I am just a little bit nervous about this part. A tiny bit. But I hope you'll enjoy it regardless.

This is still Slash!

It gets silent between the two of you.

The light above your heads flickers and gets slightly dimmer. Reid doesn't seem to like it all that much, glancing warily up to the ceiling. You wonder what is possibly heavier, the air or the silence, and taking it that you maybe can do something about at least one of these two things you decide to simply go for it.

"So," you start again, without really knowing how to continue. Reid's eyes are on you and despite everything down here you can almost enjoy it. Having all of Reid's attention (and you know just how much attention that can be sometimes) never fails to delight you. "What're you gonna do when we get out of here?"

There is a pause.

You said 'when', not 'if' and Reid notices it. And he smiles involuntarily as he notices it. And you smile content because he notices it.

"I, uh…" It seems like such a normal thing to ask and yet it seems to catch him off guard.

Situations like this always make people think about what they did and didn't do and what they would do if they would get the chance to do it. You are familiar with that (even though, up until now, you did not yet do what you wanted to, what you intended to do in case you'd get another chance to actually do it).

"Well, I would probably visit my mom," he answers, vaguely, carefully, but a tiny smile still gracing his features. "I wasn't in Vegas for quite a long time now, and she mentioned a couple times that she would like to see me once in a while. I know I don't visit her often enough but it just so happened that we were constantly busy these past few months and…" And the guilt creeps into his voice as soon as 'mom' crosses his lips.

It is true, you were busy these past few months. Actually, you never stopped being busy ever since (or even already well before). But being busy is not the only reason for him to avoid visiting his mother and you know it.

There is also guilt for having her institutionalized and thus for having to visit her there, despite the fact that this is the safest place for his mother to be. And there is fear as well, you think. Because visiting his mother always means seeing what he might become. How he might become.

You have always dismissed this thought as soon as it crossed your mind. It would not be fair, not in the least, for it to happen after all the Kid already went through in his life. You refused to acknowledge that, for Reid, it is quite a possible future. You refuse to believe that in a cruel world such as yours it still might come true, all fairness aside. You refuse – except for when you don't. Except for when you try to see things from Reid's perspective. Those times scare the shit out of you.

You both are silent for a minute or maybe two. Then, "How about you?"

"Me?," you say confused. Remember you asked him a question? Right. Don't lose it again, Derek. "Uh, I guess I should pay home a visit, too. Momma's still sad I didn't make it to Chicago for Thanksgiving."

"Oh," Reid comments with a little laugh, his eyes shining with sympathetic amusement since the next Thanksgiving is almost just around the corner.

"Yeah," you agree, rolling your eyes with a smile. "And Desi, you know, she's got herself a new boyfriend. Sara says it seems pretty serious, so I figured I should go and make a little check up on that guy before it gets too serious, you know?"

"I do," he answers and it surprises you a bit, to be honest. "I mean," he hastens to add, "she's your sister and you care about her. If I remember correctly and I'm sure I do, she is a beautiful young woman, too, and it's only natural for you to be protective of her and not want her to be taken advantage of."

"Right," you say slowly and watch him looking everywhere but in your eyes. Somehow, you don't like the idea of him finding Desirée beautiful, even though you know she is. She wasn't prom queen for nothing.

Neither of you continues talking and it gets silent once more.

Reid isn't smiling anymore. Quite the contrary. His brow furrows and he doesn't look at you. With his hair damp and dirt smeared across his cheek from the dusty ground you can almost see his mind working overtime, working on something that slipped you attention. He gets interrupted by his own cough, represses it, fails, coughs a bit more. It is short and soft and dry and sounds hollow.

He shifts, turning further to his side until he lies halfway on his back, stopped only by his tied hands. It looks like one hell of an uncomfortable position, his muscles tense, his face pained, eyes shut, chest heaving.

"You know," he says quietly, taking a deep breath. "I can feel it. Right now. I can feel the anthrax."

The pressure on the chest must be as bad for him as it is for you. At the minimum. You weren't poisoned by some psycho's attempt to save his country. Reid's recovery went well, but the body doesn't forget that easily. His lungs are still weak.

