Hi Friends!

Thanks a billion for all of your reviews! They make me feel so warm and fuzzy inside! Also, many thanks to those of you who have followed and favorited the story!

So, I got the title of the story from Season 9 episode 4: To Bear Witness. In the beginning there is a scene between Alex and Reid where he is timing her while she completes a crossword puzzle. The answer to one of the clues is...you guessed it...solivagant. I knew right then and there that it had to be the title to my story.

Please forgive my stupid mistakes!

Enjoy!

Reid lifted his head off the door and turned toward the sound of Morgan's booming voice, "What?"

"I asked if you would care to explain why Garcia is crying."

The genius, too flustered to think of an answer that wouldn't set the other agent off, just said dejectedly, "Not particularly."

Morgan eyes flashed in anger at his friend's answer, "Look, the new guy told me that Garcia got upset earlier when she was talking to you. He said you ran off after her, so I came to check on her…well both of you."

The fact that his friend initially admitted to coming to check on Garcia first did not escape Reid's attention, "Right…well…thank you for caring, but I'm fine." He immediately wrapped his arms around his waist in a defensive posture and turned to walk away.

The darker man put his hand on his friend's shoulder in order to stop him, "What about her? Is she okay? I heard her sobbing when you came out the door. What did you say to her?"

Reid jerked out of the other man's grip, "What did I say? You…you're blaming me too. Why does she have to be upset over something I said? Huh? Look, if you're so worried about her why don't you go and ask her what's wrong yourself? That way you can just leave me alone." As soon as his last bitter word had left his mouth the younger agent took off down the hallway, leaving the black man stunned at his friend's outburst.

"My fault? Why does it have to be my fault?" the profiler grumbled as he flung himself down into his chair and flipped open a file.

"Are you okay?" came Damien's voice from across the divider.

Reid glanced up, clearly irate at yet another person butting into his business, "I'm fine."

West held up his two hands, as if in surrender, and said, "Hey…okay…I was just checking."

The genius's face softened when he took in the other man's placating gesture. He cleared his throat and looked away, "Uh…I'm sorry. I'm just mad about something. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"No worries, but if you ever want to talk, let me know," the new agent offered.

"Uh, thanks but…" Reid trailed off, still avoiding eye contact.

Damien, quick on the uptake, simply said, "Yeah, I get it. I'm the new guy. You don't know me well enough to talk to yet. Don't worry about it."

Feeling slightly bad for dismissing the new guy's obvious efforts at trying to make a connection, Reid said, "Thanks anyways."

"No problem," was the answer he received. The other man turned back to work with a wily smile painted on his face. Unfortunately, the veteran profiler never looked up long enough to catch the mischievous facial expression.

Damien mainly kept to himself for the rest of the day. He worked through his files and wrote up reports on each of the cases that the technical analyst had given him earlier. Occasionally he would glance up to analyze his teammate, who had not spoken a word since he'd gotten back to his desk earlier. The boy still exuded an attitude of anger and resentment, the obvious aftermath of whatever had occurred between him, Garcia and Morgan.

The probationary agent was about to break the silence when Derek Morgan appeared out of nowhere and sat down on the empty space on his friend's desk. He picked up a model of the USS Enterprise and played with it until the younger agent acknowledged him.

"What do you want, Morgan?" Reid finally asked, lifting his gaze from off the computer screen and steadying it on his friend.

"Hey kid…I was kinda hoping we could talk," the agent said.

"I'm busy," Spencer said, snatching the model from Morgan's grasp.

A sly smile came over Morgan's face, "You don't really expect me to believe that do you? You've been done with your reports for hours now."

"I don't care what you believe," his friend responded, stubbornly trying to hang on to his resentment.

"Reid…Spencer, come on. Let's go for a walk. It's time almost quitting time anyways. I'll buy you some coffee. Aw hell, I'll throw in a meal too."

"You really think that tempting me with coffee is going to work?"

The muscular man laughed, "I know it is. Now come on, let me buy you a cup."

Reid pushed back from his desk in order to stand up, "Fine. But don't forget you promised me a meal too."

The black man chuckled as he put his arm around the boy's shoulders, "Nah, I couldn't forget. Especially since I've been on a mission to put meat on your bones for years. Come on, I know just the place."

