A/N: I seriously can't believe that this is coming to an end! (gawks and gasps)

Before letting you get to the closure, though… THANK YOU, several times over, for all your reviews for the previous chapter! You seriously know how to make an author's day. (smiles like a sunshine)

Awkay… This is really nerve-wrecking for me, so I'll just go through with this before I get cold feet. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy this final piece!

Epilogue

Seven Months Later

/ It was a occupational hazard that sometimes Sebastian Moran ran into the family members of those he… had to take care of permanently.

Thunder boomed loudly when there was a knock on his motel room's door. He hesitated for the longest time before walking slowly to open. His gun was never far from his reach. What he found behind the door made him arch an eyebrow.

It was a considerably younger man than him with brown hair and the most mesmerizing dark eyes he'd ever seen. Something about those bottomless pools chilled him to the bone. The icy smirk that appeared only intensified the affect. "You're Sebastian Moran."

Sebastian growled inwardly and his eyes narrowed. "You've got the wrong guy, kid", he announced, doing his best to hide his Irish accent. He was already closing the door.

The kid, however, wasn't having any of it. The hand that stopped his efforts was firm, uncompromising. Those eyes changed, became something truly terrifying. "You killed my brother."

Sebastian groaned, one of his hands already grabbing his gun. This was getting tedious. "If you came to kill me…"

"I didn't." That expression was nothing short of manic. "I'm James Moriarty. And I came because I want you to help me make the world burn." /

Erin Strauss was hard. Rational. Some people even called her heartless. She was hardly made of stone, yet when the situation called for it she did what was necessary.

Some days she truly hated her job.

There was a carefully schooled emotionless mask on her face when Aaron Hotchner entered and sat down slowly to the chair on the opposite side of her desk. A man who could've very well died yet had already been in active duty for the past two months, stunning and quite possibly frustrating his doctors. Yet there was hardly any joy on his far too pale face or in his haunted eyes now. He was a teamleader who lost one member of his crew – family – while he was asleep, who woke up to a world where one of his own didn't exist anymore. Who woke up to a nightmare that refused to end. And today Erin was forced to add weight on those stiff shoulders.

She took a breath before starting out in a voice that was nothing short of formal. "I'm under the impression that you know why I called you in." There was no use in dodging the inevitable.

Aaron nodded stiffly. "Yes." Curt, out of animosity and discomfort. He'd mostly recovered from the effects of the explosion, apart from occasional aches and sores when he overdid himself. Despite hours of speech therapy long sentences were, however, still hard for him. And he was determined not to show weakness in front of her.

He wouldn't have the chance to play avoiding game today. Erin gritted her teeth. "Tell me about your team. How are they holding up?"

Aaron shuddered like someone who'd just been punched or shot at. It took a very long moment before he managed to answer, and not just because of his disability. "Dave… is quiet. Reid was… special, to him. He thinks of leaving every day and… would, if he could. I can tell, although he'd never admit it." There was a long pause. There seemed to be something outside the room's window that caught the unit chief's interest. "Morgan… is angry. Constantly. I've already suspended him once." Yes, Erin heard of that incident, of course. The man beat up a suspect who was a part of Sebastian Moran's web to a point of nearly killing the man. Erin received a lot of frowns and was almost demoted herself for not firing him. "He… keeps waiting. Doesn't want to believe that…" The man swallowed, his muscles stiffening visibly. There was a prolonged pause. "Garcia… tries to help everyone. Doesn't give herself the chance to grieve. She'll try, for us, until she runs out of strength completely." His fists balled and for a moment there seemed to be moisture in those eyes. Just a moment. Perhaps it was the injury's doing. It caused a huge blow on Aaron's formerly nearly flawless self control. "JJ's struggling. She's lost too much." Oh, Erin knew that. She'd read the therapist's report. JJ had been back about the same amount of time as Aaron – as a media liaison once more, never again as a active field agent. Her prosthetic leg was still giving her a hard time occasionally, almost as much as the phantom pains. Henry and Will were a great help with keeping the woman sane and functioning but the weight of it all was still pushing her down to a point where she had night terrors and needed a rather heavy dosage of medication. "And Emily… left, again." She barely stayed until Spencer's funeral.

