Summer Wind McKenzie groaned when she heard the three clicks that told her that someone was unlocking the locks on her door. She covered her head with her blanket, making herself as small as possible in her own bed. She hoped that would be the end of it and he would take a hint and just go away.

All she wanted to do was sleep. She had warned the Winchester brothers and her uncle that if they called in the next few hours, it had better be a matter of life or death. It took all her remaining strength to not snap at Smithsonian curator that was tasked to call her about a relic or tell that archaeology grad student that he shouldn't be in the field if he was just going to be an idiot tripping over marked off areas. The annoying part was knowing that she naturally didn't even need a lot of sleep- four or five hours was enough. Plenty even. But somehow nobody in the world seemed to understand that even she needed to sleep.

She's human after all.

Of course she knew who it was coming in. A handful of people have keys to her place but only one person came semi regularly. More so now that he's not feeling too upbeat about anything.

The sound of someone shuffling in made her shut her eyes. "Summer?" came the tentative greeting.

Summer didn't move a muscle, hoping that he would take the hint to leave her alone and … go raid the fridge or something.

But alas...

"I know you're not asleep yet," came the definite assesment. "You're hiding under your blanket, all balled up. It's what you do when you fake sleep."

Damn profilers. "But, Slim, I want to sleep. For real," she moaned.

"It's only seven in the evening," came Spencer Reid's confused reply. "And I need your help."

Summer heard something that sounded like paper rustle. "I don't see anything," she groaned turning away from the sound.

"Summer," he insisted using that pleading kind of whiny tone that annoyed her even more than being dead tired. And she knew that he knew she hated that tone.

"Fine." She took the blanket off her head and found herself face to face with man-shaped paper target from a firing range. "I don't see a problem," she pointed at the one bullet that hit the paper man's head. "Look Spencer, you got him. He's dead," she said dryly. Then she noticed that there was another hole a bit further down... "And now, he's also unable to procreate."

He pressed his lips together in ire. "Summer."

She sighed bringing herself to sit taking in the evidence of his lacking shooting ability. "Dude, so you missed a few time in the range. When it mattered, your shots were gold," she argued. "Like that guy in the hospital when you failed your exam-"

"Technically, I missed because I wasn't aiming for-"

"Or that split personality guy who kidnapped you with the Russian Roulette-"

"Nobody misses at point blank range," he countered.

"Dude, you're a profiler. You're not even required to carry."

"And yet we seem to get into more trouble that require firearms," he said. "Look, I need your help. I need to get better at this. My inablity to wield a weapon properly is a liability," he continued. "I'm the weak link in the chain."

"The BAU didn't hire you for your brawn. You said it yourself. They pretty much disregarded the fact that you can't do obstacle courses," Summer replied. "By that argument alone, you cannot be the weak link in the chain."

"I'm a liability," he repeated firmly. "I need to be a more rounded agent. I need to be able to provide backup when needed and not be the agent always left in the station. I need to be more like..." he paused. "I need to be more like Emily."

Summer winced. There it was. The reason for the absolute randomness that had been bringing him to her apartment to hang out, afaid to be alone in sadness. She understood. The death of a dear friend was hard. How many hunters and friends had she had to bury over the years...

At least, today he wasn't incoherent with tears. Today, he was just grumpily sitting by her bedside crumpling the paper target within the inch of its life.

"Okay. So you want to some help with the aim," she finally acquiesced. "But why are you asking me to help you? You have the whole FBI Academy to choose from. Even within the BAU, you can just ask Mick Rawson," she pointed out.

"Every person in the whole FBI Academy who've taught me to shoot has failed and I don't know Agent Rawson that well," he reasoned.

"And Morgan? He said he's spent time with ATF," she continued.

There was a little quirk on his lip when he frowned. "Morgan's a typical alpha male. He won't be able to stop teasing me," he answered. "And he's busy with Garcia cross referencing. To find Doyle."

She nodded. "So you're asking me."

"I thought we've covered that," he said, with a small hopeful smile.

"Hey, don't get smug," she replied, hitting him with a pillow. "I haven't even agreed yet."

"Yes, you have. You have that half smile-" he started explaining up until she hit him squarely on the head again. "Sum, stop it!" he squeaked staring at the offending pillow.

"Stop profiling me. It's creepy," she returned. "Besides, it's half a smile. Which means, I only half agree."

"Half agree?" he asked quickly enough. "Summer, if you still think you're not qualified but believe me, in my opinion, you're the best possible person to ask. FBI agents are learn their trade in the Academy. You grew up with it."

"It's not that, Slim" she said. "I agree that you should learn how to use a gun properly. I just don't want to teach an angry person."

"I'm not an angry person, Sum-"

"You're friend just died. You are an angry person," she interrupted. "And angry people find far too much satisfaction putting a bullet into person that's pissing them off. But pulling the trigger is not going to make the hate go away," she explained meeting his gaze firmly. "So if you're doing all of this just because of Doyle and you're just rationalising it away so I would teach you, then find another person."

He pressed his lips together uncomfortably. "And if I'm not?"

"Then wake up early tomorrow and meet me here at 6 am. I know a range that opens early," she replied with a shrug. "Now, go away and let me sleep or I'm going to shoot you."

The genius profiler stood and gave her a cheeky smile. "But pulling the trigger is not going to make the hate go away," he mimicked- before a pillow hit him at the back of his head. "Fine. I'm leaving."

The lights were turned off. She heard her door shut and the locks click shut. However she found herself staring at an old picture of her family with Spencer and his mom on her bedside table. Was she really going to teach that reed thin geeky fifteen year old with an awkward smile and ill fitting eyeglasses how to shoot a gun? She knew she was younger than him and that if they were anywhere near normal, it would be the other way around but the situation didn't feel right.

At all.

Little did she know that in a few months her genius friend would do her proud- in a game of paintball.