The night was dark; Hotch accelerated quickly, watching Reid's car fading away in the distance.

Don't lose him, he thought to himself. Now that he had resolved to follow, he knew that he could never rest until he found where Reid was going.

They drove for a long time; Hotch always kept his headlights off, keeping Reid's car a vague speck in the distance. Eventually, Reid exited the highway; Hotch followed. His exhaustion had faded completely; he began to feel something familiar, some strange hint of excitement or anxiety; but he couldn't place it.

Where was he going? They had been driving for nearly a half hour now. His energy began to wane; yet still, he followed. He was going to find out what Reid was doing. Nothing else mattered right now.

It was at this point that he was able to put a name to the feeling he was experiencing—it was the thrill of the chase. He frowned, slightly disconcerted. That was the strangest thing to be feeling right now.

Finally, Reid's car turned and pulled into a parking lot. Excited, Hotch, flicked his lights onto the lowest setting and peered into the distance; a sign was posted in front of the parking lot.

St. Justine Public Library.

Hotch simultaneously felt relief, embarrassment, and the faintest shred of disappointment. He chuckled to himself; Reid was going to a library. It seemed as if there couldn't have possibly been a more natural thing in the world. It would have almost been more suspicious if he had just been going straight home.

He vowed to himself to take this experience to the grave. He then began to wonder if he was developing some type of paranoid personality disorder.

That was when his phone rang. Absentmindedly, he reached into his pocket, assuming it was Jessica asking where the hell he was.

"Hotchner," he answered, searching for a place to turn around.

"Hotch, why are you following me?"

Hotch froze, his hands on the steering wheel. He was approaching the library parking lot—Reid's car was the only one parked there. It also looked as if the library was closed.

"Hotch?" Reid's voice prompted.

Hotch swallowed. Then he sighed. He turned into the library parking lot and parked his car next to Reid's.

The young man was sitting with his seat pushed all the way back, his feet up on the steering wheel, leaning against the headrest with the phone balanced lazily alongside his ear. When he saw Hotch pulling up next to him, he gave him a playful, mocking smile.

Hotch rolled down his window. Reid did the same. They sat there in silence for a moment; Hotch thought of a plethora of things he wanted to say; but in the end, only one bubbled to the surface.

"I'm worried about you."

The grin slid off Reid's face like a mask being peeled away; what replaced it was a sort of calm, defensive ferocity; the only thing that remained the same was the mocking.

Then Reid said, "The feeling is mutual."

Hotch felt a kind of tangled frustration; how could he possibly accuse Reid of the things he was thinking? He couldn't. When he finally spoke, all he managed was, "I'm a profiler."

Reid didn't miss a beat. "So am I," he replied.

They sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Hotch choked out, "There's been something wrong about you ever since you came back."

Reid just stared at him. He neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he said, "Maybe there was something wrong with me before." A pause. "Maybe there's something wrong with you."

Hotch didn't respond. He didn't know how.

"Hotch?" Reid said suddenly.

Hotch swallowed. "What?"

"I quit." There was no hesitation, no rashness, no anger in his voice; just calm certainty. Hotch barely had time to register a shocked expression before the window closed and the car backed out, silently. Hotch didn't follow him. He was frozen.

He had no idea what had just happened. Maybe Reid was the only one who truly knew. He tried to force his scrambled thoughts into a logical answer—but he couldn't.

Unless…

Hotch banished the thought immediately. He picked up the phone and dialed Reid's number—had he even heard him correctly? But the boy's phone went straight to voicemail.

He didn't know what to do. So, he called Morgan.

Morgan sounded very irritated. "Please, Hotch, don't tell me we have another case," he moaned groggily.

Hotch opened his mouth; but nothing came out.

"Hotch?" All traces of sleepiness were gone; they were now replaced with alarm. "Hotch, are you there? Is everything alright?"

Hotch swallowed. "Reid just quit," he said, the words sounding strange and alien.

There was a confused silence that lasted a full five seconds. Finally, Morgan spoke. "What?"

The words came out in a rush; Hotch couldn't recall ever speaking this way before. "He wasn't going the right direction home. So I followed him here. To a library. But it's closed. I still don't know where he was really going. I don't think he went home last night. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I drove in beside him. He told me he was quitting and drove away." Hotch paused for breath, before exclaiming, suddenly, "Did you know that Tucker Davies and Diana Reid both overdosed on Nembutal?" After revealing this, he felt the strangest lightness ever and an odd desire to laugh.

He could hear the buzzing of confused silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Morgan said, "Hotch, where are you now?"

Hotch cleared his throat. "I—uh, I'm at the Justina Hope Public Library thing, or something like that. It doesn't matter, anyways—"

"Maybe I should come and get you," Morgan said, "You don't sound like yourself."

"Well, I—" Hotch broke off, irritated, "Of course I don't! Don't you understand what's happening, Morgan?"

There was another buzzing silence, before Morgan said, "No. I don't." A pause. "Do you?"

Hotch suddenly and inexplicably felt very tired. "You're right, Morgan," he said, "I'll deal with Reid in the morning."

"But, I—"

"No," Hotch said, his voice regaining its usual, commanding tone, "I'm sure he's just upset about something. We'll see him tomorrow. Goodnight, Morgan."

His coworker sounded just as confused as he felt. "Well…goodnight, then, Hotch."

Hotch closed his phone. He stared at it for a moment.

He pulled out of St. Justine's Public Library and drove home.