A/N: To all 4 of my reviewers here's my warm beating heart on a platter: (' 0 ')/ 3

I finally got off my lazy butt to do this, please enjoy!

The whole team could feel the familliar tension of a case in progress, the weight of lives resting upon their shoulders. Cruising 40 000 feet in the air, they were making the most of the one hour flight by getting a headstart on their profile.

"A serial bomber has a unique profile that is unlike that of any other type of criminal. The act of making a bomb, planting it, then detonating it requires meticulous planning. Not to mention getting away with the crime. The UNSUB is likely to have a above average intelligence, and highly controlled.", Rossi began.

Reid looked up from his book.

"Based on precedent, most bombers are male, their motives usually vary from case to case, religion, sadism, revenge, political or financial gain." Reid ticked of the resaons on his fingers.

Hotch picked up where Reid left off, absently flicking through his documents as he spoke.

The UNSUB is likely a white male in his late twenties to early fourties. He is very intelligent. Judging by the construction of the bombs, he probably has a background career in electronics or something along those lines and if you look at his wording in the note-"

"I am Promethius. I will bring fire to this city of scum. Just try to stop the will of god." Morgan interrupted.

"He obviously sees himself as some sort of god", continued Hotch. "Or at least he wants us to think that he believes that."

"Promethius is a Titain in Greek mythology, the son of Lapetus and Clymene. His name also is derived from the Greek word meaning 'forethought'. During the war between the Titains and the Olympian gods, he took Zeus's side to help overthrow the old gods. Promethius avoided being punished with the rest of the Titains by chosing the winning side, so he was not sent to Tataurus with the rest of them.

"Promethius was generally seen as the protector of mankind. He tricked Zeus by asking him to chose between beef hidden inside an ox's stomach or bones wrapped in fat. Zeus chose the latter of the two, thereby creating a precedent of what humans could sacrifice from that moment on. Zeus was enraged as a result of his trick and hid fire from mankind as punishment. Promethius, in an attempt to help humanity, stole the fire back from Mount Olympus, hidden in a giant fennel stalk and returned it to the mortals."

"Well, listen to you, Boy Genius. It sounds like you just Googled that.", Morgan joked.

"As a punishment for the defiance of Promethius, Zeus has him bound by unbreakable chains to a rock in the Caucasus and sent an eagle to devour his liver every day, only for it to regenerate at night, for eternity." Reid finished and frowned at Morgan.

Morgan rolled his eyes and went back to drinking his coffee.

"Maybe by bombing that school, he felt that he was 'bringing fire' to them." Said Emily. "But I don't think that innocent school children and teachers quite classify as 'scum'."

"Maybe they aren't all quite so innocent."Said Rossi. The seasoned profiler closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to recall his past experiences "Serial bombers often hold onto their grudges until they snap and retaliate disproportianately to any percieved wrong done to them."

"Well, what I wonder is what exactly could a school child have done to earn the wrath of this 'Promethius'." JJ drawled the last part, as if mocking the monster who had earned the title.

"No, no, I phrased that wrong," Rossi interjected, shaking his hand, as if swatting away the question. "Any member of the school faculty could have been the target, there may not even be just one target. He could strike anywhere next unless we stop him."

"But if the UNSUB was targeting a member of the school's staff, he could have any oppertunity to kill them outside of their workplace. I mean, an elementary school is a very risky target. Why would he go to all that trouble?" Asked Hotch.

"So you think the connection is between the student victims. The UNSUB targeted them when he knew they would be all grouped together."

"The UNSUB could also be looking for revenge via a proxy, say, he has it out for one of the children's family." Said JJ.

"Well, judging by how the UNSUB said 'city of scum' in his note, maybe there will be more than one target. The next target could be anywhere in New York.", said Prentiss.

"Well the only way we can progress much further into the case is by visiting the scene and interviewing students and members of the faculty to find any connections.", said Hotch. He subtly ran his fingers over the hem of his breast pocket, where Reid knew he kept a picture of his young son, Jack.

To think all these years as profilers, they hadn't quite gotten used to the kinds of things that the UNSUBs would do. Reid wanted to say something to put Hotch at ease, but he knew that the conversation would be probably be wrought with much awkwardness and fumbled words.

