"Do you know where she came from?" Gideon asked, and received a stiff shaking of Wallace's head. "How she got hold of you?" Another shake. "Where she is now?"

At the third shake of his head, Morgan spoke up, trying to keep his voice even though his heart was racing in his chest at the thought of breathing in Sarin. After everything was said and done, both he and Gideon would need testing done to make sure there was none in their systems…

"You made a deal with this woman and you know nothing about what she looks like or where she came from or went. This sounds like a bunch of bullshit. Let me tell you something, buddy. I don't like to be fed bullshit. Either step up and be a man for once in your pathetic life and tell me you have Sarin stashed somewhere around here, or you tell us what you're obviously hiding about this so-called 'woman.' And do it quickly, before I change my mind about laying some serious hurt on you."

Gideon heard sirens coming closer still to the two level house, and wondered what they would do when they got there, even as he watched Wallace's reaction to Morgan's taunt. Instead of looking offended, like the UnSub would have, Wallace continued to shrink backward into the wall, watching the larger man with wide eyes as he continued to shake his head.

"I'm not hiding anything…! I swear it, please, you have to believe me!"

Gideon knew it shouldn't, but the situation now amused him. There were several cop cars screeching to a stop in the front yard, running over the well kept grass nurtured by an over loving man with no partner, no real life to speak of, and money problems. Sure, he might have bought the ingredients for Sarin, but after taking a small look at the kitchen through the half wall separating the kitchen from the living room, Gideon highly doubted the man even knew how to cook pancakes, let alone make a lethal poison from scratch. After all, the kitchen was in pristine shape; pots and spoons hanging on the wall, clean counters, an oven and stove top looking ready to fire up at any second, a clean sink and an even cleaner dishwasher.

Gideon's best bet was this guy ate at a lot of restaurants

So what would the deputies and officer's do now? Stand behind their cars with their side arms pointed over the roofs of their vehicles and yell… what? They couldn't tell them to come out of the house with their hands over their heads; the place was supposedly contaminated. And no one had even thought to shut the front door. Shaking his head, a small smirk playing on his lips despite his efforts to keep his face expressionless, Gideon thought with grim amusement that if they had actually been dealing with a real case of Sarin, the entire neighborhood would need to be detoxified by now.

What a sticky situation that could have been…

* * *

Prentiss followed Hotch's lead as he moved stealthily through the mobile home, and dimly she noticed how dirty he kept the place. There were playboys stashed everywhere, empty soda cans thrown wherever, dirt and mud here and there, and… was that a piece of spoiling pizza?? Fighting back a shiver, Prentiss continued to move forward when she heard James' voice ring out around them, and what he said caused her to duck behind a doorway, out of his line of fire.

"I'm not afraid to kill you fuckers!" he yelled loudly.

Hotch continued to keep his gun leveled at James's head, however, staring down the barrel of what looked to be a sub-machine gun with an expressionless face.

"You really don't want to do that, James…" Hotch said slowly and clearly, but stopped himself before he could step back as James waved the gun around threateningly, his finger never leaving the trigger.

"You're wrong about that, you damn flatfoot. You got one shot to take me out. You miss, and I'm going down shooting the crap out of you and your lady friend!"

Hearing movement behind him, he slowly shifted to the side, drawing James' attention as Hotch said,

"I'm not a flatfoot, and I'm not going to miss. Would you like to know why?"

A scowl appeared on James' lips as his gun followed Hotch's movements.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to shoot."

"Then you're an idiot." James said, then raising the scope of the sub to his eye and pointing it directly at Hotch's head, but before his finger could pull the trigger, the report of a gun sounded clearly in the small den like room, and James' lifeless body hit the floor, his head bleeding.

Looking behind him while he holstered his gun, Hotch moved quickly to James' body, kicked away the machine gun, then hurried to Prentiss' side, crouching down and asking,

"You alright?"

"Yeah," came the breathy response. "A bit shaken up, but I'm fine."

"Good. Get Garcia on the phone then, tell her what happened. There was a room that caught my attention before that I want to check out before we get out of here."

* * *

"Man, that just wasn't right." Morgan shook his head, standing outside in a rain of red and blue lights made brighter due to the quickly setting sun as he looked at Reid, who was standing before him.

"What?"

Reid could feel his mouth hanging open as he listened to Morgan lecture, yes lecture him about false alarms. And he'd actually had the audacity to look pissed off because Reid had been genuinely worried about him?

"You heard me, Reid. You had me thinking I was about to die back there."

"Th-that was a definite possibility, Morgan!" Reid stuttered, feeling his voice go up an octave but unable to help it. "How was I supposed to know he turned around and sold it again when there was no record of it that Garcia could find?"

Morgan had just opened his mouth once more, no doubt to belittle Reid's worry and quick reaction to that very same worry, when Gideon's voice rang from across the commotion in the yard.

"Quit bickering you two, we're heading back to the police station. Prentiss just called Garcia; they think they might have a lead."

Morgan shook his head again and walked away with out another word, but Reid was still standing in the same spot, his mouth still hanging open as he watched Morgan walk away. Bickering? Why does everyone always treat him like an over anxious child?

* * *

Reid stayed in the back of the room, watching and listening silently as the rest of the team discussed their possible lead without him. In fact, they'd been discussing it for about thirty minutes now, comparing information from Wallace's place and James', as well as Merryl's, and hadn't even looked for Reid once. It was like he didn't exist when he wasn't spouting off random information. Listening in a bit more carefully, Reid caught the end of their conversation.

"So why out of a trailer that was as dirty as a pig sty was there just one room that was clean? It doesn't make that much sense…" Prentiss said, but Gideon spoke up where she left off.

"Because there was someone else staying there in that room with him. Get a forensics team out to the trailer and figure out if there was any evidence left that will tell us who exactly stayed in that room."

"We should all get a good night's sleep, everyone. We'll come back in the morning, go over whatever the forensics team finds then."

And then file cases and papers were picked up, and the team was shuffling around, gathering their stuff up and starting to walk out of the room. Reid, however, continued to sit in his chair, his legs dragged up to his chest as he glared at the table. What did he have to do to prove to these guys that he wasn't a kid…? That he wasn't just a human dictionary… or encyclopedia… or computer. Reid grimaced at the train of his thoughts. Then Reid almost jumped out of his seat as Hotch's voice sounded in the now empty room.

"Reid? Go get some sleep."

Looking up, Reid nodded, and watched as Hotch then walked out of the room, leaving the door open. He then stood up, brushing himself off, his gaze narrowing once more. He'd be leaving, but not to get some sleep. Picking up his brown bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Reid shook his head and started out the door, a look of determination plastered on his face.

They had to learn he wasn't a kid anymore, and he could do things by himself. He didn't need any help, and he didn't need to be chastised for worry that was perfectly reasonable.

They had to learn.

Even if it killed him.

Reid suddenly stopped in his tracks, his breathing hitched slightly. Had he just thought that?

* * *

"One need not be a chamber to be haunted, one need not to be a house. The brain has corridors surpassing material place."

- Emily Dickinson

* * *

A/N : Alright, there's another chapter for all of you who have so wonderfully read, reviewed, added to favorites and alerts, and just plain came across this story on your free time. Reviews are still greatly appreciated if you could, and for you loyal fans so eager for Reid-Angst, let it be known that we're back to mostly Reid's point of view from this chapter on, I believe. Anyway, thanks again for reading, and yes, for all those who believe Reid is a bit off character, I'll explain later on what's going on. Sorry there's no explanation before that point, but I haven't found a way to fit it in yet. Have a good day, and I'll update as soon as I can.

- Lyon