Harry was sitting at Mac's bar, reflecting on all of the screw-ups he'd made that day. There was when he'd scared the crap out of Dr. Reid, who barely looked old enough to drive, much less examine a crime scene.

Oh, there was when he'd been unable to stop the ridiculously powerful teleportation spell that had snapped up that damn pendant.

Then of course, there was when he'd signed up to take the case in the first place.

Now, Dr. Reid was absolutely terrified of him, the BAU was probably going to accuse him of tampering with evidence, and he had a murderous psychopath of a wizard to hunt down without letting the FBI get to close.

Fricken' terrific.

How on earth was he supposed to keep the nation's smartest minds from discovering magic?

It wasn't that they weren't allowed to know. The Council could care less who knew about magic. It was just that, if they did find out, then they would realize that there was something supernatural about this case.

After they got over the initial shock, then they would do one of two things; go crazy, or call in everyone possible and end up getting themselves killed by an angry and powerful wizard.

Or necromancer. It didn't really matter, either way, the latter was the most probable outcome.

All that mattered was the fact that there was some sadistic son of a bitch out there who was using magic to do something completely and utterly terribly.

Why weren't the Wardens doing anything…

Oh. He was a Warden. Which meant that he was going to have to fix everything anyway.

Damn. Always, always, always. Everything always ended up falling on him. It wasn't fair at all. Did he have a massive cosmic 'kick me' sign on his head or something? Why did he have to deal with all this?

It wasn't like him home life wasn't screwed up enough; his brother enjoyed slowing killing women with sex, his dad was dead, his mom was dead, and he eventually ended up nearly killing everyone he loved.

But as per all sad stories, Harry was expected to save the world. Or at least the greater Chicago area.

Borrowing Molly's new favorite acronym, Harry muttered, "FML." under his breath, and chugged down the rest of his beer.

"Put it on my tab Mac." The wizard stood, straightened his coat, and walked out of the bar to finish the job he'd been given.

Spencer was having some trouble sleeping.

It wasn't like he'd never had trouble sleeping before. Ask anyone on the team, nightmares were part of the job. But somehow, this insomnia was different.

Reid had always had a busy brain, that too, was nothing new. It was his strength and weakness, all wrapped up in one big ball of techno babble and locked inside his head.

The thing was though, he's always been able to shut it off when need be. He could take all the facts, random thoughts, and ideas that were bouncing off his mind and cage them. Figuratively of course, literally thoughts are just electrical impulses reacting to chemicals in the brain that…. That's besides the point though.

Tonight, Reid couldn't seem to shut off his brain. He could hear Morgan in the bed across from him, breathing evenly and heavily.

Apparently it wasn't impossible to be jealous of and absence of conscious thought.

Reid sighed and turned over. The pillowcases on the bed were covered in right triangles, and Reid's head decided to flash through everything he'd ever known about the Pythagorean Therom.

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when he decided to give up and re-read The Art of War, when one last terrifying and heart stopping thought flashed through him.

Schizophrenia is an inherited disease.