West, who had watched the whole exchange, was slightly disappointed that the two men seemed to be making up so soon after their altercation. He watched the two men board the elevator and decided that he had underestimated the bond the members of this team must have with one another. He knew that his manipulations would have to cut deeper in the future.

Sighing, the man looked at the clock and realized that Agent Morgan's observation about the work day being almost over was correct. He grabbed pile of completed files and opened them up again. He needed to double check his work, adamant that his write-ups be perfect before they were handed in. When he was completely satisfied with what he had written, he gathered them up and started to walk them to Agent Hotchner's office.

The door to the unit chief's office was closed and the lights inside were turned off. Confused, Damien glanced at his watch to check the time. Shrugging his shoulders, he knocked on the door anyways.

"He's in a meeting with Section Chief Cruz. Is there something I can help you with?" Rossi's asked from the door of his office.

West jumped slightly at the unexpected voice and turned to face the man, "Oh…Sir, I was just turning in the case files that I had completed. Agent Hotchner told me to give them to him for the first few weeks so he could check them over and approve my assessments."

Rossi nodded and beckoned the man into his office, "Bring them here. I'll take a look at them."

The probationary agent was about to hand the pile over to his superior when the man turned and walked inside. Surprised, Damien scrambled to follow Rossi into his office.

The esteemed man plopped down behind his desk and reached his hand out for the cases. West gave them to the man and started to retreat out the door.

"Take a seat and stay awhile," Rossi said, stopping Damien in his tracks.

West, put off guard by the sudden suggestion, hesitantly sat in one of the leather chairs across from the mahogany desk. He watched as the imposing agent flipped through the pages, randomly raising an eyebrow or making noises of approval as he skimmed the suggestions.

After ten agonizing minutes, Agent Rossi finally set down the final case file and said, "These are pretty impressive. You seem to know your stuff."

Glowing from the compliment, Damien was quick to respond, "Well thank you, Sir. I've been doing a ton of research on profiling to prepare for this position. I'm glad that it paid off."

Rossi leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers in front of him, "That's quite a suit you have on there."

West furrowed his brow at the sudden change in subject. "Oh this? It's nothing. I just pulled it out of the back of my closet this morning," trying to sound blasé.

"Armani, right?"

"Yeah…good eye."

"I prefer Versace, personally, but both are amazing Italian designers," Rossi bragged.

"Donatella or Gianni? I have a few of his…I just find that they fit better than Donatella's."

The elder agent didn't answer, instead he squinted his eyes at the other man and said, "You know, when you said that you got the suit from the back of your closet you were trying to make it sound like it was nothing. Not important…but actually, the fact that you got the garment from the back means that it is an important article of clothing. You see, we tend to push our fancier, more expensive items into the back, not on purpose really, but because the ones we wear on a consistent basis tend to be toward the front. Now, you could argue that it was back there because you had forgotten about it, which does happen to some clothes from time to time…but not that suit. You had it wrapped up in a garment bag, protected from dust, pollen, and time. You treasure that suit and see it as a status symbol. In truth, I would lay odds that you only wear it when you crave attention or when you have the need to impress people."

Damien, shocked at the man's perception, sputtered, unable to find any words to argue the man's point.

Raising and eyebrow, Rossi continued, "Now, I'm not sure why you would feel the need to impress us with a designer suit but I can assure you that the message you're displaying is probably not the one you wanted to send us."

"Message?"

"Yeah, you were trying leave us with a good first impression, right? You thought a designer suit would leave us in awe of your prowess and make you memorable. Oh and it did…but were you forgetting that we are some of the best profilers in the world? The only thing impression that your choice in suit left us with was an exemplary example of your narcissism."

"Narcissism?" West balked, feeling his face getting red with anger.

"Oh yes, you are quite the narcissist. What with your designer suit, diamond accessories, and the holier-than-thou introductory speech you gave. You know, earlier you said that you were leaving your job over in financial crimes because you couldn't stand to see, and I quote, 'Another self-righteous man get away with his crimes just because he flaunted his riches for all to see. Did it ever occur to you that the fact that you felt the need to leave white collar crimes was because you were trying to run away from all those men that reminded you of yourself?"

Damien shook his head, "Now really Agent Rossi, I don't think that is any of your business. And yeah, I said that, and it's true. I hate it when people think their money should get them ahead in the world. Period."

Rossi smirked, "And what do you think you were doing when you walked in today sporting your designer suit?"