"Come on, Kid, you have to keep your mind off it," you say, rolling on your side a little to be able to face him better and to stay concentrated. "You're the one who says it starts in your head. Don't let it get in your head. Talk to me."

"What do you want me to talk about?," he asks in a raspy voice.

"Anything." Anything, really.

He exhales and tries to come up with something, keeping his eyes close even as he speaks. "Did you know that one of five Americans move every year? The average American moves eleven times in their whole life, but sixty-one percent stay in the same state they were born in, never leaving it permanently. So your case is not exactly common, considering that you moved from Chicago to Virginia, while, even with the prospect of a job offer, only forty-three percent actually – " He stops.

You hold your breath and harken, thinking he might have heard something you didn't. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, before he turns his head and looks at you warily.

"You're not shutting me up?," he states, more like a question, though.

"No, I'm not," you say, letting out a breathy laugh. "I wanted you to, didn't I?" No answer wanted, no answer given. You look at each other, really looking, for the first time since you woke up in here. "And I kinda missed your rambling," you admit with a wink.

"As long as I'm not rambling about the Death Star, right?" He grins. You do, too, but it fades away too quickly on his side and he loses eye contact again. Your fingers are no longer just numb, they start to tingle in an unpleasant way, like lots of tiny red-hot needles. Clenching your fists feels lax, there is no strength behind it. Not good.

Reid's eyes are red and suddenly they don't seem all that dry anymore. He turns back to the ceiling, staring hard as if trying to burn a hole in it.

"You have any regrets?," you want to know out of the blue, even for you. Honestly, where did that come from?

His eyes twitch. "Excuse me?"

"Regrets," you repeat, because you certainly do have them. Way to much, in fact. And that is kind of funny, because you never really considered yourself a coward. "You regret anything? Would you undo anything if you could?"

Reid stays silent. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "No," he says, then, "maybe," but looks like he wants to correct himself right away. "That's kind of a tough question," he finally thinks aloud. His eyes find you face again, somewhat guarded. "Do you?"

Maybe you have read him wrong the whole time.

Still, you cannot escape the feeling that he is waiting for something. For something beside the rescue. It gleams under all the exhaustion, the pressure and everything else. Maybe it is your own frazzle striking.

"When I… when I was a kid, I burned a photo album of my parents," you say slowly, remembering it like it was yesterday. "It was after my dad died, and the album was full of pictures of him and my mom from the time when they met and fell in love and stuff. I couldn't even look at it, I got so mad and I just… I hated it. I hated that it made me cry like a baby and I hated that it was still there and my dad wasn't and…" Did you ever tell anybody that, you wonder for a second. "So I burned it. I sat in the front yard and burned it, I ripped out every photo and every page and I cried and burned it. I burned every single picture."

Reid's face mirrors the pain you felt back then and the dull ache you feel nowadays. You always liked that about him, the ability to empathize without thinking, without judging. Without losing sight of who you are and what it meant to you.

"My mom found me when the last pics went up in smoke and she wanted to… she wanted to save what's left, but there was nothing left to save." It ended with band-aids on both your and her fingers. "She wasn't mad at me or punished me for it, she… well. She was sad. There were no negatives for these photos, the pics I burned were the only copies. I hoped it would make me feel better, you know, lessen the pain. But it didn't and seeing that it hurt my momma to lose them only made me feel worse. I didn't really get it back then but today I can guess what the photos must have meant to her."

You shrug a bit awkward and Reid cranes his neck somewhat. "You would give them back to her, if you could," he assumes.

"Yeah." You really would. You still feel bad about it sometimes. "Or this other thing with Sara back in high school. She dated one of the quarterbacks, a jock like you wouldn't believe. I'll never know what she saw in him. I didn't like him that much either, so when I heard that he was talking about Sara, I thought I should probe him a bit. Turned out he just wanted to know what it'd be like to date a half breed."

Just hearing these words darkens Reid's expression. Even years after it actually happened and despite the fact that it doesn't concern him, he seems to get slightly irritated for your sake. It is all this that made you let him steal your heart, without him even noticing it. You knew Reid would take good care of it, one way or the other.

