A/N: Decided I needed to do a bit of a follow up, as I was feeling like a bit of a heel for missing this one. It was pretty significant, considering my theme. Do try and be gentle: I whipped this one up in only half a day, and really just for posterity's sake, so it's not the greatest work. But, at least it's here.

Takes place post 'Soul Mates', season four. This is the plane ride home from Atlanta.

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.

"How're you doing?"

Reid looked up from his book, startled by Aaron Hotchner's sudden presence in the seat across from him.

"I'm sorry?"

Hotch smiled patiently, buckling his seatbelt and it was only then Reid realized the jet was beginning its descent into DC, the rest of their teammates in various stages of wakefulness as they too strapped in.

"I asked how you were doing. After this case…" Spencer blinked at him for a moment, clearly perplexed.

"Because it took place in Georgia?" he ventured. "I am starting to think good things can't happen there, but with our job it's looking like that's not really area specific." He gave a wry smile, tucking his hair behind his ear, but it faded quickly when Hotch laughed. The typically stoic Unit Chief ran a hand over his eyes and settled back into the chair, shaking his head.

"That really isn't where I was going, but I suppose you make a point. Georgia doesn't carry much in the way of good memories for you. Although, there was a certain bartender, if I'm not mistaken." Hotch paused, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Reid shrugged his shoulders and looked away, a small shake of the head side to side and pink cheeks telling his boss everything. The smile faltered and he cleared his throat, quickly getting back to the original subject. "At any rate, I was referring to the UnSubs. Their… means of communication. Tom Petty?"

Soft brown eyes snapped back up in surprise. He let out a soft "Oh", the blush deepening a little as things clicked into place, and he fidgeted in his seat while he thought about it.

"Um, I don't really…" he started after a few moments. "I don't know. I guess I never really liked Tom Petty? I mean, I recognized the song- 'Here Comes My Girl', which I'll admit is perversely appropriate- because my dad sometimes indulged in Tom Petty. It was a guilty pleasure for him. But honestly? I haven't heard that song since I was a kid. And I don't plan to, anyway." He paused, biting his lip in contemplation. "Of course, wouldn't it be just my luck if radio stations suddenly decided to make it popular?"

Hotch chuckled, nodding in agreement. He was pleased to see his subordinate was being entirely sincere about what he was saying. That this was one case, one song and memory he'd be able to let go of. After their conversation months ago, he'd been downright appalled that this had to be the way their two killers communicated, immediately worried over how his youngest agent would handle the aftermath now that yet another piece of music was ruined for him. Truth be told, he himself had had a hard time turning on the radio after that little revelation into Reid's psyche. For all the 'look-on-the-bright-side' jargon he'd spouted off at the time, he couldn't deny the kid had a point and it was hitting home for him, too.

Such a simple thing , taken by granted by most, was quickly becoming Hotch's new worst fear for the kind, innocent, selfless but oft-targeted and abused genius. It wasn't fair that one thing he truly held dear from his childhood could be so easily perverted into something foul and ugly. He deserved more. From the moment they finally coaxed that bit of information from Sicko Number One, the moment he heard the word 'song', Aaron was positively itching to talk to Reid before a pep talk couldn't do any good. It took a little longer than he would have liked, trying to find a quiet time to converse with him without anyone dropping eaves, but now that he had it was a supreme relief to find that he needn't have worried. Even if it was only this one time, Spencer Reid might actually be able to walk away without any new scars.

That's not to say Aaron Hotchner would be turning up the Tom Petty any time soon.

"Anyway," Reid began, startling him out of his musings, "do you know what I did the other night?"

Hotch just looked at him for a moment, thrown by the sudden topic change.

"Nothing questionable, I hope."

Reid smiled shyly, eyes twinkling in a way that clearly said he wouldn't mind toying with his boss a little, but eventually sense won out and he leaned forward slightly with his elbows on the table between them.

"I listened to an album. 'Hot Rocks'." Hotch just stared blankly at him, not comprehending where this could possibly be heading, so Reid clarified, "The Rolling Stones. Greatest hits from 1964-1971."

The wheels were turning, albeit a little slowly. He was sure the answer had to lie somewhere in what they'd discussed on the way home from the hospital; it was too specific to just come out of nowhere, so there must be a reference point somewhere in the dregs of his memory. The problem was in pulling it out. He was tired, and the last case hadn't been kind to anyone, so it was slow going dredging up all the details. Reid plainly saw the moment his boss puzzled it together.

"One of your favorites as a kid. It had…"

"It has 'Honky Tonk Women', yeah. And I listened to it. The entire album, pretty much. I tried listening to that song, too- I really did. Got halfway through, even, before moving on. But I did it. And you know what?"

"What?" Reid smiled widely.

"It's still a great album," he answered, then relaxed back into his seat again. There were a few small bumps as the jet touched down, and soon they had taxied up to the terminal and were exiting the aircraft with haste born of the siren calls of their respective beds. Hotch made a point to swallow the urge to grin like a fool as he and Reid made their way out together, glad the BAU's boy-genius had taken his words to heart even if it took a while to act on them.

'Good to know I can still teach the kid a thing or two.'

They crossed the tarmac side-by-side, heading to one of the two giant black SUVs that would return them to Quantico and their own vehicles, the rest of the team bickering good-naturedly behind them. Hotch hitched his bag a little higher on his shoulder and turned to Reid in mild curiosity.

"Did you keep your parents' record player, then?"

"Huh?"

"You said you listened to the album. When someone says that, I think records, and your parents had a nice record player. Are you that old school, or was it a remastered copy?"

"'Old school'?" Reid laughed. "Well, I did keep the record player, and I do like records but… It was actually sort of both."

"Both?"

"I listened to the original album, scratches and all, on my computer." Hotch furrowed his eyebrows at him, feeling like he'd missed something. "Two words- Digital. Turntable. Turns all your vinyl into digital format. Welcome to the age of technology."

"Wow. That's a great idea. They really make that?" Reid nodded.

"You could borrow mine sometime. Transfer the 'White Album', maybe..?"

Hotch glanced over at his colleague, noting the wicked gleam in his eye as he picked up his pace.

"Reid, what have you and Dave been talking about?" The faintest hint of a smirk was his only answer. "Reid?"

"Think of it this way, Hotch-" Reid couldn't keep the humor out of his voice, staring steadfastly forward as he spoke. "Do that, and you could have 'Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey' with you all the time."

Silence. A few faltering steps. Seconds of feeling those steely dark eyes boring into the side of his head, then,

"Dave!"

A/N: Just a bit of fun. This is officially the end... unless I missed something else. ;)