Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS, not me.

we start believing that we belong

"You wanted to see me?"

Gideon set down his book. "Come in," he said, waving Reid into the room. "Come on, take a seat."

Reid obeyed, sitting down on the edge of the chair, his hands clasped together on his knees. He looked like a little boy called to the principal's office. "You can relax," Gideon said, smiling. "You're not in any trouble."

"Oh," Reid said, the tension easing from his shoulders.

"I wanted to check in with you," Gideon said. "You've been with us for six months, I was wondering how things were going. How you're feeling."

"Things are great," Reid said eagerly. "I really think I'm finding where my skills are an asset to the team. The last case, in Cleveland, I think I was really helpful in finalizing the profile."

Gideon linked his fingers together. "Not how you think you're doing," he said. "How are you feeling?:

Reid blinked. "How am I feeling?" he repeated. "Well...fine, sir."

"Fine?" Gideon said. The young agent nodded.

Gideon studied the boy carefully. He knew Reid wasn't fitting in as well as he pretended. He still called everyone "agent," he stayed to work late instead of joining the rest of the team for dinner or drinks, he didn't tend to make small talk. Rather he contributed facts and statistics, sometimes rattling on for a good few minutes before someone redirected the conversation. Reid's social skills were abysmal. He'd never been tested in any of the records that Gideon had read, but he wouldn't be surprised if he was on the spectrum somewhere- Asperger's, maybe. But he could tell that behind his intelligence and his awkwardly standoffish behavior, Reid craved approval. He was eager for a place to belong.

But it was clear that Reid wasn't going to open up to him. "My door is always open," Gideon said. "If you ever need to talk."

"Thank you, sir," Reid said.

Gideon smiled at him. "And I'm always ready for a chess rematch," he said. "I'm sure you'll best me eventually."

Hotch leaned into the office. "New case," he said. "Elle and Morgan are in the conference room already."

Gideon was already standing up. "Where's this one?" he asked.

"New Mexico."

Spencer did not like New Mexico.

His wardrobe was meant for layering; his sweaters and jackets weren't meant for the August sun. Now he was left sweating through his button-up shirt and squinting in his prescription sunglasses.

"So what are we looking at?" Agent Morgan asked. Of course he looked effortlessly calm. He probably wasn't even sweating.

"It's the fourth killing this month," the local sheriff explained. "College age kids, all of them."

"It's got to be someone they all know," Spencer said. "Only fourteen percent of murders are committed by a stranger to the victim."

He'd been around quite a few crime scenes and quite a few bodies at this point, but the smell in the air was really getting to him now. Vague nausea tugged at his stomach.

Gideon surveyed the body on the ground, his expression unreadable. "Hotch and Reid, I want you to canvas the campus," he said. "See if you can get more information on the victims. Elle and Morgan, stay here with me."

Agent Hotchner picked up his jacket. "Let's go, Reid," he said.

Spencer followed him to the car. The AC in the SUV was reassuring, but it didn't last for long. They walked from door to door across the college campus, showing smiling photos of the victims to students, writing down any info or names or phone numbers that might potentially be useful. It was important work, but secretly Spencer was ready to throw in the towel after a few hours. He wasn't going to let Agent Hotchner know that, not when the older man was so calm and collected.

Agent Hotchner's phone rang. Spencer waited at a safe distance while he took the call. He was definitely too hot now, his hair plastered to the back of his neck with sweat. And he was thirsty, painfully thirsty.

"That was Gideon, he wants us to come back," Agent Hotchner said. "They found a new-" He paused. "Are you all right?"

"Hm?" Spencer said.

Agent Hotchner's usually solemn face deepened into a frown. "You don't look so good," he said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine," Spencer blurted out. "I'm fine."

But he wavered on his feet a little bit, and Agent Hotchner caught him by the elbow. "How much water have you had to drink today?" he asked.

"I had coffee on the plane," Spencer said. "You don't have to worry about me, Agent Hotchner, I-"

"For the millionth time, Reid, you can call me Hotch like everyone else does," he said, gently but firmly. "Let's get you in air conditioning and get some water in you."

"I'm from Las Vegas, the heat doesn't bother me," he said, his eyes half closed.

"Sure, Reid," Hotch said. "Come on."

Spencer allowed himself to be propelled towards the car. The asphalt beneath him felt like jello but Hotch's grip on his upper arm was firm and reassuring. "I'm okay," Spencer said. "I can take care of myself."