"Ended with a broken nose and three cracked rips. Not for me, though." You did not escape unscratched either, but Steve never approached Sara again, so it was worth it. "Till this day Sara doesn't know what happened. I never told her why we fought and the guy just broke up with her without explanation. Well, I guess I would do it again, maybe, but I'm sorry I had to hurt her. She was so angry with me 'cause of my interfering and she threw pillows at me and screamed and…"

Your voice trails of as you notice the look Reid gives you. Almost unhappy, scowling in a very odd way.

"What?," you ask. What did you do wrong this time?

"Nothing," he answers, his expression unchangedly displeased.

"Come on, Reid, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he repeats, but one lifted eye brow is enough to make him go on. "I was just wondering." The second lifted and finally he spits it out. "Why you do things the way you do. Why you keep want to make the world believe that you're one of the bad guys, when as a matter of fact you're one of…" He pauses, shakes his head lightly. "When in fact you're the best guy I've ever met."

You can feel you face lighten up the tiniest bit and your eyes soften. "It's 'cause it makes things a whole lot easier," you say truthfully. "It made Sara just once more mad 'cause of her cocky baby-brother and not heartbroken 'cause of an asshole-boyfriend. And the people who should know I'm a knight in shining armour do hopefully know it by now." It is said with a wink in your tone but you stare intently at him, trying to make him understand what should be so obvious.

He stares back, showing everything, showing nothing.

"And you don't?," you ask eventually. "I mean, you don't have anything you regret you did?"

"Well, no," he says, looking spaced out all of a sudden while switching to his lecture-voice. "I don't think I would undo anything I've done in my life – and that is obviously your definition of regret. After all, the decisions I've made did make me the person I am today and I wouldn't want to change that. Although there are things I probably always will be sorry about" – his mom – "and things I'm not proud of" – that you can guess – "but I am who I am because of them. For me, regret is connected with things I didn't do rather than with things I did actually do."

Makes sense, Dr. Reid, you think, and somehow it seems so like him. Still, you are curious and just have to ask, "Such as?"

"Such as…"

Again, he has to think about it, doesn't seem to have seen this question coming. There is a hint of embarrassment in his irritation now, a shade of sadness. "I mean, I always wanted, you know, kind of wanted to tell you this, but… but, but there never was an opportunity to tell you and you always seemed so… and me, too, I was… I mean, I… I don't know how to do those things, I never really did."

He justifies his words before they even left his mouth. "Reid – "

"Oh, for crying out loud," he exclaims frustrated under his breath, jerking his head away to face the ceiling. "What was I supposed to tell you anyway? Should I have come up to you and just say something like 'Sorry to interrupt, Morgan, I merely wanted to inform you that I have a crush on you, like, since you accidentally called me Baby, just so you know'? Right, like I wouldn't be out of line enough as it is."

He stops abruptly as if just now realising that he actually did say what he said, loud enough and clear enough for you to understand in every way possible.

You blink and his mouth opens in shock, he is not breathing for an entirely too long moment. Then his gaze crawls back to you in slow motion and you meet his eyes as open as you can. You are not sure about what you feel right now, but whatever Reid sees in your face keeps him from freaking out – at least from freaking out further.

This is strangely amusing. You always thought he would freak once you scraped together enough guts and confessed to him. Now he sort of confesses to you and still freaks. His breathing continues short and erratic and you know you have to reply something to calm him down and to assure him that this is… well, a good thing. A great thing even, because, with you and him, how could it be anything else?

"I called you Baby?," is still the first thought that makes it out of your mouth and yes, it is stupid. But it surprises you nonetheless. You called and call Reid a lot, you are well aware of that – you call him Reid (obvious), Kid (habit), genius (true), Pretty Boy (so true) and probably some other things. But Baby?

"Yeah," he mumbles.

"When?," you want to know.

"On my twenty-fourth birthday?" This sounds rather vague as if admitting it would make his previous statement more true. "We were in the bull pen and there was a cake and you stood behind me while I tried to blow out the lovely trick candles. You were probably just caught up in the moment."

You ignore his last comment and focus on the picture that sharpens behind your eyes. "You were wearing that ugly hat Elle had given to you, weren't you?" You remember the candles, you remember the wax on the cake.

Reid smiles unintentionally but happy as if reliving a pleasant memory. Maybe he does – you have seen that ugly hat sitting on one of the bookshelves in Reid's living room. You remember the Kid's awkwardness with JJ and Elle hovering over him. You remember the interruption by yet another psycho. You don't remember calling Reid Baby.