Erin didn't need to ask of Aaron's own state of mind. The evidence sat right there in front of her. If it wasn't for Jack, and Beth… She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Now came the hard part. "Your team is struggling, Aaron. Barely coping. Barely functioning, especially short of members. I've been forced to pull a lot of strings to be able to keep it from being split or worse. I'm not sure how much longer my influence will be enough. And that's why I have a… suggestion." She pushed several envelopes towards him, trying to ignore his look of anger, disappointment and mistrust. "This… is the best I can do. You wouldn't work together but you'd all have decent positions. You'd all get the chance to start anew." She looked at him long and hard. "What's your decision?"

In a entirely different country Dr. John Watson sat in a room that'd become uncomfortably familiar to him. Although this time the discomfort wasn't quite as overwhelming. He felt… almost calm, if he was perfectly honest with himself. Content, even.

Ella Thompson seemed to notice. She tilted her head, even dared to smile. "You seem happy today, John. Would you like to share?"

John didn't really know where to begin. So much had changed over the past few months. He had changed.

Things still weren't easy with Sherlock. He wasn't angry and bitter anymore but the trust between them had been broken, not quite beyond repair but badly. Still he'd been back in 221B Baker Street for the past two months. Somehow nothing else just felt like home, at least not anymore after Mary and Hannah. He needed the comfort of familiar, the comfort of having Sherlock close to him and being able to see for himself that the detective was indeed alive, even well. It'd been a struggle at first, since no matter how hard he tried things couldn't be the way they were once anymore. They'd both changed far too much during the time they were forced to spend apart. But they adjusted. They learned to share their space with each other. They were even beginning to get to know each other again.

Sherlock withstood when John's anger and pain came flooding out. John learned to deal with Sherlock's night terrors. Sherlock was quick to deduce ways to blow life into his friend on the days when John just couldn't get himself out of the bed. While John helped Sherlock repair his bonds with the people the detective left behind Sherlock, heaven forbid, made sure that John ate and slept enough for it to keep the doctor functioning. Perhaps they even learned how to fix each other again. Because slowly yet surely the dosage of sleeping pills and antidepressants John was forced to take just to make it through were lowered. Bit by bit Sherlock reeked less and less of tobacco and the trapped look in the detective's eyes began to ease.

Trust would take time, but John no longer felt like he was in the presence of a stranger whenever he spent time with Sherlock.

John took a surprisingly easy breath. "It's… not something that happened overnight." He shrugged somewhat helplessly. "Things are just finally getting better."

Ella smiled and nodded, making some notes. This time he didn't feel the need to read them upside down. "I'm glad to hear that." She paused for a moment, musing. "What about the cases? According to the newspapers you're working them again."

John nodded eagerly, even the mere thought bringing a pleasant tingle underneath his skin. "We do. Greg's given us four of them as of today."

"And how have they been?"

John smirked. His hands were perfectly steady. "Brilliant", he announced without hesitation.

There was a long moment of quite pleasant silence until Ella spoke once more. Was that… hesitation on her face? "During our past few sessions we've talked a lot about forgiveness. Where do you stand now?"

John's face became far more solemn. For a few seconds he observed how shadows moved on the room's floor. "He thinks that I blame him for what happened to Mary and Hannah, but that's not it. I… will never forget the pain he put me through with that fall, no matter what his reasons were. He broke me. Wasn't there when I needed him to most." He breathed. Once. Twice. "However… I've now been where he was, back then. And… I understand." There was this odd warmth inside of him when he looked at his therapist. As though realizing all of this for the very first time. "It was a miracle that we found each other in the first place, back then. We've had countless of second chances. If that doesn't prove that our friendship is worth the fight… then bloody hell, I don't know what could."

Several hours after his meeting with Strauss, after unsuccessfully attempting to clear his head, Aaron decided that it was time to come clean to the team. They gathered around Spencer's desk, from which the late young profiler's nameplate had never been taken off. Dust aside, the desk looked like the genius had never abandoned it. The sight was absolutely heartbreaking but none of them had the will to do anything about it.

"So…", Derek started, folding his arms defensively. "What schemes was Strauss pulling this time?"

Aaron lifted an eyebrow.

David shrugged. "You went to see her and spent the following few hours locked into your office, Aaron. We're profilers. We can tell that something's wrong."

Aaron decided to cut the chase. There was no use in dodging the bullet with a group of skilled profilers. "Strauss… offered us a choice. To stay, or to head towards new." He offered them the envelopes, already knowing what was in them. Erin had been quite open about it.

