❝Life takes its path and sometimes there are people to blame. Of course there are bad people in this world. Good, bad, it happens unfortunately. But in a way I think if there was more focus on the good, more good would happen.❞

-Andrea Corr

"You don't think he did it," Morgan more-or-less stated as he watched Rossi slowly exit the interrogation room, head held low with his fingers pinching his nose in a painful thought. He watched as his superior jumped slightly, noticing the look in his eyes as he registered the fact that he wasn't alone.

Rossi sighed. "I honestly don't know," he uttered, running a hand through his hair, a habit he'd ironically picked up from Reid. He shrugged off his jacket, still stained by wet patches, and placed it unevenly over the back of a chair.

"I'm sure as hell that Reid's innocent," Morgan announced, mostly as a reassurance for himself. "Sure, the profile fits perfectly with him, but we've been wrong before."

"Did you catch his reactions?"

Morgan shrugged. "I tried, but, of course, Reid is the expert in that sort of thing." He paused for a moment before laughing half-heartedly. "Ironic how Reid reids people and how his favourite past time activity is reiding."

Rossi sent him a look that resembled one you gave to a madman, as if he was trying to figure out whether to admit him into a psychiatric ward.

"Did someone spike your coffee or is this just your way of dealing with the situation?"

Morgan shrugged, his expression growing stern. "Whatever, man."

Rossi sighed and turned towards Hotch, who was looking at him expectantly. "What do you think?"

"Honestly? There's no way of telling." Hotch paused for a moment before shoving his hands into his pockets. "Reid knows our interrogation tactics; he knows how to play us. Before he acted extremely confident, pretty convincingly I might add, before very quickly changing his dominant emotion to sadness - a little too quickly for my liking."

"You believe that he was faking all of it?"

"I told you, I don't know what to believe." He watched Rossi exhale slowly, his eyes looking as distant as his thoughts. "We can't let our own personal connections cloud our judgment, David. You know this better than anyone. For all we know, Reid is guilty of murdering nine innocent people. We don't know what goes on inside that boy's head or what he's completely capable of."

"Why are you so insistent that he's guilty?"

"Why are you so insistent that he's not?"

"Because you weren't the one he cried into the shoulder of. You didn't have to stand there, watching as he slowly broke down into the fragile boy he is. So I'm sorry if I'm not able to have the same sense of professionalism as I'm usually able to maintain on other cases, but this isn't a regular case, and I'm pretty damn certain that the delicate young man whom we have locked up in custody is innocent. Even if I'm wrong about this and it completely ruins my whole career, well, I'd rather be wrong than be the man to put away a member of my family." The older man sighed before leaving Hotch alone to contemplate, quietly adding, "I'm sorry, Aaron."

And so it seemed as though it was Aaron Hotchner against the world, alone in his fight for justice. He stood, his gaze fixated on the one-way glass which looked onto the youngest agent, patiently watching as Reid sniffed and tried desperately to stop the tears from flowing once more, wondering whether Spencer felt the same way as he did. After a moment, he sighed, fighting against all logic that screamed at him to stop and think about his actions, and opened the door of the holding room.

He watched as a startled Reid looked up, chewing on his bottom lip as he immediately looked back down, signalling that he didn't want to talk or even make eye contact.

For a moment, Hotch completely forgot where he was and his reasoning for being there, paralysed as he stood with his hand still resting on the door handle. As time passed, he remained in this position until reality suddenly clicked, causing him to furrow his eyebrows and stand up straight, making his way over the the table and awkwardly sitting down.

"Did you know that humans are programmed to think about the worst-case scenarios?" Spencer said quietly, laughing slightly. Hotch cocked his head in confusion. "It's essentially just a case of an overactive imagination used in an ill way, but it does ruin people. We put ourselves through so much stress and anxiety because we tend to dwell on the negative possibilities that are bound never to happen."

"Is there a point to you telling me this?"

"Not really." The young man paused for a moment before softly adding, "is there any point to me telling you anything?"

"Reid, if you were in my position and I in yours, what would you do?"

Spencer barely looked up before answering with a shrug. "Probably the same as you."

The two men sat in silence for a moment, Spencer keeping his head down and his thoughts to himself while Hotch faced an internal battle between logic and instinct. Eventually, instinct won.

Hotch stood up, a cool expression hardened on his face, and made his way over to Spencer, grabbing the hand cuffs that attached his left hand to the underneath of the table, and pulled the chain up sharply with an immense amount of force.

"Ouch!" Reid squirmed as his hand shot up in synchronisation with the chain, curling into an awkward position, the sharp surface digging into his skin. "What are you…"

"Karen McDale, Julie Coughlan, Jeffrey Morrison." He practically spat the words. "These names ringing any bells?"