"Like I said you got caught up in the moment, no need to worry," Reid says, misinterpreting something in your expression. "It was by accident, nobody would hold it against you."

"I'm not worrying, I just… I mean, that was, what, like four years ago?"

It was. Reid could tell you the exact timeframe, you can easily sense it on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say it. He doesn't say anything, he just looks at you. "Why didn't you tell me?," you ask softly.

He almost snorts. "How could I possibly tell you something like this?," he asks back. You didn't read him wrong. You just failed to convey the signals that it wasn't one-sided.

"You could've come to me," you say, because even if it would be unrequited you would have been there for him. You are sure of that. "I told you you could always come to me with anything. You can tell me everything. Don't you know that?" It hurts to think he doesn't trust you enough. Even though there is a small voice in the back of your head reminding you that you haven't said anything to him, either.

"Of course I know, don't question that. But this is different. How can I turn to you for comfort when the only reason I need comfort is you in the first place?" He smiles ironically.

"Aren't we friends, Reid? That should be enough reason."

He downright laughs at that. "Morgan, I don't have a friendly crush on you, don't you get that?" It sounds probably harsher than intended and he chuckles and sniffles and averts his eyes. "You know, in the past I used to think that it would wear off eventually, because it always wears off at some point. But it didn't, not this time, with you. It changed but it didn't disappear."

A bitter smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and somewhere between the endless times he inhales and exhales he sighs almost wistfully.

"Actually I never wanted to tell you," he admits. "Well, technically I did want to but I… didn't want to make things awkward between us. So, if we – I mean, when we – in case we make it out of here, I would like for this to never has happened."

"Hah?" You frown deeply, not being able to keep up with his train of thoughts.

"You see, I value your companionship," he explains as if talking about his latest thesis in front of some toddlers. "I like things between us just fine the way they are. You mean much to me as a friend and co-worker and I don't want that to change. I mean, basically I am still the same as I was before and the fact that you know now doesn't change anything. For me. And neither should it for you and I… I… I-I'm delusional, I don't know what I'm talking about," he says suddenly, "just forget it, it doesn't matter."

He refuses to look at you while you are practically staring a hole in his face.

"Well," you answer slowly, when he doesn't continue or even look at you, "too bad, Reid." He jerks his head, fear in his eyes. "Too bad you're such a sucker when it comes to lying. You really want me to believe it doesn't matter?" His lips twitch like he is about to say something and you pause to give him the chance to, but he stays silent. "And to tell you the truth, I don't think I can just forget it. 'Cause for me, it changes pretty much everything right now."

"Morgan, please, I – "

"Shush," you interrupt him and he hushes. And you look at each other a minute and longer, and while your eyes hold his gaze something eases the fear in Reid and fades into concern and uncertainty. His face wants to turn away again but his eyes won't let got of you.

"It does matter, Reid," you tell him. "And it does change things between us. It will. Don't think I would let you get off the hook now that we finally talk about all this, because I definitely won't. And to be honest with you," you add with a lopsided grin, "I'm kinda glad your crush on me didn't wear off. It would've been pretty sad to hear my crush on you was one-sided all this time."

It gets dead silent. Except for your breathing (which is to heavy) and the faint rustling of clothes (which is to loud) you do not hear a thing. It should be so simple now since you both know about your crush for each other ('crush', as if you still were a pair of teenagers), but somehow you get the feeling that it won't be that simple.

"What," Reid says and it sounds disbelieving and weird, because it doesn't even come close to any kind of question.

If he wants to play stubborn or hard to get or dumb, you will play along. "I said," you repeat, "it would have been sad to hear my crush on you – "

"No no no, I got that part," he interrupts you sort of irritated. "But why are you saying this now? Why are you… you said we're friends, so why are you doing this now?" Why are you playing? This is serious for me, why are you hurting me like this? He doesn't say the last part but you hear it anyway.

What do you tell him now? 'I always was a wussy when it comes to you and I never dared to tell you, but now that you finally spilled I want to join in as long as I can.' Yeah, right.

