Dallas, Texas
Monday, 12:30 pm


Reid packed up his and Emily's things at the hotel, moving as fast as he could. The jet was waiting, they'd be in the air by two. The doctors had said Emily could leave the hospital, she was rehydrated and stable. She was sleepy, and her legs were worrying him a bit; they were still tingling and partially numb, but he was assured that it would pass. JJ was with her at the hospital helping her get ready to leave.

Someone knocked. He went to the door, concealing his irritation at the interruption. Hot was standing there, looking – Hotchlike. "What's up?"

"Detective Bullock is downstairs in the lobby, he wanted to say goodbye." Hotch paused. "Nathan Harris is with him."

Reid blinked. "Oh."

"If you don't want to see him, I can tell him it's not a good time."

"No, it's okay. I'll talk to him on the way out." Hotch seemed like he had more to say. "Hotch, what is it?"

"Harmon's pled guilty. To everything. Elle's murder, the seven stabbings, of course the kidnapping and assault on Emily."

"I'm not surprised. He knows he's caught. We have him on video, for crying out loud. Plus Nathan's testimony. He'd want to make sure he got his full measure of notoriety now that he knows he's caught."

I thought you might want to – question him." The way Hotch said that made Reid think that he might have his own questions for Harmon, the kind you ask with your fists.

Reid sighed. "No. I'm not giving that man one more second of my time. He's a nobody who killed people to make himself feel significant. He did all this to get to me and he used Emily to do it. He's nothing, he's no one, and I'm not letting him affect us for one more second. And if you want him to fill out the VICAP questionnaire, fine, but just don't send me to interview him."

Hotch nodded. "You're showing more restraint than I think I'd be able to."

"If I talked to him, I'd only be indulging my own base desires to confront him, and that's not going to help anybody. It's what he wants, it's all he's got left. He's not getting it from me. I refuse to set myself up as some kind of nemesis for him in the inevitable book he writes or the TV interviews he gives." He folded up one of Emily's shirts. It smelled of her perfume. "Emily is safe. We've caught Elle's killer. My job as an FBI agent is done here, and now I need to focus on my job as a husband."

"Agreed. I'll, uh…be downstairs when you're ready to go."

"Thanks. Oh, Hotch?" Hotch paused and turned back. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Go ahead."

Reid took a breath. "Why did you and Haley wait so long to have Jack?"

He saw a shadow pass across Hotch's face before he answered. "There always seemed to be something we had to do first," he said. "At first she wasn't sure, then I wasn't sure, then it was one of our jobs – that all sounds so unimportant now."

Reid nodded, his thoughts whirling. "Okay."

Hotch started to leave again, then paused. "Reid?"

"What?"

Hotch met his eyes, and Reid could see that he knew just what was going on in Reid's head. "Don't say anything to her until you're sure."

When Reid got downstairs, Hotch wordlessly took his and Emily's suitcase from him and went out to the car, leaving him alone with Bullock and Nathan. Nathan looked shy and unsure that he had a right to be there, so Reid addressed him first. "Thanks for coming by."

Nathan shrugged. "I wanted to say bye. I'm real glad Agent Prentiss is okay."

"You helped us, you know. And you tried to protect her. I won't forget that." Nathan nodded, looking at his shoes. "Are you going to stay at McKinniss?"

"I don't know. I don't want to. I think I wanna go home."

"Back to DC?"

"Yeah, maybe. If I can find a job."

Reid took a step closer. "You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?"

Nathan met his eyes briefly. "I don't wanna bother you."

"It's no bother. Here," he said, taking out his wallet and fishing out one of his business cards. "You can reach me here," he said, writing on the back. "This is my private cell number."

Nathan took the card. "Thanks," he said, sounding a little awestruck that Reid had entrusted him with his private contact information. "Maybe if I meet someone new, I should have you run a background check," he said, with a hint of a smirk.

Reid laughed. "Not a bad idea. Meeting someone new sounds like a good idea, too."

Nathan met his eyes directly for the first time. "Are you happy?"

Reid held his gaze. "Yes."

"Good." His eyes dropped again and he shuffled a bit, slipping the card into his pocket. "I'll, uh…see you. Have a safe trip."

Reid held out his hand. Nathan hesitated, then shook it. "Take care of yourself, Nathan." The young man nodded.

"You too, Dr. Reid." He met Reid's eyes for one more quick glance, and Reid saw there Nathan's regret and his displaced feelings for him. There was nothing he could do or say that would make that go away, so he just watched Nathan leave, feeling vaguely guilty.

Bullock stepped up. "Well, Stretch, you leaving us with a whole boatload a crap to look after," he said, but his eyes were twinkling.

Reid nodded. "That's the BAU way, Detective. We come in, catch your bad guys, and let you take the credit and do the paperwork."

Bullock chuckled. "Well, I always been kinda skeptical a this profilin stuff, but y'all mighta convinced me."

"It's just an investigative tool, but it's a useful one."