"Hmm. . ." Reid went over the words of the note in his mind. "He doesn't use contractions at all, he says 'I am' and 'I will' instead of 'I'm' or 'I'll". This suggests that the UNSUB is rather pretentious."

"So do we have a narcissist on our hands?", said Morgan.

"That last line of his letter. . . 'Just try to stop the will of god.' it seems almost like a challenge. you would think the UNSUB would say to not challenge him, given how highly he thinks of himself." said Rossi.

"An elementary school is a pretty gutsy target, I can only imagine the storm this will create in the media. It's as if the UNSUB wants the attention, what with mailing the note and the dud bomb to the New York Times Building, too." said JJ.

"It would fit in his profile as a narcissist", said Hotch. "Contacting the media will also grant him acknowledgement and a way to assert his superiority over the general public.

"Please, all of this is just speculation," said Rossi, "we should wait until we have more information to expand on the profile."

Reid looked up at Rossi "So the only way to figure out his motive is if we manage to discover the connection between the victims or if he. . . plants another bomb . . ."

"We'll make a lot of progress by just investigating the school and the victims." Said Hotch.

It was like the opressive atmosphere was weighing down the team. There was nothing much more they could do until they got to the scene. But, they could still try.

"Who's up for another cup of coffee?" Asked Morgan

The whole team unanimously raised their hands.

Near the back of the plane, Derek leaned close to Hotch and lowered his voice until it was barely audible.

"Do you notice anything off about Reid?"

Hotch didn't look up from the documents he was perusing but raised a single eyebrow.

"Not particularly, is there something wrong, Morgan."

"He's totally out of it, just look at him!"

Reid's hands were frozen, mid-way through flipping through the pages. His eyes were wide and focused on thin air. Reid cursed under his breath, rolling his eyes and went back to his reading, looking slightly irritated.

Hotch sincerely hoped that the young genius was just having yet another 'Reid Moment'. Hotch rubbed harshly at his bleary eyes and exhaled deeply. No. There was no denying it. Something was definately wrong.

"I'll go have a little talk with him-"

"Wait." Morgan stopped him before he got up. "Don't tell him I said anything."

Hotch acknowledged him with a small nod. He slowly got up, subtly stretching out his aching, cramped legs. He was not looking foward to this. Hotch managed to look very poised in his shuffling toward's Reid's seat. The tiny plane did him no favours.

Reid, slumped in his seat and facing the opposite direction, was totally engrossed in his reading, the pages flicked rapidly, his eyes absorbing each and every page almost ravenously.

'20, 000 words per minute', Hotch mentally reminded himself.

Hotch reached over the back of the seat and placed a hand on the other man's shoulder.

"Reid."

Reid convulsed violently and his hands clenched the paperback book so fiercely that it ripped in half down the middle.

Reid sat up straighter and tried to look dignified. He put down the torn pieces, pretending it never happened and folded his arms in a very buisness-like manner.

"Is there something wrong, Hotch?" He looked up at the older profiler. Hotch took a seat opposite to Reid and rested his steepled hands on the table.

"I don't know, is there, Reid?"

Hotch was giving him his best stare. The kind reserved for suspects and UNSUBs. Crap. This was the only reason why Reid hated working with other profilers. Sometimes, he felt like an exceptionally interesting insect being examined under a magnifying glass.

"Nothing particularly. Why do you ask?"

"You seem a little off your game, lately. You know you can talk to any of us if you're having any kind of trouble."

"Off my game? What are you talking about, Hotch, I'm completely on my game!" Reid protested in a low but vehement voice. It was true. He was trying his hardest to keep his mind solely on the case, otherwise he would probably go absolutely nuts.

"You just seem a little. . . distracted."

Reid kept his eyes trained on his fingers which he kept tightly pressed together until they turned white.

A few awkward moments passed while Reid tried his absolute best not to act suspicious under Hotch's profiler-ey scrutiny. Hotch remained completely stoic, yet somehow managed to look expectant at the same time.

Reid was somehow reminded of the thought experiment where you would try your darndest not to think of pink elephants. No matter how hard you might try, your mind always ends up conjuring up the seven-ton monster in all its salmon-coloured glory. Right now, true to the experiment, the more un-suspicious Reid tried to act, the more he exhibited the signs of a shady individual.

