For Warnings and Disclaimers, see chapter 1.

The two men turned and began to walk out of the room. As they retraced their route and rounded the corner into the entrance hallway, Reid sprinted toward the door. Morgan ran after him. As he exited the building, he found Reid bent over a trash can heaving. Morgan looked on in sympathy for a moment, then back at the local officer stationed at the entrance. The officer seemed uncomfortable as Morgan scrutinized him to see how he would respond, and so he looked away. Satisfied, Morgan returned his attention to Reid. As Reid seemed to regain control of his stomach, Morgan approached him and placed a hand on his young friend's shoulder.

"You alright?"

Reid nodded weakly as he slowly straightened himself.

"Come on."

Morgan guided Reid toward the rear of one of the team's SUVs and opened the hatch.

"Here, sit down. I'll be back in a sec."

Morgan retrieved a bottle of water from the front of the vehicle and handed it to Reid upon his return.

"Thanks," Reid said appreciatively.

"No problem man," Morgan responded as he settled himself beside Reid.

The two friends were quiet then for several minutes. Morgan wanted to give Reid some space to collect himself and soon each man was lost in his own thoughts. After a while, Reid broke the silence.

"Sorry…a-about all that," he whispered as he looked down at his hands with a look of shame on his face.

"Reid, you have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing, you hear me?" Morgan said very seriously.

Reid didn't respond. He just continued looking at his hands.

After several moments, Reid spoke. "It's been 2 years. You'd think I'd be over it. I…I mean…I didn't expect…"

"Reid, as a profiler, hell, as genius who remembers everything he's ever read, you know full well that traumatic events can have lasting effects. And symptoms of PTSD can crop up weeks, months, years, even decades after the trauma. You also know that scent can be a particularly strong trigger for memories, whether they're positive or negative."

Morgan could see by the way that Reid remained focused on his hands that he was still beating himself up over his reaction. It was obvious that he was embarrassed and ashamed to show what he perceived as weakness. It's not right. He's suffered enough.

"You know, I won't even go near bourbon," Morgan began. "If I even catch a whiff of it, I feel sick. Actually, I got sick once."

"Really?" Reid asked as he finally lifted his gaze from his hands to Morgan, genuinely surprised and with the sound of hope, or at least relief, in his voice.

The reaction he'd just gotten from Reid told Morgan it was worth what it would cost him to talk about this.

"Really. When I smell it…it was Carl's drink of choice." Morgan said, a haunted quality to his voice seeping in now. His eyes were becoming unfocused. "His breath…when he…" he cut off, his jaw tightening.

"I haven't eaten fish since," Reid picked up, saving Morgan from feeling he had to continue. "At first, anything that smelled even remotely fishy made me nauseous, so I started consciously avoiding fish, fish restaurants, and such. At some point, I guess it became a habit. I didn't really think about the fact that I was avoiding it anymore. Maybe that's why I didn't think about what I was walking into today. I should've…realized, but I was just focused on what we'd find at the crime scene."

"None of us made the connection. Sometimes we get surprised. Reid, we all have skeletons in our closets. Sometimes we can keep them locked up and in control, but sometimes they escape and they're right there in our faces and …it's scary."

"You don't seem like you're ever scared, of anything."

"But I am."

"Thank you, Morgan."

"For what?"

"For sharing things I know you'd rather not talk about to normalize what I'm going through. For understanding."

"Anytime pretty boy. Anytime."