"I just wanted ta stop on by and say thanks. That team a yours is pretty impressive."

"Yes, they are."

Bullock arched one bushy eyebrow. "You don't do so bad yourself, Stretch. For an intern," he said, winking.

Reid smiled. "Maybe one of these days they'll make me full-time."

The detective's face went serious. "I'm real glad Agent Prentiss is okay. You tell her goodbye for me, y'hear?"

"I will."

"And, uh…you tell Miss Garcia that I will take her out for the best barbecue she ever ate any time she wants," he said, grinning.

Reid couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll tell her."

Bullock stuck out his meaty hand and shook Reid's, his grip nearly crushing. "You and your lady take good care a each other, you hear? This a dangerous line a work to be in when someone you love's in it with you." He patted Reid's shoulder, tipped his hat and headed out, his boots clocking loudly on the hardwood floor of the lobby.

Reid picked up his messenger bag and headed out after him. Hotch was waiting in the SUV parked by the curb. Reid climbed in. "Let's get out of here," he said. Hotch didn't reply, just drove off toward the airstrip.

Bullock went into the interrogation room where Kurt Harmon waited, swallowing past his loathing of the man. There he sat, looking calm and even a little smug while his face was lit up like a late sunset with bruises and lacerations. He set down the typed confession Kurt had dictated that morning. "Read it and sign," Bullock said.

Harmon drew the paper towards him, but he wasn't reading it. "When can I expect Dr. Reid?" he said, his tone sounding casual while Bullock knew it wasn't.

"Whaddya mean?"

"Isn't he going to come in and grill me? Ask me why I did what I did? Vent his anger at me?" Harmon looked damn near gleeful at the prospect.

Bullock leaned back in his chair. "Well gosh, Kurt, I don't reckon so. He's on his way back to DC with the rest of them agents." It was almost worth having to be in the same room with the man to see the smugness drain off his face.

"He's what?'

"He went home, Kurt. Probly plannin' ta take some time off with the lovely Agent Prentiss, maybe go someplace to be alone so they can talk about anything in the world but you."

Harmon shook his head, chuckling. "You're lying. There's no way the BAU would leave without interviewing me."

"I guess they had better things to do today."

Harmon searched his eyes. "They really left?" he said, flatly.

"Saw 'em off my own self. So here's what gonna happen now. You're gonna sign that confession. You won't go to death row since you pled guilty. You'll go to supermax, and most of the inmates will think you're a badass cause you're a serial killer and you kidnapped an FBI agent. That kinda shit buys a lotta cred in the joint, even if she did kick yer ass. You'll have a pretty good time of it. Yer rep will probly protect you from the usual indignities prisoners put on each other. You'll get women writin' you letters wantin' ta save you and reporters wantin' yer story and maybe even the BAU will want ya to fill out one a their questionnaire thingies. But then you'll be old news, and people will forget. Someone more interesting, more horrible will come along and you won't be news no more. But you'll still be in prison, see. Fer the rest a yer natural life. Years'll pass and them handsome looks you got goin' on be gone. Maybe you'll find religion, that's always a good one, but it won't matter. Maybe you'll start sayin' yer innocent, get some more press, but that shit won't fly any further'n a dog in a bog. Now, I know you went to a lotta trouble to set all this up cause you thought you was Moriarty and Dr. Reid was Sherlock Holmes. Bet you thought he'd come in here and you'd have some dramatic interrogation-room faceoff. You probly imagined how you'd be all cool and collected while he lost his shit and shouted at you. Hell, I bet you been workin on yer Hannibal Lecter impersonation, jus' getting ready for it. Thought you'd lord it over him how you had his pretty wife for two whole days, and she'll never be the same and all that crap. Well, I'm real sorry, Kurt, but it ain't gonna happen. Dr. Reid's on a plane back to DC, and neither he nor his pretty wife are gonna spare one little thought for you. He ain't got no questions for you, but you know, I got one."

"What?" Harmon said, staring down at his confession, his face blank.

"How's it feel? After all you went through to ruin that man's life, to take from him what he holds most dear and punish him for bein' who he is and good at it – how's it feel to know that to him, you don't matter one little bit?"

Harmon looked up at him. He didn't answer.

Bullock nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Harmon looked lost and confused for the first time since he'd met the man. Bullock got up and left, smiling. "Well, damn. Just no part a that that weren't fun."

The ride home on the jet was very, very quiet. Everyone was still pretty tired, and within fifteen minutes Garcia, Morgan and Rossi were all asleep. JJ sat across the table from Hotch, who was just looking out the window. She'd never seen Hotch show fatigue and he wasn't showing any now.

JJ was tired, too, but she couldn't sleep. She had twirly-brain, as Will called it. She couldn't stop thinking. About what they'd just gone through, how she would have reacted if it had been her in Emily's place, or Reid's.

