Reid was fuming when he left the coffee shop after his appointment with that asshole Young. He wanted to go straight home, but he couldn't let Hotch think he wasn't able to cope with work if he ever wanted to shake that obnoxious counsellor off.

He walked back to the BAU and went to the restroom, mostly just to stall for time. He was in the middle of washing his hands when he thought he felt somebody's fingers brush against the back of his neck. He breathed in sharply and looked up at the mirror, his hand flying up to cover his neck.

But there was no one else in the room. He looked in all the stalls and no one was there. His racing heart started to calm down. He leaned over the sink, his hands either side. He closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. A guy came into the restroom and gave him a funny look. He jerked back from the sink, trying to disguise his weirdness. He dried his hands hastily.

He left the restroom and entered the bullpen and walked quickly to his desk. Morgan looked up.

"Hey. You okay?" he asked Reid casually, though his eyes looked concerned.

He responded with a clipped "Yep." and sat down.

Morgan didn't look convinced but he let the issue drop. Reid started working through his stack of files. He couldn't focus as well as he normally could, but he still got through them pretty quickly, and having nothing else to do for the remaining half hour he picked up a folder JJ had dropped into his tray a while back.

It contained a birth certificate, social services report, medical records and employee records for Tom Faraday.

He'd flicked through it before he and Morgan went to question a different suspect, but without the benefit of hindsight he now had, he'd been unable to piece the story together. They had really only considered the brothers as an afterthought because Tom had a criminal record for shoplifting and a parent in the military, and had worked as a kitchen boy for the police academy attended by one of the victims. He was missing several huge pieces of the profile though, no history of sexual misconduct, not homosexual to their knowledge, and their house wasn't in the range of the geographical profile.

That was why no one found them for days. They hadn't thought to tell anyone they were stopping off to question the Faradays on the way home since it was on their way and they were running out of time. It was two days before JJ thought to check his desk to see if the file was still there and found where Reid had circled the address. Then it took even longer because the Faradays hadn't actually kept them at their current address but at their childhood home, though Reid and Morgan only found this out when they were rescued since they were both unconscious and blindfolded when they were transported. Reid had just woken up in a strange basement while Morgan had regained consciousness in the trunk of the car, and was only occasionally let out to stop his muscles completely seizing up, or when the brothers wanted to hurt him.

Reid stared at the photo of Tom. He looked much younger, around 17. Even in an individual photo of him the side of Eric's face and a bit of his arm was in the frame a little further back, keeping brotherly watch. Tom's dirty blonde hair was longer and fell in front of his ears in straggly tails either side of his chin. He looked sullen and unhappy, there was a bruise half hidden by the neck of his T-shirt and his arm was in a sling. His face had been thinner back then, angrier and more human. The cold black eyes were the same though. Reid wondered whether the eyes in this photo had seen his beloved older brother rape and beat a teenage junkie to death in the basement yet, or had it started later?

"Hey kid, how you getting home?" Morgan asked from behind him, making him jump.

"Uh…bus probably. Why?" Reid slipped the file into his bag to read at home.

Morgan gave him a funny look. "Sorry if I startled you, I was just gonna offer you a ride."

"You didn't, I was just spaced out." Reid rubbed his forehead with his sleeve tiredly. "And thanks for the offer, but I live in practically the opposite direction to you."

"Okay, allow me to clarify, by 'offer you a ride' I actually meant; 'I am driving you home even if I have to put a chloroform rag over your mouth and drag you to the car myself.'" Morgan laughed, but the look in his eyes said he wasn't joking.

Reid gave him a tight smile. "Right, well I'm nearly done here. Two minutes."

Morgan nodded and took the seat next to him.

"So how'd it go with Young?" he asked in a low voice. Most of the others had left by now but Reid still looked up to check no one could hear them.

"Fine."

"Fine?" Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Having met him myself I find it hard to believe that that's your genuine response to him."

