Eight months later

Reid set the coffee gently on the café table before reaching for his phone. "It's Chloe," he said, his eyebrows crinkling.

Morgan leaned forward, his chin resting on his knuckles. "She gave the final draft to Hotch yesterday."

"I know," Reid muttered, opening his phone. "Hello?"

"Is this Agent Spencer Reid?" asked a voice he didn't know.

He eyed Morgan. "…Yes, who is this?"

"This is Sylvia Marshall—I'm Chloe's mom."

"Is something wrong?"

There was a pause. He heard a sharp intake of breath, a quiet sob. "Mrs. Marshall?"

Morgan put his arm down. "What's wrong?"

"Mrs. Marshall?" Reid asked again, pushing the Speakerphone button.

"I'm sorry, Agent," Sylvia said, her voice congested. "Chloe—Chloe is dead."

"What?" Reid asked. He was suddenly very conscious of his heartbeat, slow and heavy. Morgan, staring hard at him across the small table, sat up straighter and crinkled his forehead. Reid shook his head. "Wh—how?"

Sylvia muffled a second cry with her hand. "Sh—she killed herself." She sucked in a desperate breath. "Last night."

Reid brought his right hand up to stabilize his forehead. His heart thudded harder. The blood in the end of his fingers seemed to thicken. The air he was breathing didn't seem to contain oxygen. The more he tried to inhale, the less it seemed to work.

Morgan leaned forward, placing his head in his hands. His eyes closed.

"Mrs. Marshall, I—I'm so sorry." Reid said, willing his voice not to choke.

"Th—there was a note," Sylvia said, using all her strength to maintain composure. It wasn't working. "It—it said—it said, 'Reid will understand.'"

Morgan's head snapped up. He squinted his eyes at Reid, who bit his lower lip and was trying hard not to cry in front of his coworker.

"I—I looked you up in her phone…" Sylvia trailed off. "I don't—I don't know what to do."

Reid stared openmouthed at his cell. He looked questioningly at Morgan, who shook his head minutely.

"Mrs. Marshall," Reid said quietly, his voice wavering. "I'm—I'm very, truly sorry…" he cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, "I'll look into it and—and see what I can do to help."

"Thank you, Agent," Sylvia said, her voice shuddering with grief. "Thank you so much."

After she had hung up, Reid stared at Morgan. "What does that mean—'Reid will understand'?"

Morgan shook his head. "I don't know, Kid."

"She—she was here yesterday," Reid brought his hands up. "We saw her. She—she could've asked us for help, said something…"

Morgan bit his lip, trying to think of something to say. "I know, Kid…it's just as much a shock to me as it is you." He shook his head, pushing his chair back. "I mean, there were no signs, no warnings…"

Reid let his head fall into his hands. Morgan walked to his chair, squeezed his thin shoulder. "C'mon, Reid," he said thickly, "we've got to tell Hotch."

Reid nodded, not moving.

Morgan rubbed his back soothingly. "C'mon."

After a few moments, Reid pushed his own chair back. The scraping of the metal legs on the tiled floor seemed a lot louder than it had when they sat down.

Morgan wrapped his strong arm around Reid's shoulders. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine," Reid said, nodding and walking out of Morgan's grip. He turned back when Morgan didn't follow him. "What's the matter?"

Morgan stood for a moment. "You sure you're okay?"

Reid shifted his weight, swallowed. "I'm—I'm taking a page from Prentiss' book. Compartmentalizing."

"You don't have to do that, Reid, We all deal with things differently," Morgan said, taking a step toward him. "If you need, you know, time—"

"I'm fine, really," Reid said, resituating his signature leather messenger bag. "We gotta—we gotta go tell Hotch."