"I know," Hotch said. He opened the passenger side door and hoisted Spencer into the car. "But we're a team, and team members look out for each other. Now buckle your seatbelt."

Spencer obeyed. Hotch was right, the air conditioning helped. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and closed his eyes. All he needed was a second to get his bearings. But he must have dozed off during the drive back to the police station, because the next thing he knew they were in the parking lot. Hotch was messing with his phone, clearly killing time until he woke up.

"You ready?" Hotch said.

"Yeah," Spencer said, pushing himself up as fast as he could and unclicking the seatbelt. "Did I...did I miss anything?"

"Not a thing," Hotch said. "Let's go."

Spencer slid out of the SUV and followed Hotch into the station. He wanted to say thank you, but he didn't know how.

Derek sat on the edge of the desk, balancing a paper cup of water in his hands as watched Gideon stare at the bulletin board. He could tell that Gideon was mapping out territory that he couldn't quite see; he'd just have to wait for the senior agent to share with the rest of the class.

Elle sat down at the desk. "Has he said anything?" she asked quietly.

"Not in the last forty minutes," Derek said. "Hotch on his way back yet?"

"Any second now."

Derek took a sip of the tepid, metallic-tasting water. Gideon stepped back from the board, surveying his work. "You see something?" Derek asked.

"Maybe," Gideon said absently.

Hotch strode into the room, the new agent trailing behind him. "We canvassed most of the campus," he said. "Maybe some possible leads. What have you found here?"

"Not sure," Gideon said. He drummed his fingers against his chin. "Reid. What do you see?"

Hotch nudged Reid forward. The youngest agent tripped on his own shoes, but approached the bulletin board and squinted at the notes and photos. He looked a little pale, but his nose and cheeks looked sunburned. Hotch placed a cup of water in his hand but he didn't drink. "There's a definite connection between victims," he said.

"Where?" Elle said. "They live in different from dorms, they're studying different majors, they're from different hometowns. Different genders, different races."

Reid scanned across the board. Derek watched his eyes track rapidly over the photos. "No, there's definitely a connection," he repeated. "All four of these students...they all spend time in the university fitness center."

Derek frowned. "That can't be right," he said. "Only one of them was on a sports team."

Reid shook his head. "One was a baseball player, yes," he said. "But one was a musical theatre major, which meant she was taking dance classes. One was gettin a degree in physical therapy, focusing on athlete rehabilitation. And the fourth-"

"-worked the front desk at the fitness center," Gideon finished. He snapped his fingers. "That's it, that's the connection."

"Do we have a profile?" Hotch asked.

"We're about to," Gideon said. "Elle, get that tech analyst on the line, see if she can pull up the sign-ins at the fitness center for the past two months. I'm going to talk to the sheriff. Reid, come with me."

Reid nodded and followed him at his heels like a puppy; Elle picked up her phone and headed out of the conference room towards the nearest computer. Hotch frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We have to keep a closer eye on Reid," he said.

Derek rolled his eyes. "That's not in my job description," he said.

"We're a team, and he's just a kid," Hotch said. "When you were his age, you were finishing college and just getting ready to start the academy." His frown deepened. "He was on the verge of heat exhaustion earlier, I thought he was going to keel over while we were canvassing."

Derek sighed. "I'll keep an eye on him," he said reluctantly. "But I've got more important things to do than watch him like a hawk, all right?"

It wasn't that he didn't like the kid. He was brilliant, clearly, and his intelligence was an asset to the team. But he was still just a kid, too young and too inexperienced.

He still didn't know a lot about him. He knew he was a genius who graduated early, but not much else. Reid didn't keep personal photos on his desk, hadn't mentioned parents or siblings or even friends. He got to work early and left late; he spent his lunch breaks by himself reading. It wasn't anything personal, he could tell- the kid seemed to enjoy being alone.

Or he's just used to being alone.

He pushed the thought aside. He had more important things to worry about than Reid.

The bulletproof vest weighed heavily on Spencer's shoulders. The sun had gone down a long time ago, but the late spring weather was still stifling hot. Typically they left him outside or back at the police station during takedowns, but Gideon had insisted that he be present on this one.

They had pinpointed the unsub as a student athletics director, pushed over the edge by a torn rotator cuff that would end his career and a severe dislike towards rich students who didn't need the full ride he'd earned. He was considered armed and dangerous.