"Okay. Then I think he's a jerk."

Morgan grimaced. "What did he do?"

"He knew I wasn't comfortable talking about what happened to us, but he decided to bring it up anyway in the middle of a public coffee shop!" Reid said angrily.

"Oh. Wow." Morgan said, surprised. "That was…inappropriate."

"Yeah thank you. I thought so too." Reid snapped sarcastically.

"Okay I know he's a pain in the ass, and he has no respect for other people's lunch, but...I don't know...Hotch obviously chose him for a reason. If he thought we needed a regular therapist then we'd have a middle aged guy with a beard and a couch, but he chose Young. I don't know why but something tells me we can trust this guy."

"I'm glad you feel that way." Reid said, almost inaudibly. He didn't sound sarcastic or bitter anymore. Reid seemed genuinely happy that Morgan had faith in Young, but determined that there was no way he could ever be convinced to trust him.

"We should go." he said, and stood up before Morgan could figure out what to say.

They were silent all the way to Morgan's car. It was an awkward, prickly, despairing silence. Meaning Reid was prickly, Morgan was despairing and they both felt awkward.

Neither of them said anything at all until Morgan started the car and the Coldplay CD he'd been listening to started playing the song Fix You. Reid broke the silence to ask who it was by and Morgan told him.

"It's nice." Reid said absentmindedly.

"Yeah? I thought you only liked classical music?" Morgan grinned.

"There are some exceptions."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Um…this."

Morgan laughed.

"It's one of the songs I listen to on the plane to help me sleep." He shared.

"I could use some recommendations." Reid sighed, leaning his elbow on the windowsill.

"You're still not sleeping?" Morgan raised his eyebrows sympathetically.

"Not so much no." Reid said through gritted teeth.

"No wonder you were in such a cheerful mood today." Morgan said, with a playful smirk.

There was no reply.

"Reid?" Morgan said.

He looked over at his friend. His head was bowed, and a tear track glimmered gold on his cheek at intervals whenever a streetlamp shone its soft yellow light into the car. He'd brought the back of his hand up to his mouth to try and stifle the sobs which were fighting to get out of him, but when he realised Morgan had seen, he finally let go of them in a painful gasp, doubling over and turning away. He covered his face with his wrists, embarrassed to be showing any weakness in front of a colleague.

"Oh Reid. Shhh, shhh it's okay, it's okay." Morgan said in dismay, letting go of the steering wheel with his right hand and placing it on the back of Reid's neck soothingly. He pulled over to the side of the road as soon as he could.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and knelt across his seat so he could pull his friend into a tight hug. He wrapped his arms around the young man's skinny frame helplessly. He knew Reid would probably prefer to hide his face while he cried, so he hugged him in a way that meant his head was tucked under Morgan's chin and his forehead rested against his left shoulder. Reid kept apologising through his tears over and over and Morgan asked what he was sorry for but Reid couldn't seem to hear him so Morgan just told him it was okay, over and over. It was like nothing he said could reach him. He'd never seen Reid fall apart like this before, even in the most awful circumstances.

And for the millionth time, sitting in his car in the rain and the dark on the side of the road, holding his incredibly strong, incredibly brave best friend shaking in his arms like a terrified child, Morgan thought about how much he wanted to kill Eric Faraday.

"Shhh." Tear his eyes out of their sockets, rip out his filthy fingernails one by one. "It's okay pretty boy, it's okay." Put every fucked up M.O. of every serial killer he'd encountered to good use in making it the most painful death imaginable. He had a more than plentiful back catalogue of expertise to refer to after all.

And then he realised (for the millionth time) that it was the same monster snarling from within him as the one which had long ago consumed Eric and started this whole mess. And so he chose to think about how much he wanted to kiss Reid right now instead, how much he wanted to take him home and hold him all night and tell him how perfect he was.