There really was no use lying. Not when trapped in a pressurised metal tube with an extremely accomplished profiler, and 40 000 feet of air between you and the cold hard ground. Reid threw a longing look out the window. If he had a parachute, he would already be out the door. The rational part of Reid's brain thankfully kicked in before he could indulge in his fanciful delusion and die in an incredibly flashy, yet utterly stupid manner.

"Well, er. . . Hotch, have you ever, uh, played an MMORPG?"

"What?" Hotch vaguely remembered Garcia mentioning a word like that a few times before.

"Because that's what life is kinda like sometimes, a game. Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose and, uh. . . well, sometimes you're just stuck playing that game forever with no ending. Because that's what life is like. It doesn't have an end. Well, uh, I guess it kinda does, but a lifetime is a really long time, y'know." Reid stopped his rambling, catching Hotch's utterly confused look. "Do you get my point?"

"Er, no, not really."

"DING"- Reid, with much effort resisted the urge to groan.

ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: METAPHORGOTTEN

YOU SUCK AT METAPHORS. CONGRATULATIONS! (+ o +)/

Reid growled under his breath.

"Do you ever feel like you've taken a wrong turn in your life without realising it, but when you do, it's too late to back out?" Reid's words poured out of his mouth, he couldn't stop them.

Hotch's eyes widened and he leaned foward over the table. "Wait, Reid, you're not. . . reconsidering your career at the BAU?"

"NO!" Reid could not have said that more emphatically

It took a few seconds for the thoughts in Reid's mind to align. "Hotch. . . are- are you?" Hotch was reluctant to meet Reid's eyes.

"Reid- I-" Hotch's composure faltered as he stumbled over his words. "Uh, well, sometimes, I have had some doubts.", Hotch admitted, the slight shame burned in his chest. "But there's nothing that I would rather do than put those monsters behind bars. I won't condemn any career choice that you'll make, but don't you want that too?" It was a bit of a low blow on Hotch's part, but they were like family. And they all had to stay together.

"Hotch." Reid hissed lowly. "I told you it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Hotch glared at Reid.

"I just meant, like, in general." Reid rubbed his arms as if he were cold. He looked everywhere but Hotch's eyes. "Y'know, like in life. Sometimes I just feel like everything is spinning out of control."

"Reid, I can help arrange some vaccation time so you can work out your problems." Hotch didn't really know what else he could do. It was an annoying feeling.

"Extra vaccation time won't help anything!" Reid was getting frustrated. He ran his hand over his face, then slowly lowered it when he saw Hotch's concern. He took a deep shuddering breath and felt some of his frustration slowly ebb away. "What I need is-" Reid's breath hitched. "I just need some time to think. Look, I appreciate the offer, but I think it would just make everything worse."

Hotch nodded reluctantly and leaned back, but didn't get up to go back to his seat. Instead, he picked up one of the folders on the pile next to Reid and pretended to read through it. Hotch snuck surreptitious looks at Reid from over the douments.

Internally, Hotch resolved to arrange a therapist for Reid some time. Neither of them would like it, but they had all been there. Everyone has their issues to work out, especially doing what they do.

Yes. In a few months Reid would receive a VERY unplesant surprise. And he would not forgive Hotch for some time after. . .

The elementary school stood out in the midst of the high-rise buildings of concrete and shiny glass. A bastion of traditional architecture in the middle of a bustling metropolis. The New York air was crisp, yet reeked faintly of car exhaust. Reid adjusted his sunglasses against the harsh rays of the summer sun.

"And this is the principal of Twin Hill's elementary." Said the senior NYPD detective, Simon Brown. The burly man introduced the team to the middle aged woman.

Rossi took initiative and shook her hand first.

"I'm Edith Angeles. I just wish we were meeting on different terms." The weariness was clear on her face. The womans bloodshot grey eyes met Rossi's.

Everything about the woman was was gaunt and faintly wrinkled. A bandage was taped to her left cheek.

"David Rossi, with the Behavioural Analysis Unit. This is my team, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid and Emily Prentiss." Rossi gestured to each of them.