Derek was offered a position as a instructor in self defense and profiling. JJ was offered back her one time job in Pentagon. Penelope was offered a very tempting position in another team. David was offered the chance to build up a team of his own that'd investigate cases already declared cold. Aaron himself was offered the chance to lead another team, quite far away from pain and memories.

Derek snorted loudly, glaring at the letter heatedly before throwing a look his way. "What the hell is this? Another attempt from Strauss the divide us?"

Aaron shook his head. "No. She's offering us a way out. It's up to us if we take them."

Several minutes passed by in a stunned silence, each of them attempting to grasp on just what was going on. Someone gasped. Another one scoffed. Was that… a supressed sob? But in the end the decision was made.

Derek went first, tearing his envelope and letting the pieces scatter all over Spencer's old desk. David went next, appearing far more relaxed than Aaron had seen his friend in all of these past seven months. Garcia followed just a little bit later. JJ hesitated the longest. Ghosts and pain lingered in her eyes while she stared at the paper in her hands, at her ticket away from all of the baggage. But then her expression changed entirely. There was no hesitation in her hands while she tore the envelope to tiny pieces and cast them away.

For the first time in ages Aaron felt the beginning of a smile tickling the corners of his lips, despite the weight still sitting on his chest. Exhaling a surprisingly light breath he tore his own envelope, watched how the pieces floated onto Spencer's desk like snowflakes. "So…", he murmured. "We're staying." Surprisingly it felt like a liberating thought rather than a verdict.

JJ nodded, no hesitation visible in her eyes. "Yeah. For Spence."

The others found it easy to agree. Tiny smiles could be seen, even if it was through nearly spilling tears. "For Spencer", they all agreed.

Yes, they were battered. They'd probably never be the same again. But they were still a family, even if one of them was missing. They were still alive to go on and see another day. If there was anything their youngest taught them it was that their family was worth the fight. They'd make it through, together – they'd have to. They owed Spencer that much.

Somehow Aaron could've sworn that Spencer was right there with them, a smile on his face.

Painfully far away from absolutely everything he'd learned to call a home Jason Gideon ran a cautious finger over one of the blooming, breathtakingly beautiful roses he'd managed to keep alive for a remarkably long time. It was such pure shade of white that shouldn't have even existed. He found himself sliding into days that he should've forgotten a long time ago. To days he missed so much that it hurt.

What was left of that world he once walked away from, anyway? He wasn't allowed to see any of those people he cared about. The team wasn't the same anymore. Spencer was…

He wiped his eyes although there wasn't any actual moisture, gritting his teeth as hard as he possibly could.

He fought to push himself through each and every day, he truly did. But what for? How much did he really have left to fight for, anyway?

All he had in this new, god-forsaken cabin were his memories. And roses. And a desperate hope that refused to die, no matter how much he tried to reason with himself.

"Jason Gideon?"

The female voice came so suddenly that he actually shivered, felt a tingle cross his whole body. It took a long time before he managed to turn around. What he found was a incredibly beautiful woman in a tiny dark blue dress who seemed to have mystery wrapped all around her. Wind played with her long, red hair while she gave him a smile, not taking off her large sunglasses.

Jason frowned and straightened himself, calculating how fast his fingers would be able to reach his concealed gun. "It's been a while since anyone called me that." His voice was tight, guarded. "How did you find me?"

The woman's smile didn't fade. "A… mutual friend asked me to deliver a message to you." She held a small pause, letting him process. "'I believe in happy endings, too.'" (1) With that she turned around and began to retreat towards the black car waiting for her.

Jason frowned, chills running down his spine. A deep frown sat on his face while another dangerous spark of hope bubbled under his skin. "Who are you?" he demanded.

She tilted her head and looked at him for a long time before making up her mind. "Irene." She opened the car's door and began to climb in. "Patience, Jason. There's a storm coming." With those words lingering in the wind she drove away.

Jason stared at the cloud of dust and leaves for a long time, unaware of the smile on his face while understanding began to dawn.

/ While John was in a infuriatingly long surgery to have the bomb in his head removed Sherlock paced around restlessly, like a trapped wild animal, until he came to a conclusion that there was at least someone he could try to help. Carefully making sure that no one was listening he took his cell phone and dialed numbers. It took torturously long before there was a response.