"You ready, Reid?" Agent Hotchner- Hotch- asked.

"Technically, yes," Spencer said. His pistol weighed down heavily against his hip. "I don't believe anyone could be fully prepared for a takedown of a potential criminal. There's so many variables, there's-"

"Did you even pass your fitness tests?" Agent Morgan asked.

"They...may have issued a few waivers," Spencer said. "But I did pass my firearms evaluation."

Barely, but they didn't need to know that.

"Hotch, are you sure we should take the kid with us?" Agent Morgan said.

"Gideon specifically said he wanted him here," Hotch said.

"Has he actually done a takedown before?"

"I haven't actively participated in a real takedown yet, but I was part of a couple of simulations during my time at the academy, and I've studied extensively how-"

Hotch raised an eyebrow, not unkindly, and Spencer stopped talking. "We know the unsub is inside the athletic center," Hotch said. "We've cleared out as many students as possible, but there's a chance there may be some still there. Stay in communication. Don't be stupid."

Spencer wondered briefly if that was meant for him, but there wasn't time to think. He was sent into the building, the last one in, and he clutched his pistol with both hands.

Inside the building was only slightly less oppressively hot than outside. He swallowed hard, his throat unexpectedly dry. He could do this, he knew he could.

Hotch directed them to split up. Spencer followed his lead; Hotch and Agent Greenaway headed up the stairs while he and Agent Morgan took the lower level. Agent Morgan pointed him towards the back hallway towards the pool and the locker rooms.

The overhead lights had been turned off; the wall of glass windows reflected the water and the pool lights and the stars in the night sky. Spencer edged around the pool, stepping carefully in case of water on the concrete.

"Pool's clear," he whispered into his radio mic.

"Weight room's clear," he heard Agent Greenaway say.

Spencer made his way past the pool, the water rippling in the half-shadows. The smell of chlorine burned his lungs. He hedged towards the locker rooms and bumped the door open with his heel.

The white fluorescent lights blared too brightly on the dingy off-white tile floor and the gunmetal gray turned the corner and looked straight into the eyes of the unsub.

He matched the profile to a tee. His eyes were wild and he held a gun in his hand- left hand, exactly how Gideon had described him. "Get away," the unsub said. "Get out of here!"

Spencer slowly raised his walkie to his mouth. "I need backup in the mens' locker room," he said in a low voice. "Repeat, backup in the mens' locker room!"

"Put down your weapon!" the unsub said, the gun shaking in his grip. "Put down your weapon!"

"I'm from the FBI," Spencer said, raising his free hand in peace.

"I don't care if you're FBI!" the unsub shouted. "I'll shoot you! I swear to god, put down the gun or I'll shoot you!"

He kept his voice calm. "You don't need to shoot," he said. "Just put the gun down."

The door kicked in, bouncing off the hinges. "FBI!" Agent Morgan shouted, and Hotch was hot on his heels. Both of them held their guns drawn.

The unsub waved wildly from one agent to the next. "I'll shoot!" he screamed.

"I'll put the gun down," Spencer said. "I'll put it down. Don't shoot. Don't-"

Everything happened so fast.

He started to put his gun down.

The unsub pulled the trigger.

Hotch and Agent Morgan leapt forward.

A second gunshot.

Something hot and wet sprayed across Spencer's face. Copper struck his tongue. The unsub hit the ground at the same time Spencer's gun slipped from his hand.

Agent Morgan rolled the unsub onto his back. "He's got a pulse," he said. "Hotch, get his gun."

Spencer stumbled back and looked down at his arms. Warm arterial spray covered him in lurid scarlet splotches. His vision wavered.

"Pulse is gone," Hotch said, calm and clinical. How could he be calm? "You can probably cancel the medic."

The unsub's blood tasted like pennies in his mouth. He choked.

"Is Gideon en route?"

"He should be. Radio again."

Spencer's back hit the wall, hard enough to bruise. His bulletproof vest crushed against his lungs.

"He didn't have a hostage in here, did he?"

"No, Reid got here first, and...Reid?"

The lights were too bright and he couldn't see.

"Reid?"

There was a stifling roar in his ears.

"Morgan, get him out of here."

Firm hands gripped him by the upper arms. "All right, Reid, let's go."