"There's no 'now', Pretty Boy, I al… I wanted to tell you for a long time now, but I didn't dare, probably for the same reasons you didn't. Awkwardness and all. I wasn't sure." Sounds believable, doesn't it? It better does, because what should sound more believable than the truth?

Reid doesn't answer right away. He lets your words sink in. He thinks about them. And, again, he comes to his very own, so wrong conclusion. "Thank you," he says deliberating. "I appreciate the gesture, I really do. This must be tough for you and I really am thankful for your words. But you don't have to feel pressured or compelled to fake affection for my sake just because we are going to die in all likelihood."

This is so Reid. And so dumb. For a genius he really can be such an idiot sometimes – it surprises you every time anew.

"No one. Is going to die. Today," you pant exasperated. "And I don't feel obliged either, can you please stop doubting me, Kid?"

"I don't doubt you, I just don't get why you suddenly want to have that kind of feelings for me."

"I don't want to ha– " No, stop, this is going to come out wrong. Rephrase. "Look, this thing is not suddenly. Never was. And you really want to tell me you never noticed anything? Really, Reid?" The way you glance at him, the way you touch him, the way you talk to him and the way you don't need to talk to him and just can stay silent beside him without getting all worked up or feeling awkward.

"No, but – "

"No. See?" Because it is and was impossible for you not to notice that he noticed, like it must have been and be for him. You both noticed that you both noticed something. You started as co-workers and you became friends, true. But over the years the both of you instinctively became bolder.

You would bring him coffee the way he likes it, more often than not only him. When something upsets you, he would come over with a bag full of take-out and you would talk. After a tough case you would comfort each other with your presence. The bond you both share cannot be compared to anything. Sounds so damn cheesy and absolutely not like you, at all, but it is true nonetheless. He really got under your skin.

"This would be against regulations," Reid says and it sends a joyful shiver through your spine. You are on the same page now – 'against regulations' is exactly what you would want this to become.

"Tell me about it," you respond, trying to seem unimpressed.

"We are complete opposites, this would never work out," he says with a breaking voice. "We don't fit."

"We fit perfectly and you know it," you insist. You don't know why but this has to be. This is meant to be. "Almost everybody doubted we would get along in this team, when we first met. But we did, and now take a look at what we are. Everyone says opposites attra– "

"I don't say that," he interjects weakly.

"We already worked it out, Reid, you know that. We would fit." You do already. The only things that don't fit are the things you both won't let fit.

"This is different, this is not work, this…" His voice is thin and raspy and dies down to a whisper when he says: "You said you wouldn't know. How it feels to be in love with another man. You said you don't know."

Yeah, you said that back then in that interrogation room. "Because I had to," you reply flatly. "You knew the profile, you knew I had to say it. What would you have done in my situation? You never lied, Reid? Never said anything you didn't mean?"

Never said 'I'm fine', when, by all means, that obviously wasn't true. He might suck at lying but there was a time he tried it nonetheless on a regular basis. You both know he did, on more than one occasion. So he stays silent.

You sigh, somehow feeling that this will be the only chance you get to do this right. "You remember that case we worked sometime three and a half years ago or somethin'? Uh, where kids were kidnapped and… tortured and raped and finally got strangled when they were getting boring?"

Not a nice case. Well, it is never a nice case, you don't work nice cases (because they don't exist). But this one was nasty. Reid remembers, of course, with that eidetic memory of his that hardly ever forgets, swallows and clears his throat again to speak. "Yes. Casper, Wyoming," he answers. "Ewan Dwell and Rudy Harrison." He still knows their names. You don't, well, didn't now, even though it was one of the rarer cases where you had to deal with two Unsubs instead of one and some details still creep into your dreams. Your nightmares.

A pause. Then Reid laughs, silently and breathlessly. "The sugar-free department," he snickers, coughing a little.

Exactly.

"Hotch called it a night, telling us to get some rest," you remember aloud. The usual when reaching a dead end. "I was so… tired and I really just wanted to crawl into my bed and pass out. But I couldn't."

"I know." Yeah. Rooming together is always a great way in order to hide being affected in any kind of meaning.

"This shit always…" You shake your head.

"I know." Softly this time. Cases with children always get to all of you. The parents among yourselves. The bullied, abused kids you were. The human beings you are.