He understood all too well that this had had to happen one way or another, and he was glad that it had happened while he was there to hug him through it. Reid was faced with a whole load of overwhelming feelings he couldn't find an explanation for, which had no logical cause and effect, no rational solution. And although Morgan automatically detested anyone who used robot similes to describe Reid, in this case he could see that Reid was sort of like a computer, being slowly run down by a virus he couldn't recognise.

He stroked Reid's soft brown hair as he slowly came out of it and quietened down, apart from the odd spasm, and eventually he sat upright by himself and stopped clutching Morgan's arm like it was the only thing stopping him from going over a waterfall. Reid pulled the sleeves of his wheat-brown cardigan down over his hands and dried his tears with them, and his breathing calmed down but it was still several minutes before he could speak again.

Reid stared at the dashboard, a frown of concentration on his face as he tried to organise his scrambled emotions.

"I'm really sorry." He said finally, his voice croaky from crying. "About how I've been acting, ever since…you know. I don't know why I'm like this." He couldn't meet Morgan's eyes. "I'm so angry with everyone, all the time, and they haven't done anything, and I hate myself for doing it but I can't help it."

"I know kid. I know." Morgan put a hand on his skinny shoulder. "And it's okay to be angry, really. You're going through a tough time lately, everybody knows that. And they understand."

Reid shook his head, frowning. "You're not angry. You're not biting people's heads off whenever they try and help you."

"Oh I'm angry alright." Morgan leaned his head back against the headrest. "I don't let you see it but that doesn't mean it's not there."

"How do you do it?"

"Contain it you mean? I don't know. I guess I'm used to it, doing what we do."

He took his hand off Reid's shoulder and took his phone out of his pocket. He flicked through some photos before showing Reid a picture of him at one of his old properties, knocking down a wall with a sledgehammer.

"And I carry out a controlled explosion once in a while. To let my anger out."

"Who took that picture?" Reid asked curiously.

"Uh…just some…girl I hung with for a bit back then." Morgan muttered awkwardly. Oops. He put the phone away hurriedly.

Reid raised his eyebrows knowingly. "Some girl huh?" He thought for a moment, then smirked. "So that's what you meant by a controlled explosion."

"Oh you dirty boy! Ugh. What would JJ say if she knew?" Morgan laughed and ruffled his hair. "Don't you go getting any ideas now. Casual sex is not the answer. You're gonna wait 'til you're married, d'you hear me young man?"

"Hypocrite." Reid laughed.

"Why don't you come to my place?" Morgan offered. "Just for tonight. I'll even promise to let you watch Star Trek all night long and eat as much jello as you want."

Reid was torn for a second. He really really wanted to accept the invitation. The nights were long and lonely now he wasn't sleeping, and having Morgan there would make it easier to bear. But the side effects of withdrawal were embarrassing sometimes, and whenever he did slip out of consciousness he often woke himself up shouting and violently thrashing. Morgan wouldn't know what to do and he'd probably panic and call somebody and no one would get any sleep and it would be all his fault. Besides, Morgan didn't really want a headcase like him cramping his style. He was just freaked out by all the crying and wanted to make sure he was okay, because he was a good guy like that.

"Thanks for the offer, but I have some things I need to do at home." He smiled, not meeting Morgan's eyes.

"Some other time then." Morgan said with good-humoured sarcasm, starting the car again and steering them off the side of the road.

...

Morgan pulled up outside Reid's place and turned off the engine.

"You don't have to walk me up or anything." Reid said quickly, suddenly feeling shy at the prospect of being alone with Morgan in his apartment again, since the last time they had sort of ended up cuddling until Reid had sort of thrown him out.

"Oh. Well, night then I guess. Call me if you change your mind, or just…if you can't sleep and you need someone to talk to." Morgan said. He knew Reid wouldn't dream of waking somebody up in the middle of the night for anything less than an alien invasion/zombie apocalypse, but he wanted to offer anyway.