Spencer grimaced. Hotch could see he was hurting the younger agent yet he refused to show any sense of remorse. "They're the names of the first three victims."

"Correction: your first three victims."

"Hotch, I didn't kill them!"

"Shut up and stop lying to me!" He slammed his hands down on the table, unconsciously bringing Reid's arm down with them, and watched as the man before him bit his lip in a desperate attempt to hold back tears. He cursed himself; he never planned to hurt Spencer that much.

Reid looked at him, mouth wide open while a dumbstruck expression crossed his face, a countenance rarely occurring on the boy's usual factual face. "I-" he started, his voice trembling. "I never killed those people."

Hotch never lost eye contact, watching Spencer's reaction to his accusation in an attempt to catch him off guard. No response came. The older man breathed an exasperated sigh, squaring his shoulders and heading out the door, slamming it shut behind him. As soon as Reid was completely cut off from over-hearing or seeing him, Hotch let his austere fall to a decrepit and jaded mien. He only hoped that Reid had understood his message.

Spencer's mind whirled. What had Hotch meant by that short and, quite frankly, weird approach. His sudden change in attitude meant something, a clue to the end of a puzzle. But what was the piece? And what did this puzzle mean?

He thought for a moment. Hotch obviously knew that he would figure it out soon, why else would he make it so inconspicuous?

Spencer sighed and looked down at his throbbing hand. The force in which Hotch had hurled it against the table caused it to turn numb and red. A nasty bruise would probably follow. Spencer rubbed the cold skin in an attempt to restore feeling to it. Luckily it wasn't his favourite hand, that title belonged to the right.

He gasped slightly as a sharp sting erupted over his palm, a pain only capable of being made by a jagged object. Curiously, in a way that would draw an attention, he carefully turned over his anaesthetised hand, drawing his attention to a small object lying in the middle of his palm. Warily prying his cramped fingers away, the object soon revealed itself.

Reid grinned. This was Hotch's message. He knew Spencer was innocent and this was his way of showing it. A means of escape.

Hotch sighed as he glanced down at his watch. Nearly ten pm. He scratched his chin as his mind searched for some clue as to who the real unsub was. However, the only person he could think of was already sitting in custody.

He jumped slightly as he felt a vibration go off in his jacket pocket. Slowly, he reached for his phone and, not recognising the number, cautiously answered the call.

"Yes?"

"Are you alone?"

Hotch let out a sigh of relief as he heard the voice on the other end of the line. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked around. The department was relatively quiet. Everyone, excluding a few detectives and the BAU team, had gone home. Deciding not to risk anyone overhearing, Hotch made his way outside, signally that he was okay when Morgan looked up and sent him a questioning look.

"I am now." He shivered as he stepped outside into the bitter night, regretting not grabbing his over coat on the way out. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I had to take some pain killers for the wrist though."

Hotch laughed slightly.

"Sorry about that, Reid."

"I'd mention something about being a twelve year old protégé in a Los Vegas high school and how I can handle a lot harsher beatings than that, but, being completely honest, it hurt like hell."

"There won't be a second apology. Accept it and move on."

"Right, sorry."

"Was there a reason to this call?"

"Oh, right, yeah. First off, I just want to tell you my relative location, just incase my theory comes true and I'm suspected even more."

"It's alright, I can just ask Garcia to track the phone booth you're calling from. At least, that's what I assume you're doing."

"'Tis."

"So, what's this theory of yours?"

"I was thinking about how today's murder was different to the others in terms of the timing. Why would the unsub suddenly break his routine and kill three hours early?"

"We assumed it was because he knew that we would be looking for him at his regular time."

"Right, but what if it was a spur-of-the-moment decision? He's aiming for the profile to make it seem as though I'm the unsub. He would've been watching me. He saw me go out of the department alone and took it as an opportunity to strike."

"Where are you going with this?"

"We profiled him to be paranoid. If he's paranoid then wouldn't he try to stick to routine?" He paused for a moment, waiting for Hotch to supply more information to what he was saying. When he didn't, he continued. "Hotch, I think there's going to be another murder. Tonight. On time at ten pm."

Hotch looked down at his watch and froze. "It's already two past."

"I know…"

Almost on cue, JJ came running out of the building.

"Hotch, I-"

"There's been another murder, hasn't there?"

She nodded frantically.

"Great," he mumbled, quickly switching off his phone and shoving it into his pocket. He made a mental note to ask Garcia to run the number that Spencer had called him from.

"There's another thing." JJ announced, following as Hotch began to walk back into the department. "Spence's missing."

Hotch inhaled deeply. "I know."