"I drove around the town half the night just so I didn't have to close my eyes," you tell him. "And then I got to that little diner and there was this old guy running the show and I asked him… well, I wanted to know if I could borrow some sugar, and… hm." You smile, blowing a silent laugh through your nose. At the time you really wanted that sugar and, after explaining who you were, what you were doing in Casper and why you needed the sugar, the old man gave it to you.

You thanked him and left, pockets full and a little bit more at ease than you were when you started your aimless drive. When you arrived back in your motel room, Reid was already asleep, and this time it wasn't hard to join in.

"And the next day…" Well, the next day you were back in the department with pretty much no breakfast and only hideous coffee to get by (which was even worse for Reid because of the need of his sugar fix he didn't get, because sugar seemed to be rare these days in Casper, Wyoming). You walked up to Reid, who was sitting a bit apart from the others and nipping at his cup. Everyone was down the tubes and it took snapping at Reid for nothing the previous day for you to realise just how wiped out you were.

"You brought me sugar," Reid says, laughs a bit and coughs much more while reliving the scene that plays in your head.

You walked up to him and he lifted his face to you, silently watching, waiting. The atmosphere between the two of you was tense these days, him not knowing what to say after you jumped down his throat and you not knowing how to make him say something again.

So you just stood there, and you wordlessly raised you hand and let rain three or four dozens of sugar sachets on the desk right in front of him. More or less the first sugar Reid caught sight of since you started working this case. Some fell in his lap and he looked down and instantly looked up to you again. And he smiled. Boy, did he smile. It spread slowly, but eventually his whole face lit up and with it your mood did, too. Sometimes, you can still see it, when you close your eyes. You can see it every time Reid smiles, really smiles at you.

You can see it now, gleaming in his eyes. Because of something so trivial as sugar.

"I didn't suddenly notice that I have… that kind of feelings for you back then," you explain. "And I don't… I'm not even sure whether I wanted to come clean with you about… this, that time. But I…" You really wanted to make him smile. You felt bad for snapping at him and you didn't see him smile in days and you wanted, you needed to… well. How can you say something like this without sounding utterly corny? "You always meant much to me. What can I say, it's just… you do, you know?"

Reid studies your face. His smile fades.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn, Reid? Why are you fighting me?," you ask. He almost looks sad when you say this and chooses to face the ceiling again.

"I don't know," he says, brows furrowed in concentration and what? Sadness, really? "It's just… this isn't you. I've seen you, you know, I've seen you work and dance and flirt… you never even looked at me."

"I'm always looking at you." Just like he is looking right back at you. Looking, watching, waiting – too afraid to take the next step because, up until now, there was too much to lose in case you got it wrong.

His eyes flicker across the nothingness above him and his tongue dances over his lips for only a second. "I've seen you dance. With them," he adds and you are sure he refers to those nights out in bars or clubs when the team as a whole tries to remember that you are humans after all. It is not like you would do nothing but dancing on these occasions but you are dancing as well, for a while. Because it is fun, it helps you to relax – nothing more, nothing less. "I've seen you with the women you've danced with and I've seen the way they danced with you. And it's always far from innocent. You… you could have any of them in the blink of an – "

"I don't want them," you cut him off again while he is still not looking at you. You never wanted them, at least not since you admitted to yourself that you have cast an eye at a certain genius. Which is quite some time now.

Reid blinks rapidly and swallows, obviously already running out of his excuses. "You flirt with them, Morgan," he says, trying to sound logical and offhanded. "They are practically drawn to you like-like… or Garcia. Take Garcia. You flirt with Garcia every chance you get, I mean what is that? I know, I understand that your relationship with Garcia is more than mere camaraderie or friendship and that it cannot be compared to those other women, but for you to tell me at the same moment that you… I mean, you never flirted with me and – "

"What?" A breathless, disbelieving laugh interrupts him and you stare at him in the exact same way: breathlessly laughing and disbelieving. There might have been a teensy tiny hint of truth somewhere in everything Reid said before, but now he is just being stupid. "I do, all the time," you say with bitter amusement, because seriously, nobody could have missed that.

Reid, too, did not miss it. And it seems there is no excuse left for him to hide. Whatever it is he wants to hide. He takes some forcedly slow breathes, before he slightly turns his head and looks at you out of the corner of his eye.