Reid nodded and got out. He was about to shut the door when Morgan said "Wait," and pressed the eject button on the stereo. "You can borrow this if you like." He handed the Coldplay CD to Reid.

"Thanks." Reid smiled, taking it carefully between his finger and thumb.

Morgan waited for him to close the front door behind him, then drove away.

...

Reid dropped his keys in the bowl, hung up his coat and began his ritual of going round turning the lights on everywhere.

It was a stupidly big place for one person. He had bought it without really considering what it would be like to live here, since he would happily have lived in a shed if it meant he could be a profiler, and the apartments were all far nicer than what he'd had to put up with at college anyway, so he'd pretty much accepted the first place he visited. As a result it was a strange mixture of empty space and clutter, so you would never guess that every room belonged to the same man.

His favourite room was his bedroom, because on two of its four walls were wall-to-wall bookcases. The wall opposite the door had a large window above the head of his double bed. Next to his bed there was a dark wooden dresser on one side and a matching bedside table and wardrobe on the other. The last wall, had his bedroom door on the left side, while the other side was covered with film posters and had a small brown leather reading couch against it.

It was like his own personal library, a cosy grotto of knowledge, and he loved to think of ever more efficient and aesthetically pleasing ways of organising his books, like a proud grandparent lining up photographs of their family on the mantelpiece. There was a shelf for old history books, especially medieval history and Arthurian legends, books on physics, chemistry, maths, medicinal biology economics, politics and geography, various foreign language dictionaries, a few biographies, what would appear to an outsider to be a worryingly large section on serial killers and criminology, and perhaps an equally worrying abundance of comic books for an almost thirty-year-old.

Beside his bed were some of his favourite novels, ones which were like old friends to him. (He was aware that his habit of comparing books to real-life relationships was probably mildly unhealthy, but since he had grown up with Chaucer and Shakespeare as his big brothers, and although he was pretty sure his mother liked him the best, there were days when he genuinely felt a touch of sibling rivalry between him and Chaucer, it was a habit he was stuck with.)

He'd recently got rid of his beloved single bed with superhero bedding sets in favour of a more mature double bed with plain white sheets and a deep maroon duvet, to match the beautiful Moroccan rug on his bedroom floor, which he took with him from his old bedroom when he moved out. His parents bought it on their honeymoon (the second best thing they brought home with them, his dad would always say with a wink, ruffling his hair). He didn't quite know what had prompted the bedding change, since he didn't exactly plan on bringing anyone back here. Like ever. He supposed it was nice to have the option though. And he was glad of his decision since Morgan's spontaneous visit the other night. He was not yet prepared for Morgan to see just how much of a geek he was.

He still had his batman night light, though thankfully Morgan didn't seem to have noticed that.

There were more bookshelves in the living room which mainly held science journals and everyday books like cook books and DIY for dummies, (his Spaghetti Bolognese was a dish to behold, though he feared he would never get the hang of DIY. Last time he bought a flat-packed dresser he'd got in a terrible muddle and stressed himself out so much that he ended up accidentally sticking a nail into his hand crucifixion style and had to call JJ, whom he allowed to drive him to the hospital on the strict condition that she was absolutely not allowed to tell the team about it. She henceforth banned him from attempting to build/assemble/fix anything without her supervision and he agreed wholeheartedly.) Even with all the bookshelves there wasn't enough room, they overflowed onto the floor and formed a labyrinth of precarious waist-high stacks.

The rest of the living room was practically empty, not that he lacked furniture, it was just that the room was so large that spreading the furniture across it made him feel slightly agoraphobic, so he just arranged his stuff at one end and pretended the room was half the size, using a large free standing book shelf as a partition. He had a comfy couch and armchair, a coffee table, a fairly nice TV, though he bought it more to follow social convention than because he used it. There was a telescope by the window, a large desk next to it with his laptop, which was buried in a mound of papers from the philosophy degree he was working on, then there was his keyboard standing against the opposite wall. There was a ton of clutter in the furniture area as he was terrible for letting things pile up.