She looked over at them. Reid was sitting at one end of the couch. Emily was asleep, curled on her side with her head on a pillow in his lap. His hand had started out resting on her side, but in her sleep she had seized it and was holding it against her stomach, like she needed to hang on lest she fall off some inner cliff in her dreams. His other hand rested lightly on her hair; his head was tipped back and his eyes were closed, but she could tell he wasn't asleep.

JJ suddenly flashed on the first time Spence had held Henry, when she'd asked him to be her son's godfather. He'd been uncertain at first, but he'd quickly gotten the hang of holding the baby. She'd seen the emotion in his eyes, something quick and hidden flashing across, smiling down at the hours-old baby. She'd seen so clearly that her sometimes-awkward friend had deep wellsprings of love in his soul that he'd never been allowed the chance to share. He'd been surrounded his entire life by people who needed his attention, his help, his caretaking, and his intellect, but never just his affection. Emily, on the other hand, needed nothing but, and it had eased something in his heart to be needed for nothing more than the companionship and love he could provide.

She got up and went to the cupboard to pull out a blanket. She spread it over Emily's still form, tucking it up around her shoulders. Reid opened his eyes and looked at her. "Thanks," he whispered.

She was struck by a sudden urge to kiss his cheek or hug him. Something, anything so he'd know how glad she was this was all over now. There was always a vague, tiny nugget of might-have-been in her friendship with Reid. What if something had come of their long-ago pseudo-date? What if she'd never met Will, what if she'd gone along on that custodial interview to Minnesota intead of Emily? She was happy with her own family, but she'd seen how he was in a relationship, how he and Emily were together, and it made her wonder if it would have been like that for them.

Emily stirred a little, a small distressed noise in the back of her throat. JJ could only imagine the kind of dreams she was having after her ordeal. Reid looked down at her, making quiet soothing noises, his hand stroking her hair. JJ gently patted Emily's shoulder and went back to her seat. She was impatient now. Impatient for the plane to land so she could go home an hug her son, and tell her husband how much she loved him – and how grateful she was that they didn't work together.

Alexandria, Virginia
Monday, 6:30 pm


Home felt like the arms of heaven to Emily. Driving up to the familiar sight of its peaked gables and iron archways made her feel that much closer to her normal life and further away from that cinderblock room. "Home again, home again, here again," she murmured as Reid held the back door open for her to precede him into the kitchen.

He glanced at her, bemused. "What was that?"

"Oh, just something my dad always used to say when we'd come home after being away." She wandered through the first floor while Spencer brought in their bags; she took careful steps on her sore legs, smiling at the sight of the hardwood floors and the woven rugs and the tile in the foyer, smelling her home's distinctive scents of old books, wood polish and fireplace fires. She eased herself down into her favorite armchair in the living room, sighing as it reached up and seemed to welcome her home with cushy, leather-upholstered arms. But even with the comfort that home brought her, it was just a building. Her real home was the man she shared it with. Watching him walk into the living room, still relieved at each sight of him blessedly alive, she thought she'd live happily with him in a tent in a vacant lot.

She let him help her climb the stairs. He left her alone to put on her pajamas and reappeared ten minutes later with soup and a mug of her favorite cocoa. She sat up in bed, looking down at the plate and cup. "You don't have to wait on me," she said.

He reached over and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. "You could let me, though."

She nodded. "Well…okay."

He just wants to take care of you. It's normal. Remember after he got shot, how you wanted to make him sit in one spot while you did everything and he finally snuck out of the house when you weren't looking? And that was just his arm.

I don't need to be taken care of. I'm just fine.

I would have been FINE.

Even if it had been true. Even if I were in this house alone right now wondering which funeral home to call. I would have been just fine.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said.

"Okay," she said, a little too quickly. Yes. I can be alone in the room for a few minutes without losing my shit entirely. Go away so I can make sure that's true. But come back soon. But not too soon. Because I don't need you, you know. Not really. Except that I desperately need you, every minute of every day. But if you died I would be fine, fine and dandy, I'd go on with my life and I'd be FINE.

Emily shook her head. I'm losing my mind.

Just relax and don't think about it. You're home. Enjoy it. What happened in that building is behind you. Your future is what you thought it was going to be. Here, with him.

She ate her soup and drank her cocoa while he showered and put on his own pajamas. It was only seven o'clock at night, barely dark, but it was understood between them that bed was the place to be right now, and not for sex. Part of her badly wanted to make love to him, to feel his hands on her and his skin beneath her lips and reforge that connection to him after her mind had already started to believe it severed, but she just didn't feel up for it right now. She could tell by the way he was moving around and looking at her that he wasn't going to make any moves in that direction, either. He took away her dishes and came back with her copy of "Sense and Sensibility," one of her favorites and the book she read when she needed comfort. He slid between the sheets and opened the book, extending one arm to wrap around her as she tucked her head down on his chest while he read aloud. She let her mind drift into the familiar words, made new again by his quiet baritone voice as he spoke them, until sleep took her down, into a dreamworld that she knew wouldn't contain any nightmares tonight.