He could barely put one foot in front of the other. There was blood all over him, splattered down his legs, dripped on his shoes. He gasped for breath.

"Goddammit." It was Agent Morgan dragging him past the pool and through the emergency exit doors, into the warm midnight air under the stars. "Come on, get your shit together, kid."

"Can't breathe," Spencer gasped. He scrabbled against the straps of his bulletproof vest but he couldn't lift them.

"Jesus," Agent Morgan said. "All right. All right, kid."

The heavy vest lifted off his shoulders and chest, letting the air back into his lungs. His vision swam. He could vaguely make out Agent Morgan frowning at him. "Hey, come on," he said. He took Spencer by the shoulders. "You're having a panic attack. Take a deep breath, you'll be fine."

Spencer tried, he really did. His knees buckled and Agent Morgan caught him before he hit the ground. "Hey, none of that," he said. He forced him to sit in the grass. "Eyes on me. Come on, pretty boy. Take a breath."

Spencer struggled to make eye contact. Concern was written all over Agent Morgan's face. He managed to draw in a short, ragged breath. "That's better," Agent Morgan said. "That's a lot better." He frowned and cupped Spencer's jaw in his hand. "Shit, you're covered in blood. Did he get you? Are you hurt?"

"Not my blood," Spencer managed to say. "His."

Agent Morgan nodded. "Okay, good," he said. His mouth tugged in a sympathetic line. "It's your first death, huh?" Spencer nodded. "It never gets easier. But you're gonna be okay."

Spencer inhaled slowly. Agent Morgan took him by the wrist and checked his pulse. "Deep breaths," he repeated. "Nice and slow. Get your heart rate down."

"I've never had a panic attack before," Spencer managed to say.

"Yeah, we've all had them before," Agent Morgan said. "Even Hotch. We've got a tough job." He squeezed Spencer's shoulder. "You did good, though, kid. You trapped the unsub and you kept your cool until backup arrived. Couldn't have asked for better."

"Thank you," Spencer mumbled. He didn't feel like he'd done a good job, but he knew the more experienced agent wouldn't lie for the sake of making him feel better.

It was still too hot outside, but the pressure was beginning to lift in his chest. Agent Morgan touched the back of his neck. "Jesus, you're burning up," he said. "Hotch said you were on the edge of heat exhaustion. How much water have you had today?"

"Coffee on the plane," he mumbled.

"Goddammit," Agent Morgan said. "That's not water, and that was fourteen hours ago. You gotta do better than that, pretty boy." He squeezed Spencer's shoulder. "You think you can walk?"

He nodded. "I'm all right," he said. "Thank you, Agent Morgan."

"Just Morgan," he said gently. "I'm gonna take you back to the hotel, okay?"

"But what about-"

"They can wrap this up without us," Morgan said. "You're no good if you can't function. Okay?"

He wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he was too tired to fight back. "Okay," he echoed.

Morgan glanced in the rearview mirror. "Yeah, he'll be fine," he said quietly into his phone.

"You're sure?" Hotch said, his voice tinny in the cellphone speaker.

"Positive," he said. "He just needs a little peace and quiet. It was his first on-scene death, Hotch. It hit him hard. And you said he was on the verge of heat exhaustion earlier today, so-"

"No, you're right," Hotch said. "Do you think he needs medical attention?"

Morgan glanced in the rearview mirror again. Reid was slumped against the window, the unsub's blood making dark splotches on his pale face and neck, his eyes closed but his forehead scrunched as if he couldn't stop thinking, even in sleep. "No, just some rest," Morgan said. "He'll be okay by tomorrow, I'm sure of it. I'll keep an eye on him, make sure he's doing all right."

"I thought you said you didn't want to babysit."

"Bye, Hotch," Morgan said, and he flipped the phone shut. It wasn't babysitting, just helping out an agent having a tough time.

He wasn't about to admit it, but Hotch was right. He needed to keep a closer eye on Reid. The kid had gone into the takedown without batting an eye and he'd done fine. He had a sneaking suspicion that if it wasn't for the panic attack, Reid wouldn't have said a word about how he was really feeling.

Morgan pulled into the hotel parking lot and parked near the sidewalk. "Hey, Reid," he said gently. No answer. "Come on, pretty boy, rise and shine."

Reid roused abruptly, bolting upright and nearly smacking his head on the SUV's door. "I'm so sorry, I dozed off," he said.