He had to admit, his apartment looked like it housed an obsessive compulsive neat freak who was keeping a messy ADHD teenage boy prisoner in the corner of every room with strategically placed invisible force fields.

Satisfied that there were no sinister presences in his dwelling, he went through to the kitchen, made himself a hot chocolate and sat on the couch to drink it. He felt a little tired, so he decided to try going to bed. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, changed into a grey flannel T-shirt and pyjama bottoms, ran a comb through his hair and got into bed.

For a couple of minutes it was okay, he felt relaxed and able to think about nice things, like Morgan and how he wanted to tell him that he liked the CD he'd lent him. But then he ran out of nice things and his mind decided to torture itself by thinking about how he was all alone, and had he really shut the front door behind him or had he forgotten it when he went to turn on all the lights? He didn't think it was likely since he turned on the lights every time he came in and had somehow always remembered to shut the door in the past, but what if this time was different? What if this time as he lay there wasting time an unsub was slowly creeping towards his bedroom, unable to believe his luck at stumbling upon a vulnerable young man who had idiotically forgotten to close his front door? And even if he had shut the door, would that be enough? Should he have put the chain across it as well?

But now he'd turned all the lights off. He couldn't be out of bed for more than ten seconds when the lights were off. That would give the monsters time to wake up and notice him.

Not that he seriously believed there were monsters in his apartment, but still. It made him uncomfortable.

He lay there twitching anxiously. This was ridiculous. He was twenty eight years old. What's more, he was an American twenty eight year old, and Americans did not allow monsters to screw with them on their own damned property. If there were monsters, he would chase them off with a shotgun and some menacing hand gestures, while threatening to sue them for trespassing on his land.

Metaphorically of course. In a literal sense all he was doing was sprinting to the light switch and looking around warily before passing into the next room and repeating the process until he reached the front door. Which was shut. Of course. He put the chain across and went back to bed, temporarily satisfied and slightly amused by his own stupidity.

So far he was feeling okay. Embarrassingly this sort of behaviour was actually a pretty normal occurrence for him.

But then he started hearing voices. And that wasn't okay. At all.

It started around two in the morning. He'd given up on trying to fall asleep and was about to get up to go to the bathroom again, when he heard a small shuffling noise from the other room, and some low murmuring, like someone talking. He froze, unable to even breathe, his heart going crazy in his chest. He looked around for his phone, but then remembered he'd left it in his bag. His gun was on the bedside table, but he couldn't make himself move to grab it, too scared of being heard. A feeling of complete powerlessness washed over him, the same feeling he got when he was tied up and weak from the drugs and Eric had given the order for Tom to remove his clothes in front of Morgan. It was like being stuck in a nightmare where he couldn't move his limbs.

He shut out the memories and forced himself to sit up and grab the gun. He slipped out of bed, sick and cold and shaking with fear, and reached around the bedroom door, put his finger on the light switch and counted to three in his head before flicking on the light, pushing the door open and pointing his gun into the room.

To his bewildered relief, there was no one there, even though he'd clearly heard someone speaking from that room. He checked all the rooms multiple times, checked the stereo to see if it had somehow turned on by itself, but it was turned off at the switch so that was impossible. He supposed it may have been a neighbour talking, but he was certain they were coming from inside this room. He'd lived there for years and never had he heard a neighbour talk so loudly that it sounded like they were in his apartment.

Fear echoed through him again as his brain suggested another possibility, but he immediately pushed it away. He always thought it was that. Every time he heard a spooky noise and nobody else did, he always leapt to that conclusion and it was always just his own stupidity to blame.

He put the gun back in his room and then went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine. He didn't drink all that often, but he happened to have a bottle at the back of the cupboard which the girl in the room below his, Lindsay, brought over as a gift for helping her pass her college exams last spring, and which for some reason he hadn't wanted to throw away. (Okay, maybe because the girl was really cute.)