"Making a good first impression, like you said earlier," Damien stated crossly. "Now if that's all, I think I'll be on my way."

"No wait, just one more thing," Rossi called to the incensed man's back.

Grinding his teeth, West turned around, "Yes, sir?"

"Look, I didn't call you in here to attack your character. I simply wanted to remind you that you are going to be working with some of the best profilers in the world. Don't waste your time trying to impress us with superficial things, we are only interested in what's beneath the surface. Are you a man that can put the team before his own needs? Will you be happy not being the center of attention? And most importantly, can you see beyond your own biases and profile objectively? If so, then you will be the perfect fit for this family, but not before you show us that. And yes, I said family because at our core that is what we are. So tomorrow, leave the designer suit at home and bring the real you into this office," the senior agent said wisely. "Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand," Damien affirmed.

"Good. Well then, have a nice night," Rossi said with a wave of his hand, dismissing the probationary agent.

Fuming from the dressing down that he had just received, the stocky man stomped down the stairs intent on getting out of the building as fast as he could.

How dare Agent Rossi assume to know anything about him? What gave the man the right to profile him? Especially since his rundown was so inaccurate. He was not a narcissist, quite the opposite really. He felt compassion for the people that had gotten taken by those greedy executives. He went out of his way to donate money to charities that benefited the crimes of the rich. And he only wanted to join the BAU in order to use his superior knowledge to help make the world a better place.

The pompous man was so caught up in his internal rant that he ended up ramming right into another body just as he reached his desk. "Watch it," he grumbled at his path's obstruction.

"Oh, uh…sorry," came a familiar meek voice.

"Yeah well, don't let it happen again," he ordered, not paying attention to the figure he plowed over.

"Uh…actually, it was kind of your fault. Uh…you ran into me."

Damien stopped in his tracks and turned to look at his victim, Spencer Reid. "Oh, it's you, kid…I thought you were out with Agent Morgan."

Reid, taken aback by the man's caustic use of his friend's nickname for him, answered cautiously, "Yeah, but I had to come back when we were done to get my things."

"Oh, did you two make up?"

The agent's child-like face screwed up as he cleared his throat in discomfort at the question, "We're fine now."

"That's great," he said sarcastically. "I've got to get going."

"Um…yeah…see you tomorrow," the surprise at the man's sudden contempt for him hidden from his voice.

Deigning not to answer the boy, Damien grabbed his briefcase and hauled ass out the door.

Over the next few days Reid maintained his caution when dealing with the new agent. He wasn't sure what had caused the man's sour temper on his first day, and he wanted to avoid another confrontation. So, by the afternoon of West's fourth day the only words exchanged between the two were the obligatory "Good Mornings."

Of course, throughout the week the genius couldn't resist observing his new teammate. He found it really interesting that the man seemed to have done a complete 180˚ in his appearance. Gone was the name-brand suit and in its place were sets of comfortable khakis and a polo shirts. The only hint of extravagance came from the man's loafers, clearly Italian. Perhaps he had traded style secrets with Rossi.

The man also seemed to be making an effort to get to know the other profilers. He went out of his way to flirt with Garcia when she came around with the daily assignments. He ventured up to JJ's office with any questions he had and he always seemed to be having a good laugh with Morgan over by the coffee pot. Overall, the new agent seemed to be integrating well with the other members of the team. Resolving that Monday's incident must have been an unfortunate example of wrong place wrong time, Reid came to the decision that he would try to talk with the man later.

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that the opportunity presented itself. They were both settled in at their desks working on consults. Reid's coffee had gone dry and he decided to go get himself another cup, "Hey, I was going to go get a refill. Would you like one too?"

Damien, who had been avoiding the kid on purpose all week, looked up and said, "No. I don't need you to get me anything."

Reid, surprised at the man's reaction, furrowed his brow, "Are you still upset about running into me the other night?"

West scoffed, choosing his next words carefully, "Seriously, you're bringing that up? God, no wonder no one else works down here with you. You can't let anything go."

"W-what?" Spencer felt like the man had just stuck a dagger into his heart.

"Honestly, kid. Don't tell me you've never realized that you are the only longstanding member of your team not to have an office. Is it kind of like an initiation for you guys? Putting all the newbies in a desk across from you? Ya'know kinda like trial by fire…if a new agent can handle working in a close vicinity to you than they can have a spot on the team?" the man asked mockingly.

