Quick A/N : Alright, this goes out to Paineverlasting, just for the simple fact I'm on, I'm bored, and I can't really think up any new story lines completely. I am thinking, however, and I hope to start posting again within the next few days. Anyway, thanks again for the quick review, and here's a few months after the end of chapter ten.

Reid's hands passed over the objects on his desk as if he'd never seen them before. He'd been back at the Bureau for a month, a week and three days now, and things still seemed strange. His brows furrowing, Reid picked up a small note book and flipped through the pages before replacing it where he'd found it. His hand then reached out and jiggled the computer mouse, and the screen instantly flickered to life, lighting up his dark desk. It was barely even six in the morning, and since it was fall now, the days were starting later and later, staying darker for longer in the mornings. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Reid stood back up before moving over to the coffee machine, and starting that up too, then rocking back on his heels as he waited.

Then turning around, Reid looked back at the dark and empty bullpen with eyes that still wanted to droop closed. He hadn't been getting much sleep lately, but then again, when was that new? The thing that had been keeping him up recently was the dream he'd had before all of this started. How in the world had his unconscious produced those realistic and almost future-predicting images?

'To save one. O Veon East.'

A scrambled message in a clear dream… Shaking his head, the coffee machine forgotten for the time being, Reid moved back to his desk and sat down in his chair, rocking backward slightly. His computer had already gone on sleep again; had he really been away from his desk for that long? Reid shifted position to go check on the coffee again, even though he was sure he'd just sat down again, when the chair shifted with him. Suddenly over come with a strong need to do something he hadn't done in a long while, Reid brought his feet up into the chair and tucked them underneath his legs Indian-style.

XXXX

Hotch entered the bullpen about thirty minutes later, and was very surprised to find his youngest agent not only there that early in the morning, but spinning in his office chair, stopping only to pick up the paper cup full of what he assumed was coffee from his desk, take a sip, then return to spinning. Every time he would start to slow, his hand would snake out and he'd push himself off the side of his desk, and his speed would increase. Hotch observed this strangely childish behavior with a slight smile on his usually grim face. It was about time Reid started to show some life in him again.

For the first few weeks after he had started coming back to the bureau, Reid had been very withdrawn, keeping more to himself than anything. He'd reach out and touch things as if seeing them for the first time, as if for the last time, and that had really worried both Hotch and Gideon. Sure, he guessed the other agents had noticed and worried as well, but Hotch had understood just how much Reid had to lose thanks to Charger.

There hadn't been any bottle rockets yet, but if Dr. Reid was spinning in his office chair, things must be getting back to normal in that larger-than-average head of his, Hotch thought, his smile widening a fraction. And then the smile was gone as Hotch debated his next move. Would he scare Reid if he said anything? He sure as hell wasn't going to stand here all day, waiting for Reid to notice him, that was for sure. Finally deciding to just ignore Reid and hope he wouldn't be too mortified, Hotch shrugged out of his jacket and turned, proceeding toward his office.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reid suddenly stop spinning and make a grab for his coffee, flipping open a folder and lowering his head, as if he'd been reading. Resisting the urge to chuckle softly, Hotch continued on.

XXXX

Reid was sitting in the round-table room with the other agents, watching the screen flicker from crime scene to crime scene as J.J. continued to brief them on their newest case. The UnSub, who kills with a single gunshot wound to the head, seemed to be executing his victims from a period of over four years, his first kill dating back to June of 2001.

"Damn, when does the line of son-of-a-bitches end?" Morgan said, shaking his head.

"Dating all the way back to 2001?" Elle asked incredulously, and when J.J. nodded her head, she asked, "Do we even know how many people died from gunshots then?"

And Reid suddenly found he couldn't be quiet any longer.

"Actually, did you know that in 2001, 29,573 people died by gunfire in the United States according to the US Department of Justice statistics, and that the 29,573 deaths in 2001, while a staggering number, actually represented a 25% decline in firearm associated deaths from a peak in 1993 of 39,595 deaths? Of the actual gun-related deaths in 2001, 57% were suicides, 39% were homicides, - that included justified shootings by law enforcement personnel and gun owners - 3% were unintentional, and 1% are written down as unclassified…"

Reid then trailed off, blinking and licking his lips unconsciously, suddenly very aware of all the heads turned toward him; watching him. And then everyone was smiling and Morgan was reaching out, patting Reid's back hard enough to pitch the young man forward slightly, even as Garcia's voice rang happily through the small room.

"Our genius is back!"

And then there was laughter, the case momentarily forgotten.

"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it." - Helen Keller