"Sherlock?" Molly Hooper sounded stunned and overjoyed. "Oh… my god…! Are you…?"

Deciding that he wasn't about to waste a single second on pointless chitchat Sherlock went straight to business. "That American coroner you met at a conference… Does he still owe you a favor?"

Molly didn't even try to ask how in the world he could possibly know. "I… uh… Yes." She cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed. "Why… are you asking?"

Sherlock inhaled. "Because I have feeling that someone is going to die." He had to pause when a orderly passed by. "And… I need you again." /

A lone person made their way through a cemetery, the steps slow and hesitant.

There was a time when Emily Prentiss found cemeteries calm, almost comforting. Those days had disappeared long since. She'd buried far too many people she cared about to feel at peace with the constant presence of death and tragedy.

She was relieved when her journey was finally completed, for she had no idea how much longer she would've been able to keep on walking. Relieved, despite the fact that seeing his name on the stone still tore her heart to pieces. Even today her eyes blurred slightly and she had to wipe them, smudging her makeup in the process.

Spencer Reid

A son, a friend, a brother

Never forgotten

She cleared her throat, wondering if she'd even be able to speak. Apparently she was. "I… I'll only be in the country for a few more hours. But… I had to come and see you. One last time. Because… I don't think that I'll ever set my foot into States again." She wiped her eyes, what it did to her appearance be damned. Her voice broke and it took painfully long to find it again. "I… I'm so sorry, Spence. That I… That I came too late. That I couldn't…" She trailed off. All words sounded so hollow and pointless, somehow. The weight sitting on her chest nearly made her lose her breath. "I… I dream about you every night, you know? Not just about the fall. And… Sometimes I forget. That you're gone, I mean. I talk to you. Or then I run into this totally ridiculous thing and think that you'd know every single statistic about it. I think that I've called you at least ten times, now."

Emily's whole body shook pitiably while she knelt down and placed the flowers she'd brought to the grave. Just then a breeze of wind picked up and she could've sworn that she felt a touch, for just a second. She inhaled sharply, unable to swallow down the lump in her throat.

"I… I miss you", she whispered to the wind. "I always will. Because… Don't tell the others, but… You were my favorite. There'll never another you." She caressed the stone with one hand, hating how cold it felt under her fingertips. Some tears rolled without her noticing. "Thank you, for everything. Watch over Robbie and me, will you?"

She turned to leave when she noticed a woman who'd just put a candle to a place that was meant for those whose lost loved ones were buried so far away that they couldn't visit their graves. Long, neatly tied brown hair. Sad blue eyes. Just a few years above her age perhaps, but aged by the loss.

Emily could've sworn that she felt some heat on her cheeks. "I'm… sorry. I thought that I was alone."

The woman smiled. "That's quite alright, dear." There was thick, warm British accent. "I talk to my son all the time, too. Sometimes it helps."

Emily nodded and gave the woman a brief and tight, polite smile, beginning to walk away.

"Emily?" The woman's voice was even softer than before, made it impossible not to listen. "Don't stop believing in miracles just yet. You're hardly as alone as you think you are."

Emily knew that she should've asked. Should've at very least questioned. But somehow she couldn't. Instead she swallowed, then walked away as fast as she could.

She broke down into soundless sobs as soon as she made it to her rental car where Robert Greenaway was waiting, fast asleep. But somehow the tears weren't those of misery this time.

/ Some incredibly short months ago that same woman – Dr. Dana Delaney – sat in a van right next to her husband, Dr. Daniel Delaney, both of them fallen into a deep silence. It was a surprise, to say the least, to receive a phone call from a man they'd both imagined dead. Yet when he asked them to come neither hesitated.

This was a man who helped catch the killer of their sweet little boy and five other children, after all.

The forest spreading nearby was already dark when they parked and emerged, Daniel using a flashlight to keep them from stumbling. They hadn't walked more than about ten steps until they froze. Sherlock Holmes was standing right before them.

Dana gasped, Daniel's eyes widened before he sputtered a uncomfortably loud "Bloody hell…!", six years out of England be damned.

Sherlock didn't seem to even notice. There was a sharp look in the man's eyes. "Are you sure that no one saw you?"

Daniel nodded slowly, blinking furiously. "Yes, of course." He frowned. "What… do you need?"