"I-I-I…" the profiler stuttered, at a loss for words.

"At a loss for words? That must be a first," Damien snapped wittily.

Fuming, Spencer forced out the words, "H-how can you say that? Y-you don't even know me!"

"That may be but I've heard all about you from other agents around the office. Not to mention I've worked across from you for almost a week. I have eyes, kid. I see how everyone zones out when you start talking. You ramble on and on to no end about the most useless stuff. There's also the way you seem to have no understand of social norms or cues. I don't blame the others for getting frustrated when their jokes or sarcastic comments glide straight over your head. No, it doesn't take a profiler to figure out why this desk is always the vacant one," West declared scathingly.

Mouth agape, the veteran profiler digested the man's tactless words. He could feel a twinge of self-doubt burrow inside his soul as he wondered how much truth was behind the man's words. After a few seconds of contemplation Reid finally got out a whispered, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"What was that?"

"I said-"

"Ugh, never mind," West said, looking at his watch. "Look kid, obviously we're not going to be best buddies. So, for the sake of working together let's just keep it professional between us and we'll get along fine."

Reid, still stunned, watched as the man turned back to his computer. The insecurity from before flew out of his mind as irritation replaced it, "It's Dr. Reid."

"What?"

"I would appreciate it if you would address me as Dr. Reid. I'm not a kid and it's insulting to have you speak to me as such. Especially since I am your superior," the genius added tersely, before walking away.

A derisive snort came from the other man, "Superior in what?"

Reid spun around and stalked back over to the other man and unleashed his seldom seen temper, "I'll have you know that my superiority over you falls under many categories. I can assure you that intellectually I am well above your station. I have more years of experience profiling that you could count on your fingers. And if we were out in the field right now I'm sure my tactical skills would outshine yours any day. Furthermore –"

"Reid," emanated a stern voice from behind the agent. "What is the problem here?"

The boy's brown orbs blew wide in surprise as he recognized the voice behind him. He immediately spun around and came face to face with his superior, "Uh Hotch. There..uh..there's no problem here."

"That's not what it sounded like," the senior agent stated. "Agent West?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Reid was just explaining to me all the things that make him superior."

"I see. Reid, we'll talk about this later. For now, we are meeting in the round table room in five. We've got a new case," the unit chief said before walking away to inform the rest of the profilers.

West looked at Reid and gave him a gloating smile, "Who's superior now, kid?"

Reid felt his heart clench just like his fists as he watched the other man walk away triumphantly.

"You, my pets, are jetting off to the ever exciting Miami. It seems that someone has a thing against brides-to-be as they now have killed three of them in as many weeks," Garcia trilled, keeping her eyes averted from the screen.

Hotch, seeing that the technical analyst was done, took over the briefing, "Miami police have just called us in today when they found the third body, Chloe Burt. She was found strangled, as were the other brides, and left in an alley."

From there the profilers took up their usual routine of asking questions and bouncing theories off of one another. Damien, seeing this as his first opportunity to display his skills, made sure to participate by adding in his own thoughts and posing interesting inquiries.

As the session wound down, before Hotch could assign anyone to their specific duties, West piped up. "Uh, Hotch…I would like to work on the geographical profile when we get down there. I'm really good at math and it's something I've been practicing on since I found out that there was a job opening at the BAU."

Hotch didn't bat an eye as he shot the other agent down, "I'm sorry West, but we're on a time limit with this one so I'm going to have Reid take care of that. He's quick and quite adept at making them. Instead, I'd like you to work with JJ on victimology and interviewing the families. Rossi, Morgan…you two will go to the dump sites while I visit their last known locations. Alright, with that settled I'd like to get going. Wheels up in twenty."

The profilers all stood up and left upon Hotch's dismissal, except for West. Instead, he sat at his seat and glared at the coiled brown head of hair that was bouncing its way down into the bullpen. He could have sworn that the other agent had smirked when Hotch nixed his request. Damien couldn't help but seethe at the thought that the one skill that he had purposefully cultivated for this job wouldn't be demonstrated to the team because of that twerp. Steeling his resolve, he heaved himself up out of his chair deciding that he was going to have to up his game and exploit any opportunity that came along on this trip.

Uh oh..what devious plan does that man have up his sleeve? Guess you'll find out next time!