And if there was ever a time in his life where he could be forgiven for drinking, he figured, this was it. He put the TV on quietly to get back a feeling of normality, and got out the files on Tom Faraday. It would only have taken a normal reader around an hour of reading to piece together the man's entire life story, there was so little in his file. Reid did it in ten minutes.

He and Eric were born and raised in rural Virginia, to a Mr Thomas Charles Faraday and his wife, Catherine Alice Faraday. The brothers came from a military background. Their father was an army general, as the team had profiled from the way the corpses of the young male victims had been found tied up using specific type of knot widely used by the military. They lived in a small, friendly town with a nice house and a white picket fence. They kept chickens and ducks and had three horses.

On the surface their lives seemed perfect. There was nothing to explain how such a twisted incestuous relationship had formed between Eric and his younger brother. Until Reid looked at the medical records for Tom and found that the doctor had diagnosed him with syphilis at the age of nine, though the doctor's notes were so vague that they might as well have been written in code. He'd probably been blackmailed by the father. You didn't get to such a high ranking position in the army without knowing how to make people dance for you.

Assuming the abuse started with Eric at the same age, possibly sooner, that would explain their inability to understand platonic love. The brothers formed an incredibly deep bond, but as a result of this abuse, the only way they knew how to express this love for each other was through sexual gratification.

It also explained their hatred and fascination with men in positions of authority, and their desire to recreate the abuse in a psychodrama with Reid playing the role of the submissive male and Morgan as the abusive alpha, representing them and their father during their formative sexual experiences. Maybe that was why they gave him a pain relieving sedative narcotic like Dilaudid, but didn't give any to Morgan. In their own twisted way they sympathised with him. Or they just wanted to increase Morgan's guilt, having to take advantage of his friend when his defences were weakened and he couldn't fight back.

He rubbed his temples wearily. He was getting a sharp, piercing headache round the frontal lobe, probably due to stress and sleep deprivation. The alcohol was starting to help take the edge off a little though. He took a break to go get a couple of aspirin.

He also found out that Tom was sent to boarding school at age fourteen, at the same time as sixteen year old Eric was expelled from the Catholic school they both had previously attended, for 'lewd behaviour,' (From what Reid could gather it sounded as if he had started openly touching himself in front of his class in the locker room when his PE teacher had ordered him to take off his clothes.) and was working on a nearby farm. Reading between the lines, Reid guessed this was around the time the boys hit puberty. His parents must have guessed something wasn't right between them, and his father would have realised what his abuse had turned them into. How did he feel, Reid wondered in disgust, the first time he walked in on his two sons kissing? Was he angry? Sick? Did he feel guilty for what he'd done? How did the boys react? Knowing Eric's borderline personality, he probably loved it. It would have been the perfect revenge. He would have started flaunting it, hinting about their relationship in public to embarrass his father.

And when Tom was subsequently taken away to boarding school, it was only a matter of months before Eric turned 17 and his mother and father mysteriously vanished off the face of the earth, tragically never to be seen again. The ownership of the house passed to Eric, who it was decided, was self-sufficient enough to both live on his own and retain custody of his younger brother.

They mostly kept themselves to themselves after that. They bought themselves a new house in the city with the army pension and life insurance, and quickly squandered the rest of it away, probably by self-medicating on drugs and alcohol to try and obliterate what remained of their human emotions. Tom got arrested for shoplifting and briefly saw a therapist as part of his mandatory community service rehabilitation programme. The therapist reported that he had extensive affectionless psychopathy combined with a dependent personality disorder and several learning disabilities including dyslexia. He had extremely stunted emotional development, with a very tenuous grasp on what constituted appropriate social conduct, especially towards women.

