5:16pm, October 28th | Washington Union Station (DC)

"Richest country in the world... have to wait an hour… terrible public transportation… Singapore metro…" Bell grumbled barely coherent words to himself as he waited for the Acela Express to take him to New York. He sorely missed the efficiency of Singapore's Metro System and Europe's Rail Network.

Impatiently tapping his foot, he flashed back to the text he'd read at Reid's makeshift party.

1 hour ago…

Bell gave him a congratulatory look, and said, "Enjoy 29."

Swept up in the celebrations, no one noticed Bell frown at the screen of his Interpol-issued phone.

A text was displayed, and it was obviously causing him extreme discomfort.

4:09 pm - Secretary of Interpol Affairs in the United States: UN, NYC. 7pm. Concerns Operation Remedial.

Operation Remedial. That damn op just would not leave him alone, would it? It haunted his sleep, his dreams; why not haunt his waking hours? Why not take from him the one solace he found in his sleepless days: the sun? The warmth? It wasn't like he, too, was human was it?

Bell hated it. He hated feeling hopeless, feeling tired, feeling dead on the inside. He longed for the days when he was permitted to live. To not just lead a miserable existence, but to laugh, to like, to love. Bell wasn't too sure if he even knew what love felt like.

Such a foreign word. So ambiguous, yet so specific. What was it? Of course, as Bell and his favorite doctor both knew, it involved chemicals in the brain. Yet, did it exist? How did one make oneself experience it? How could a curious mind not wonder whether or not its existence was simply a social construct? One created by the necessity of the human race to survive?

He was shaken out of his deep thoughts when the train he needed to board finally arrived. Wearily, moving like a man who'd lived multiple lifetimes, he walked in, displaying his FBI credentials to keep his concealed carry weapons on him, and his ticket to the attendant.

Bell flopped down, wondering when it was that he'd lost his faith in the good of the world. Maybe it was when he murdered an innocent family. Maybe it was before that. Maybe it was from when…

Absolutely not, Bell! You promised yourself to never think about...THAT...ever again. You left them behind. Keep them in the past.

He didn't know how much longer he could.

U.N. Building | 11:44 pm

After hours upon hours of meetings from his superiors, Bell collapsed in a seat somewhere on the 14th floor of the building no less frustrated than when he walked in. None of his questions were answered, none of his doubts alleviated, none of confusion clarified. What was his task? Why was he working for the FBI?

It was nights like these that often made Bell wish he hadn't chosen such a lonely career path. He was a man of few words, one who didn't need human comfort often. He was perfectly happy playing video games, getting lost in a book, or playing sports. But on rare occasions, he wondered what his life would be like if he'd been a lawyer like he'd once planned to be.

He was into his mid-20s at this point. Would he have a girlfriend? Would he have a boyfriend? Would he be married? Kids? Pets? A house? Actual sleep? A deep sigh was emitted, one from the deepest depths of a barely beating heart. It was like he was trying to dispel his thoughts much like he was dispelling carbon dioxide.

It was a shame it wouldn't work.

Later…

WHY WEREN'T THE FIREWORKS STOPPING?

The three guns turned to aim at him.

"No-noo..no!"

The bullets rained.

Bell nearly jumped out of the chair he'd fallen asleep in. That nightmare was becoming more and more frequent. He didn't understand why.

Shaking it off, Bell stood and walked to the glass window, overlooking some of the Big Apple. He was stuck here for the time being, and there was no use renting a hotel room when he'd gotten all the sleep he would be getting. The moon shone brightly in the night sky, Bell felt a little calmer looking at the hustle and bustle of a city that never slept.

What was he to do? Clearly, it was past midnight, not leaving much to do, and Bell was sick and tired of the UN building. Interpol had taken all the fun out of this place. Operation Remedial. One of these days, he'd give the SIAUS a piece of his mind.

Today was not one of those days. Instead, he exited the building, and grabbed one of the CitiBikes near the entrance. He decided if he had nothing to do, might as well bike aimlessly around the city. Bell did not realize what this would look like to a technical analyst tracking the position of his FBI phone.