JJ and Morgan weren't present because they had gone to check out the New York Times Building, just covering all bases, so to speak. Garcia was doing her tech-wizard thing back in Quantico where all her tech-wizard things were.

The woman quickly shook each of their hands, mumbling a quick greeting under her breath. Buisness as usual.

"Hi." Reid shook her hand. He noticed that while her grip was very firm, there was a faint tremor.

The woman led them through the 'threshold' of the school, a near-titanic red brick wall which covered the entire perimeter, topped with ornate decorative iron spikes. The wall was parted by a brick arch with tall, open iron gates. 'Pretty good security', Reid thought. it was certainly impressive.

"These gates are closed every night from 5pm to 6am. During that time, the school is empty, save for the cleaning staff. We also have 24 hour CCTV cameras monitoring the entrances to the school, as well as the courtyard." The woman walked briskly in front of the group.

"You thought it would be enough to keep out any intruders." Detective Brown spoke quietly. The principal gave a terse nod, not looking back at them.

As they walked further into the veritable fortress of a school, Reid was further impressed by the architecture. The brick building was the centerpiece of the area, modern buildings surrounded it. The principal led them down a long, wide, open-air corridor to a squat, yet large building.

Tall metal poles rose from the ground, holding up a broad metal roof above the gym's entrance. Strung between them was yellow police tape. The detective ducked under the tape and held it up politely for the others to pass under. They approached a set of tall, clear glass doors. They were covered with sheets of thick cardboard. The building looked much larger up close. Detective Brown produced a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked the large padlock, unwinding the thick chains from between the sturdy metal handles.

The detective opened the doors, he dropped the chain at the group's feet. The clinking echoed within the hollow building.

The gym was completely dark, only illuminated by the bright shafts of light which lanced through the open doorway.

Reid almost recoiled at the stench, but steeled his nerves.

Putrid, stale air assaulted him. The familliar smell of coppery blood, rotting flesh and burnt hair overlayed with a faint smell of. . . something.

The group lingered in the doorway, then slowly walked in. The principal flicked on the light switch. Harsh flourescent lights suddenly blinked on in an explosion of light, illuminating every detail of the scene in cold clarity.

The interior of the gym was decorated with colourful blue and yellow streamers. Large plastic tables were arranged at the edges of the room, covered in cheap plastic tablecloths with pictures of dancing bears and red balloons on them. Stale, mouldy finger food and styrofoam cups of flat lemonade still lay on the tables, folding chairs scattered around like matchwood.

A massive section in the front of the gym was scorched. Holes ripped through the walls, leaving them dimpled.

Dry brown blood mottled the floor, walls and ceiling. Flecks of charred flesh scattered over the floor and clung to the basketball hoop.

"We were having a party, the third grade chior won this state competition. . . ", The principal trailed off. "We invited all of the students in third grade, you know, so the others don't feel left out. All fourty-seven of them." The lady ran a hand through her short, greying hair. "The year group's teachers- Miss Jones and Mrs Trailer decided to invite their parents, too. . ."

Reid winced subtly.

The principal kept her eyes firmly averted from the carnage laid out before her. Now, she was actually trembling visibly.

"I- I'm sorry, I still have a lot of paperwork to handle. Excuse me, I'll leave you to do your thing." She turned swiftly and marched out of the gym, her short heels clicking rhythmically.

The group kept their eyes trained on the scene, examining it for any kind of detail, method or emotion. Reid's eyes were on the buisness-like woman's retreating figure. 'She was there', he thought. He felt a small twinge of sympathy for the poor lady.

"Fancy school." Said Prentiss.

"Twin Hills is an all-girl's private school. Very prestigious and very expensive." Said Detective Brown. "What exactly would compell a killer to set off a bomb in a room full of children?"

"That's what we're here to find out", said Hotch.

"This bastard blew up eight little girls. In front of their friends and parents, no less." The detective growled lowly and ran his large hand over his stubble-covered chin.

A/N: Sorry my fic is a little erratic, whipping from super-comical to super-serious. . . I just had the wild idea: what if a bunch of super-serious people were dragged into a ridiculous situation. . .

And, yep! There you have it.