However, the therapist later concluded that initial diagnosis had been too hasty, and that by the end of the programme Tom was a reformed character. Reid wondered whether Eric had bribed her what remained of his father's cash, or whether he had threatened her too?

That was where the paper trail ended. A sad lifetime of horrific abuse, ending in the brutal murder of over fifty young men. Reid put down the file and mentally patted himself down for a moment, checking for any further emotional injury and trying to decide how he should feel about this new insight into the two men who had violated him.

All he came up with was 'exhausted'. He just wanted to sleep. So much. He never realised how much he took being able to sleep every night for granted. He was so tired but his body just wouldn't let him drift off. He wanted to cry he was so tired. And it was so dark outside. He shouldn't have to be awake when it was dark. He hated the dark.

He rubbed his tired eyes and slumped back into the couch. When he opened them he looked at the window and saw his reflection.

There was a figure standing behind the couch.

He cried out in shock and leapt up, grabbing the closest hard object and turning to face the intruder.

There was no one standing behind him.

Which was fortunate, since the weapon in his hand was the TV remote.

The blood pounded in his ears as adrenaline shot through his system for the second time that night. He let out a frustrated groan and dropped the remote onto the table. Was he so sleep deprived that he was hallucinating now?

He picked up his phone and found Morgan's number in his contacts. His thumb hovered over the 'call' button for a second. Then he hit 'cancel' and set it back down. He reached for the bottle and poured himself another glass.

It was going to be a long night.

*Oh lord prepare for a MASSIVE authors note.*

Hello :) me again. I'm sorry that I've been sort of sneaking my dubious musical taste into my writing. ^^ I know Morgan probably mainly listens to rap, but my knowledge of this is extremely limited. And I know the song Fix You is totally overused and clichéd BUT I DON'T CARE. It sums up how Morgan feels about Reid so perfectly, like how he wants to fix Reid so badly but he doesn't know how. *weeps* also I just liked the thought of them in the car at night listening to that song and OH MY, THE EMOTIONS.

I had this thought, like maybe I could tell you the song/songs I listened to while writing each chapter? I've seen authors do that before, and I like it cos it helps me get the mood they're trying to create, and sometimes I find a new band I like. So I may do that. This chapter was Fix You, obviously.

Also, I'm so glad there was such a positive response to Dr Young! I was a bit nervous putting another OC in since sometimes people get grumpy about that. But yeah. I have no idea where the hell he sprang from anyway. I literally didn't find out what the counsellor character was going to be like until Morgan and I got through the doors of the BAU and there was just this strange man there eating Rossi's bagel all nonchalantly and I was like...okay then. Welcome aboard sir.

...

A few replies to commenters:

marcallie ~ I know I've already said this but I love your comments so much xDD I am honoured beyond words that somebody wants to date a figment of my imagination. And a little bit jealous. How come he can get a date and I can't? I mean aside from the fact that you live on the other side of the world and are possibly quite a lot older than me. But at least I actually exist. That's automatically got to make me the better candidate. I MADE YOU DAMMIT YOUNG. I CAN DESTROY YOU JUST AS EASILY. *cries*

...I think possibly I need to book myself an appointment with my own fictional therapist.

...

The anonymous person who went by the name of 'you sick fuck' ~ I doubt you'll read this since you left your comment on chapter 1 and gave the impression you didn't intend to read on, but all the same, you were my first ever hate comment, and I would like to commemorate the occasion. I was worried I would be upset by getting negative reviews on my stories, but you vanquished my fears by communicating your disapproval of my story in the most delightfully concise and hilarious way: 'you sick fuck, i hope you get cancer.' Thank you xD I wish all haters were like you.

...

Medeia456 ~ oh dear, I hope you didn't get fired! I did the exact same thing on the morning of my maths GCSE xD and yes, you have my solemn word that the story will not end until Morgan and Reid are happy.

...

To everyone else, thank you. I don't have time to thank you individually but know that I appreciate you all a great deal. kisses xxxxxxxx