* * *

"There is no formula for success except perhaps an unconditional acceptance of life and what it brings."

- Arthur Rubinstein

* * *

Reid yawned, and laid down the case file of a middle-aged male who's case had run through Judge Carlos. But the lawyers had been different, just like every other case he'd looked at. None had the exact components. It was getting so hopeless, and the stack in front of him was getting smaller and smaller as time went by. It was two o'clock in the morning the last time Reid had checked his watch, and that had been who knows how long ago. His coffee, still sitting half full in the cup in front of him on the table was most likely cold by now, and Reid's eyes barely wanted to stay open anymore. The rest of the team had already gone to the hotel to get some rest and sleep, but of course, like always, the genius was expected to stay and finish the job, what with his huge head and all.

Laying his elbows on the table, Reid ran his hands through his hair and let his head hang, holding it up with just his hands and closed his eyes, just for a little bit, trying to get himself to focus again. He had to focus on the case, not the fact that he was here, trying to focus on the case while the rest of the team was curled up, nice and snug in hotel beds. If it wasn't for this damn mind of his, he wouldn't still be here, working this case so late at night, he thought madly, but instantly regretted even that small outburst, even if he hadn't done anything. No one had forced him to stay here; no one had told him to continue working on the case. In fact, J.J. had even asked if he was coming with them when she said they were leaving to get some much needed shut-eye.

It wasn't their fault he was here, it was his own, and it was because he knew that without his brain, his team wouldn't have half the answers they had, and because he wanted to prove himself worthy of his teammates trust. And he wouldn't be able to do that, sitting here throwing a tantrum like the child he'd been thinking they thought he was.

In fact, Reid thought that they couldn't possibly think of him as a child since they continuously said they think he's amazingly mature for his own age, and that a profiler is able to understand what a person thinks before they think it and that Reid thought they thought that he thinks that they-

Now his head hurt.

* * *

Hotch came into the make-shift conference room, and was surprised to find Reid, slumped over the table with several files open on the table, his arms cushioned under his head and his eyes -with abnormally dark-circles under them, even for him- closed, his mouth gaping open just slightly. His hair was a tangled mess, worse than it usually was, and fell into his face in several places. One strand was in front of his mouth, and would move out and in as Reid would draw slow, even breaths as he slept deeply. To Hotch, the man looked like he could use some rest.

Hotch felt a little bad about using him like he had yesterday, what to look through the cases faster. Hotch knew how fast Reid could read and well, to put it simply he had taken advantage of the young genius. Moving quietly around the table, Hotch looked over the files that were open on the table in front of the sleeping man, only to find that the criteria in the files matched the ones they were looking for, and there was three of them. Two male and one female, the female being the housemaid they'd already interviewed. So that gave them two suspects. Glancing quickly at Reid, Hotch picked up the file cases and quietly closed them, placing them under his arm and walking out as quietly as he'd come in.

The man deserved a few more hours of sleep after a session like last night.

* * *

Slowly, Reid awoke with a small, nagging sensation in his brain. There was something he was going to do before he fell asleep… Then it hit him. He was going to cross-reference the possible UnSubs with those who purchased any guns or over the counter medicines that had been proven to be active components in home-made poisons and such. Looking up tiredly, Reid reached for the closest case file, the one with the large, muscular male who'd been to see the Judge on the pretence of gaining back a stolen vehicle. Since the man, James Hankery, had already been convicted and served time for auto-theft himself, the judge didn't deem to look that far into the case and dismissed it. To Reid, James sure seemed like a guy to hold a grudge.

But as Reid's hand moved over the table, something caught his attention, even through his still sleep-foggy mind. Where were the files? Sitting up a bit straighter, then standing up and leaning over the small table, Reid searched through all the files that were scattered in disarray on the wood. But the three files he'd lain out the night before were gone without a trace. Quickly turning around and reaching into his large brown bag, Reid pulled out and flipped open his cell, dialing the number he needed as fast as his fingers would let him.

"Talk to me, pussycat."

And then Reid was still, blinking and staring off into space.

"Did you just call me pussycat?"

"Did I stutter, sweet-heart?"

"Don't ever do that again."

"Sure, sure. What'cha need?"

Shaking his head, Reid swallowed and looked back at the table.

"I was working on those case files for Prentiss and Gideon last night, and I fell asleep before I could get you to check a few things, but when I woke up, the files were gone, and I don't know where they went. I wanted to know if you had any clue about anything, or if I'm just going crazy here."

"No, you're not going crazy, Reid, though in that large mind of yours, I know I would." A small chuckle from her end of the line didn't help Reid's thought process from these past few days. "No, Hotch came in and found you sleeping, and decided you needed some time off for a while, so he took the case, and Morgan and Gideon are headed to Wallace's house, and Hotch and Prentiss are headed toward James' house. J.J.'s still in the police station, waiting on you to wake up and preparing herself for the media that's basically slammed the town. Turns out they don't get much by the way of 'interesting news' over there."

Reid couldn't answer for a few seconds, first his throat was closed up for the fact that they could be walking right into a potentially dangerous situation without prior knowledge of it, and then it was closed up because of his anger. His overwhelmingly, heated, pulsing, clawing anger that seemed to come out of no where. They put him on a case. They give him piles upon piles of information, and say, here. Sort through all this. And so he does. He comes up with what could very well be the best leads they could have ever found in a third, -a THIRD- of the time it would have taken them to find it! And then, and THEN! They just rush off without even bothering to wake him up!

They don't include him once he's outlived his worth, Reid thought, steadying himself against the table under the force of the sudden anger. They let him work his damn ass off, and then they just fling him aside like it was none of his business to begin with. And then the overwhelming urge to pick something up and throw it, just to see it crash into something else, to splinter and break like he felt his mind and body and entire world was doing just this moment came over him, and all he could see was the porcelain coffee cup that had been sitting on the table since last night.

His hand was snapped back to his side when the voice in his ear spoke again, the normally cheerful voice worried and anxious at the same time.

"Reid? You still there? Are you alright, hun?"

And just as quickly as it had come, the moment of sudden anger was gone, and Reid slumped against the table, stuttering out a,

"Y-yeah, I-I'm fine, G-Garcia, I just n-needed to get hold of the team." Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus. "I wasn't quite finished with those files yet. I wanted to have you scan them through and cross-reference them with recent purchases made to guns, or any over-the-counter medicines that have been proven to be active components in home-made poisons, do you think you could do that?"

"Oh, baby, if I didn't think I could do that, why would I be here now…?"

* * *

Hotch and Prentiss stepped out of the SUV, turning their attention to the small, mobile home in which James Hankery resided. Hotch moved up to the door, with Prentiss right behind him, and lightly rapped on the door, waiting for a few seconds before the door was recklessly thrown open, a large and rather unkempt man standing in the middle of the doorway.

"Yeah? What'chu want…?"

"Mister James Hankery, FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions, may we come in?" Hotch said, flashing his credentials.

But something was amiss here and both Hotch and Prentiss noticed it right away. There was something about this man; he was on edge instead of careless still. So when he suddenly turned tail and ran through the mobile, Hotch and Prentiss gave chase, only to encounter bullets flying their way.

* * *

"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats."

- H.L. Mencken

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