"You really mean it," he assesses. "You are serious."

"As serious as you are, Pretty Boy."

And Reid is dead serious about this. Otherwise he would not have come up with all these fake excuses and simply dismiss the whole topic from the very start, because Reid isn't someone to argue about something he thinks is not worthy the time or effort.

His eyes fix the light bulb again and he gulps some barely-there air, lips slightly parted, his neck looking tense and stiff. He closes his eyes, blinks then and eventually exhales defeated. "This is ridiculous," he mutters disparagingly. "I feel like crying but I'm so dehydrated I don't even have tears anymore."

You lift you head a little, as good as you can (which is not very good). "Hey now," you say in a low voice, "why would you want to cry now?"

"I don't know," he says for what feels like the hundredth time and it frustrates Reid immensely. "'cause of this?," he offers awkward, taking deep breaths, and his eyes are red and his voice is shaking somewhat but tears just won't come. And this displays rather the bad constitution you two are in than any kind of weakness. Because Reid of all people is anything but weak. "I never allowed myself to actually think about… about any of this, about what could happen in case I would tell you. I never intended to do so, really, I feared it would make things awkward between us and within the entire team and now you're okay with it and it seems like we've wasted so much time and this whole thing ends even before it – " His voice cracks, he doesn't continue and his eyelids flutter close.

This is not the end. You don't want to think that way. One of you has to stay optimistic, and if Reid has chosen to be the realistic one, then optimism is your duty. You cannot think like that. But it is hard not to with Reid not being hysterical but painfully logical.

Before you can come up with any kind of answer you are already moving. At snail's pace. And you are panting. But you are moving. You crawl inch by inch, on and on, until you are lying next to Reid again. How did he manage to move so fast from his spot to your side just minutes ago? It feels like forever for you now.

"What are you doing?," he whispers tentatively, watching you out of the corner of his eye again.

You wait until you are right in front of him, your bodies lying in an awkward angle but your faces are so close, it is almost too much to take. Strands of hair are glued to his forehead, his cheeks covered with a mixture of dirt and sweat.

"Look at me," you say and you wait for Reid to turn his head and obey. When he does, you can sense it right away – all walls down, nothing left to hide, no need to hide anything anymore. "Listen to me. You listen?"

He nods.

"We will make it outta here," you say determinedly. "Hotch is on his way and he will find us and we will make it, we'll get through this just like we always get through this shit. I am not gonna die and I won't let you die without this happening." Your voice shakes the slightest way. "No way in hell this is gonna end without us happening." This, 'us', you and him.

The corners of his mouth tremble in a desperate smile. "Then either Hotch or you better hurry up," he croaks and his sight is even worse due to the missing tears. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he says again, his voice breaking again, averting his eyes, squeezing them shut – again. His body turns your way so that he is on his side again, facing you completely, almost by instinct.

"Don't be," you murmur, watching his face, your lips nearly touching his hair as you speak. "Everything's gonna be alright. You'll see." You can see he really wants to believe you, he really tries.

But Reid's ability to be all logical and reasoning is not convinced that easily. So you do the only thing you can think of to support him by leaning your forehead against his, by letting him feel that he is not alone in this. You are here for better or for worse and it is going to be either both of you or none of you.

You force your breathing down and the dizziness back as much as you can. Reid keeps his eyes closed and you close yours as well. This is going to stretch you to the limit and you have to keep this limit at bay as long as possible. And for just a heartbeat, an endless moment, you, too, grieve because of this situation. It took so long for you to muster up the courage to do this, to tell him – now you might be using your last breath to confess to him.

And maybe, only maybe, you think for the briefest second that this – you and him suffocating, just like all the others did, together – does fit the victimology after all. Considering that this is the two of you who never were able to straighten things out.

In a sick and ultimately twisted way this is still appropriate. This is still everything the profile is about. You and Reid.

Well, yeah.

When I was writing it, it felt kind of alright to me. And now that changed somehow and I'm not sure anymore whether it is as alright as I thought it was. I know... I know. I am so full of clichés. How bad is

The last part should be there next week. Sunday again, I guess, at the latest. Maybe a bit sooner. Until then!