Sherlock seemed to inhale sharply. It wasn't until then they saw all the blood coloring his clothes. He didn't seem to be hurt, though. "I need you to help me try and save someone. And then I need you to hopefully lie to the police and press. Can you do that?"

Dana replied without any hesitation. "Yes. Where's the patient?" /

Sherlock Holmes didn't know how long he'd been sitting in front of John's laptop, staring at the screen with his chin leaned into his hands and far gone in his Mind Palace, when the flat's door opened. His eyes shifted only slightly to see John entering. Only slightly, yet he saw far more than enough.

No limp. No stiffness. No tremor in those hands. Perhaps that useless woman had actually managed to do some good, after all.

John sighed while taking off his wet jacket. The sound was rather irritated than gloomy. "The weather out there in unbelievable! And it took far too long to catch a bloody cab." The doctor frowned, nearly scowled, upon taking in the sight of him and the computer. "Sherlock, is that… my laptop?"

Sherlock shrugged, resisting the urge to scoff at the obviousness of it all. "Mine is in my room. I asked you to fetch it for me two hours ago."

John groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. "I've been gone for the past… what, eleven hours!" The doctor sighed exasperatedly, yet the detective couldn't help catching a hint of warmth in those eyes. "Have you even eaten anything since yesterday?"

Sherlock shrugged. His eyes were glued on the laptop's screen yet he never stopped keeping an eye on his blogger. "I'm thinking, John. Food would be a hindrance."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's what you keep saying until you pass out." The doctor sighed. "I'd better prepare you something to eat. I'm starving, too." The doctor, however, didn't move.

Curious, Sherlock gave his friend a look. John was looking at him with odd, impossibly warm and nearly moist eyes. There was a faint smile on the man's face, such he couldn't remember seeing in forever. Such he'd missed. "What?"

John shook his head. "Sentiment, that's all." The doctor began to make his way towards the kitchen.

When Sherlock could be sure that John was actually occupied by fixing them something to eat, muttering about severed body parts upon doing so, he refocused on the laptop. His eyes drank in the brand now code that'd just been added to his site. It was clever, surely, but hardly impossible to crack. Slowly, slowly a small grin made its way to his face when the words began to make sense.

'All pawns are in position. The game is on.'

/ Dana and Daniel were led to what was easily one of the most bizarre sights they'd ever encountered. On the wet, muddy forest floor lay two almost identical bodies. It took the longest time before they noticed that one of them was in fact breathing.

"Christ…!" Dana sputtered, her eyes growing to a comical size.

In a flash the couple was assessing the injured man's condition, not bothering to even wonder who the poor sod was. A lot of wounds and bruises. Definitely a concussion. Highly likely broken ribs if that ragged breathing was anything to go by. Possibly other broken bones. The greatest corcern, however, was the gunshot wound to abdominal area. The young man was hypothermic and burning up with fever at the same time.

"Well?" Sherlock demanded, only the slightest shiver in that voice betraying the true emotions.

Dana swallowed. It was Daniel who spoke. "He's… lost a lot of blood. And his wounds are severe. Honestly, I think it's incredible that he's made it this far." Her husband's brown eyes were full of steel and worry. "We need to get him out of here, fast."

Sherlock nodded, his sharp eyes darting around. "I agree. That useless search party will be back at dawn. Moran's men may also be looming nearby. We don't have any time to waste."

Together they managed to get the surprisingly light man into the back of the van, the couple trying not to think about the body they left behind. Their faces gained identical looks of surprise when Sherlock offered them blindfolds.

"We're going somewhere I swore to keep a secret", Sherlock explained. "Impatience was shining through. "Now put those on. We're wasting time."

They drove for what felt like ages. When they finally stopped it took at least ten minutes before the car's doors were opened and a group of strangers appeared, taking the injured man away. They were led into a building that smelled of candle wax and dust. Everywhere around them murmuring could be heard. Women, occasionally joined in by Sherlock's much deeper voice.

When the blindfolds were finally removed they were in a small, painfully bright room the reeked sterile. Spencer lay on what looked like a makeshift OR table. Medical equipment was scattered everywhere.

"Well?" Sherlock demanded. "Is that everything you need?"

