here, she'd know what to do to help me. But she's not here. And it's my fault. All my fault.

The elevator dinged again, interrupting his thoughts. The girl he'd met earlier stood before him. A guitar was strapped to her back, with a purse slung over one shoulder and a bag of handheld instruments over the other. The guitar looks bigger than she does. She was tiny, barely over five feet tall, if Reid had to guess. She had short blond hair, set in a bob style, with bangs cut straight across.

"Hello again," she chirped. Her accent indicated that she wasn't from this area. She sounded like she was from the Southeastern United States, like maybe Alabama or Georgia.

"Hi," he replied.

"Did you ever find radiology?" she asked. Her "you" sounded like "ya". Definitely from the South.

"Yes. Thanks for the directions."

"No problem." The girl grinned a very toothy grin at him, before exiting and passing him by.

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