I don't own anything

Well I guess it's time for me to contribute to this fandom rather than just reading.

This will be dark, that is my style.

Sorry if that's not for you. I can only please a few.

Review... Good or bad, I can take it.

It's from Hotch's POV.

My proof reading is atrocious, so I've gone back and corrected.

I pick my files up off my desk and shuffle them together. Titles pass my eyes and I sigh; murder, suicide, rape, abduction... the list goes on. I leave them at the end of my desk and rub my face. Just when you think you've done a good job another case rolls in, leaving a bloody trail behind it and demanding to be profiled.

There's a time when it gets too much. I think of Jack. The way he smiles. How he used to smile when Haley kissed him goodnight. Haley... I sigh as her face fills my mind. All in the name of the job, I think and I fill my briefcase a little too roughly. I grab it and march out of my office, shutting it quietly behind me.

The bullpen is empty. I cross it and notice that Spencer left his light on. I shrug this off and hurry to the door but the sound of retching stops me. I glance around and my eyes catch the men's washroom.

I'm tempted to leave, but I'm the boss, it is my job to look out for the welfare of other agents, whether they are mine or not. Unless it's the janitor, I think. I am not cleaning up his puke. With a sigh I trudge to the restroom and push the door open. As I do the sound of heaving grows louder. I see a pair of converse sticking out of the cubicle.

"Reid?"

A harsh retching sound answers me and I rush over to the kid. His head is stuck down the toilet as he vomits. I kneel beside him and rub his back.

"H-Hotch," he murmurs, lifting his head to look at me before ducking and heaving again. After a few minutes of me rubbing his back, he finally sits back, but he closes his eye and leans back over the toilet.

"I'm sorry..." Spencer gasps, finally pulling his heads out of the toilet. I look at him seriously, keeping my brow low.

"Reid. What's going on?" I say, but it comes out as a demand as if he has no choice but to tell me. Why do I have to be a drill Sargent all the damn time.

"T-there's nothing you can do," he breaths and I feel my brow furrows more. "I wanted to tell you," he adds with a pleading look. He's pale; paler than normal... too pale.

"Reid-" I start but he's quick to interrupt me and I don't stop him.

"It's cancer," he states bluntly. I find myself at a loss for words. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. He fills the silence so I don't have to. "Stage 3."

"Take as much time as you need," I start and I can see Spence break out into a smile. "Your place will always be here when-"

His hand touches mine and I pause and look into his sad brown eyes.

"It's terminal, Hotch."

"We...I-" I flounder on my words. Terminal. That means incurable. I should know, it's what Mum died of. Stage 4 breast cancer.

"Can't you just chop it off?"

"No, Mrs Hotchner," the doctor had gulped at her brutal way of phrasing it.

"Why not?"

"It's in the bone now, ma'am."

"So it's gonna kill me?"

"I'm afraid it will in the end."

Terminal. Like at an airport, where you do wait for your next flight; wait to go somewhere new. Is that where Reid was? Waiting in terminal: waiting for the plane that would take him to whatever's next.

"It's okay," Spencer mumbles with a weak smile.

"No, it's not," I snap, but I grow soft when he hangs his head sadly.

"What did I do wrong, Hotch?" He whimpers and I hear him sniff roughly. I feel my own eyes prickle.

"Nothing," I mutter and I pull him into an embrace.

"Then why me?"

"I-I don't know..."