At first, he just biked around Manhattan, not really going anywhere, not really taking anything in, just allowing himself a rare moment of serenity as the cool night breeze blew in. He biked past the various embassies and diplomatic missions, by the Empire State, by the Chrysler Building, into Times Square.

Then subconsciously, Bell's feet pedaled him toward a place he somehow knew the location of, despite having never been there before. It was a huge distance, but one he paid no mind to. Incredulously, he ended up in front of the FBI office in New York. As he snapped out of his stupor, Bell laughed dryly. Even when he wasn't at work, he ended up at work. His work had become his life.

He simply walked into the building, not knowing what he was looking for, just knowing that he ended up there for a reason.

Quantico, Virginia

Penelope Garcia and Emily Prentiss had become inebriated to such a point that Reid was rather surprised they weren't dead. Emily's Unit Chief inhibitions had been absorbed into her ridiculously high blood alcohol level, and she was currently exhibiting the same level of self-control as Garcia.

They slurred random things, progressively becoming more and more drunk, and Reid could not wait to leave this bar, go home, and curl up with a good book. Unfortunately, the whole BAU was here and he had to wait a little while longer.

Surprisingly, JJ had neither gone home to Will and the boys, nor had she drank much, a deviation from the norm. She had good reason for controlling her alcohol intake (lest she turn into a giggling mess and giving into her carnal urges). She and Spencer were just sitting at a table, bemusedly watching the antics of their friends.

Rossi's scotch had led to him looking for a Wife #4, and Morgan was out there wooing another girl into his bed, while the other two women of the team alternated between the dance floor and intently watching Garcia's laptop screen.

Suddenly, JJ noticed a conspicuous lack of men named Bell in the room. "Hey, Spencer, you know where Bell is?"

Reid replied, "No, although I suspect that Garcia might," as he watched them with a little interest. "He left sometime after Garcia finished stuffing me with sugar."

The blonde laughed. "I told him he wouldn't be able to weasel his way out of drinks tonight, but he managed to anyway. I really needed to talk to him."

"What about?"

Crap crap crap crap. JJ absolutely, in no way, could tell the doctor what she needed to talk to Bell about. "Just Middle East stuff, you know how it is with the Pentagon…"

"I can't say I do, but I guess he would, wouldn't he?"

A comfortable silence resumed between them when Jennifer broke it again. "Okay, mister, enough with the sitting. You're dancing. With me. Now. Spencer."

The brunette laughed as he got up and said, "As long as I'm allowed to leave after this."

But leave and do what, Spence? JJ thought sadly. You don't have anyone to go home to. She really wished she could change that. She wished she was the one he looked forward to meeting at home, not an empty house and a book.

As she danced with Reid a little closer than necessary, she mulled over the words Bell had said to her in the afternoon.

"You're going to kill yourself staying in that marriage if you're that deeply infatuated with Spencer."

She began to wonder if he was right.

New York FBI Office

A bored Bell offered to consult on some cases, much to the happiness of a few overworked agents. They were confused as to why he was in New York, considering the BAU Alpha Team was based out of Quantico, but in no way were they going to complain.

So, for a few hours, he sat there in New York, completing paperwork and mind-numbingly simple cases, until his phone rang. With an hour till sunrise, the Acela was running again, meaning Bell could get home.

He dropped off his paperwork, walked out of the office, and took the train back to DC and then bussed to Quantico, just in time to beat the rest of the team, who were walking on Friday morning with hangovers that felt like a thousand bands were banging drums in their head.

"Where were you last night, Bell?" asked Reid, the first of the team to walk in.

"Around, heh."

"Well, a little birdie told me you ditched my 'birthday' drinks to stroll around New York," he said jovially.

Bell saw no reason to lie to him. "Interpol business, I didn't have time to say goodbye."

Reid smiled. "Well, at least it got you out of having to witness a drunk Garcia."

That it had.