Morgan grinned. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Let's go. We made it back to the hotel."

Reid screwed up his face. "We did?" he said.

"Sure did," Morgan said. "You need a hand?"

Reid shook his head and climbed unsteadily out of the SUV. Morgan locked the doors. "Take it easy, kid," he said. "Don't go so fast. We've got time."

Reid slowed his stride, wavering a little bit. Morgan took him by the elbow and steered him to the door. "We'll get you to your room, get you cleaned up and some water to drink," he said. "Maybe something to eat. Are you hungry?"

"Not particularly," Reid said.

Morgan followed him into the lobby of the hotel and steered him towards the elevator. "You got your room key?" he asked.

Reid fumbled for his wallet and pulled out the white plastic key card. "Perfect," Morgan said. "Let's go."

Spencer stood under the cool spray of the shower for a long time. The blood had long since sluiced off his body, making pink streaks in the bottom of the tub, but the water felt soothing against his skin. But he had to get out of the shower eventually, so reluctantly he switched off the spray and dried off.

He combed his wet hair slowly and changed into a tee shirt and pajama pants. Post-adrenaline exhaustion was seeping into his bones. He wasn't hungry, but he probably should eat, and he should probably drink something before he went to bed. Most likely he could raid the vending machine by the elevators.

Spencer opened the door to find Morgan lounging on one of the double beds, flipping channels. "Morgan!" he yelped.

"I was wondering if you drowned in there," Morgan said with a grin. "Thought I was gonna have to rescue you again."

"I didn't need rescuing," Spencer said, still standing in the doorway.

"Stop looking at me like that and sit," Morgan said. "Eat." Spencer blinked. While he had been in the shower Morgan had apparently ordered one of everything on the Taco Bell value menu, and a neon blue Gatorade and a bottle of water stood on the nightstand. "Not exactly the healthiest option, but some food is better than nothing."

Spencer sat down gingerly on his bed. Morgan kept flipping channels until he landed on a basketball game. The fast food definitely wasn't healthy but it filled him up, and the Gatorade made him feel like he could function again.

"Drink that water too," Morgan said absently, his eyes on the screen.

Spencer looked down at the water bottle. "I'm not a child," he said.

"I know," Morgan said.

"I don't need anybody to watch me."

"I know."

Spencer watched Morgan out of the corner of his eye. The older agent seemed unbothered, sipping a Baja Blast while he watched the game. Reluctantly he reached for the water bottle and cracked the cap.

"Thank you," he said into the bottle.

"No problem."

He took a long swig. The water felt cool down his throat, and he felt calmer than he had all day. And surprisingly, he wasn't mad that Morgan had moved into his room. He settled back against the pillows, tucking his wet hair behind his ears. He paused.

"Hey...Morgan?"

"Yeah?"

"...did...did you call me 'pretty boy'?"

Author's Notes:

OH GOOD THEY'RE FRIENDS NOW.

It's so much nicer to write Morgan and Spencer as friends. I do feel like he kept him at arm's length until he figured him out a little bit more, but now they're BEST FRIENDS.

But Spencer still isn't very good at communicating, so it's going to be a while before he starts opening up a little bit more.

This chapter is also a little bit of a bookend to the goalpost episode. No one rescued little heat-exhausted Spencer back then, but now he's got Morgan and the rest of the team to take care of him. (On a related note: dad!Hotch is my favorite.)

Originally I was going to post the LDSK chapter and then go right to the Tobias Hankel arc, but I decided to add another chapter with the Fisher King first. I will take any encouragement you can send me, because that's going to be a tough one!

I'm also still taking prompts on my tumblr if you'd like to send them. I like bouncing into a prompt when I get stuck on one of my longer stories, so if you have any hurt/comfort Spencer things you'd like to read, I'm here for it!

I've also been bouncing into my next fic when I need a little bit of a break from writing this one. It's an AU fic with eleven-year-old Spencer and I'm kind of in love with it. Also...why are there no fics about Alex Blake and Spencer being friends, because she is PEAK MOM and he obviously gets very attached to her and like...where are the fics please? I might have to write something.

Lots and lots of love and thanks to Dayanna, fishtrek, and nitrogentulips for reviewing the last chapter! I'm afraid that one kind of fell flat, so please please please send me any feedback you have, I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Up next: he failed his firearms qualification, and they all knew it