Reid was eating shrimp on Hotch's desk. He absentmindedly spread his cock tail sauce around on the paperwork, humming to himself jovially. Today was the day that he was going to come out about what he had been doing since the Owen Savage incident. It wasn't that he could no longer bear to keep it a secret, he just couldn't stand the team not knowing that they were working with someone special. He wanted them to know who he really was because if there were secrets between the team, then how were they supposed to concentrate on strangers' secrets? Or something. He was waiting for Hotch because Hotch deserved to know first.

Hotch's nose perked up. He would know the scent of cocktail sauce from a mile away, and he was pretty sure this was Reid's cocktail sauce, coming from his office. His Hotchner senses were tingling and rarely were they wrong, except that one time he decided to butt heads with a killer and ended up losing his wife in the process. But that was less traumatic than Reid's brush with death, apparently, because it was dropped even quicker than the Dilaudid arc. Anyway, Hotch entered his office, nostrils flared.

As soon as Hotch entered, Reid spread his lanky body out across the desk and began to emit a high-pitched whining sound. It took Hotch a few minutes of intensive concentration to realize that Reid was actually saying something. "Boy you got my heartbeat runnin' away, beating like a drum and it's coming your way." Suddenly Reid arched upright and threw a hand in the air. "Can't you hear that boom, badoom, boom, boom, badoom, boom, bass -"

"Reid, get the hell off my desk or I'll kick your ass -" Hotch's baritone voice boomed in perfect rhythm.

"Ah, Hotch, that rhymed!" Reid squealed. "You have got to join my band!"

"What? You have a band?"

"Well, it's more like I am the band," Reid admitted sheepishly, "But I'm working on recruiting my teddy bear Mr. Snuggles and one of my mom's hallucinations."

"Reid, this is not the BAU musical. You can play with your band in your mother's imaginary garage, unless they actually have garages at the sanitarium, but when you are at work I expect your full attention on practical matters. Like where you spill your sauce, for instance!"

"But Hotch, I was just following your instructions," Reid whined. "You told me that if I wanted everything to be about me, I should join a boy band."

Just then Morgan entered the room. Reid and Hotch could no longer argue because they were both staring at the big, beautiful man and his new haircut. Or rather, hair extensions. He had locks that would make Justin Beiber spill some cocktail sauce from his shrimp. "Uh, I'm here to audition?"

"Oh, right this way," Reid squealed, ushering Morgan to his former seat on the desk. "And what position are you trying out for?"

"Main oralist," Morgan replied, hopping up on the desk.

"I believe the correct term is main vocalist," Reid corrected, "and unfortunately that position is taken by me."

"Reid, my man, you are a back up singer through and through. Now back that ass up! Quit playin'! Back that ass up!"

At this point Hotch intervened, having had a sudden and unexplained change of heart. Or he was just eager for an opportunity to manipulate his agents. "I think there's only one way to work this out," he said in an authoritative tone. "I wanna take you to a gay bar!"

Morgan's mouth dropped open and Reid's eyes glazed over. "I went to a gay bar with Rossi the other night," he whimpered.

As if on cue, Rossi burst through the office door, his loud baritone preceding him. "It's okay to be gay, let's rejoice with the boys in the gay way!"

Suddenly Reid lurched and awoke to find himself lying face down in a pool of drool. He was on the leather couch on the private jet. Rossi was shaking him, trying to arouse him. "It's okay, he's okay. Let's rejoin the boys at the Subway."

So Prentiss, JJ, Garcia and Rossi exited the jet to go get some food and left Reid to his dreams.