Daniel nodded slowly, a look of intense concentration on his face. "In the ideal situation I'd like to perform a blood transfusion but I suppose that nothing about this is ideal." Her husband glanced towards Sherlock with a tender look on understanding she knew very well. "We'll do whatever we can. Just like you did for our little boy. I promise."

Sherlock nodded back. Somehow the look in the detective's eyes was much deeper and far more meaningful than any vocalized 'thank you'. The Brit cast a one more look towards the injured man, as though saying goodbye, then left.

Almost three days later Dana and Daniel emerged, just like they'd promised, dressed up as hikers and announcing that they'd found SSA Dr. Spencer Reid's body. /

In a small internet café very, very far away a young man with long and somewhat greasy, hey colored hair and greyish-blue eyes that were framed by thick glasses finished his session. Marcus Trevors, a university student who'd just accepted a rather bizarre deal. "Well, that was it." He started to turn his head. "Just out of curiosity… You paid me fifty bucks for posting that thing. What…?"

The man who paid him was nowhere in sight. For a few moments Marcus sat absolutely still. Then pocketed the money and excited the café. He never thought of the stranger again.

Already having left the café a long time ago the man who paid sat in a metro, letting his gaze linger on the window's reflection for a brief moment.

Black, slightly overgrown hair. A pair of piercing blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses that had black frames. A long black jacket, underneath that a purple shirt and a pair of neat, black pants.

The man he saw was clearly Hamish Gummings, not Dr. Spencer Reid, just as had been planned from the beginning.

Spencer took a deep breath, fiddling on the golden band sitting around his left ring finger. It was far more than a part of his disguise. It was a symbol of a promise he'd fight to keep until the moment he'd pull his last breath.

A promise to his team, his family, every single one of those he held dear.

The war isn't over – I will come back.

It'd taken far too long to recover enough. Unlike Sherlock once upon a time he fell for real and became injured accordingly. It was more than a small miracle that he was still alive, especially considering that he wasn't able to go to a proper hospital. He even woke up in the company of another ghost.

/ "You've slept long enough, darling."

Spencer's stubborn, impossibly heavy eyelids inched open frustratingly slowly. He inhaled several deep, slightly ragged breaths before managing to catch a sliver of the woman sitting beside his bed. A hint of pale skin and red hair. Of a somewhat dangerous little smirk. After what felt like a small eternity he was finally able to see more.

The woman beside him had long, red hair but that didn't fool him long. A frown appeared while his head attempted to comprehend. Yes, this was definitely Irene Adler – a FBI agent was bound to know someone with her reputation. But how…? "You're…", he rasped, hating the way his voice sounded. "… dead."

Irene shrugged and chuckled. "So are you, darling. Sherlock is quite skilled when it comes to faking deaths. Yours almost became the real deal, though. You're a tough one, pretty boy."

Spencer's frown deepened while his thoughts kept spinning, making his crushing headache escalate exponentially. How… could he still be alive, after a fall like that? What was going on?

Clearly seeing the questions from his eyes Irene went on. "Sherlock found you. Don't worry your adorable head with the rest right now. This monastery is safe. These nuns owed Sherlock a big enough favor." It wasn't until he felt her hand stroking his hair he realized that he'd closed his eyes. "Sleep, Spencer. Just relax."

His mind floated away. /

Yes, it was a sheer miracle that he was alive at all. If Sherlock had been too late to find him… If he'd been found by someone who worked for Moran instead… If Sherlock hadn't known the people he did… If a single wrong person should find out…

He'd been given a second chance. Something only few people were ever granted. And for now he was forced to live his new life in a exile.

Spencer gritted his teeth, the gun sitting hidden on his hip suddenly weighing a lot more than it should've.

This was what he had to do, for the sake of them all. Moran's whole web would have to go down before it'd be safe to return home. Otherwise he might end up losing everything he'd fought for, everything he still lived for.

The cell phone in his pocket bleeped. After a second of startle Spencer took the item and gave the text message a look. It was a picture, along with a name and an address. His first target.

Spencer took a deep breath and swallowed against the bitter taste sitting in his mouth. Pushed down the longing, the guilt, the pain. And stepped out of the metro when it reached the next station, blending into the crowd. Dead yet somehow far more alive than most of the people around him.

Taking his first step towards a home that was miles and miles away.

End.

1) In case you didn't remember… This hints to Gideon's farewell letter to Reid. In it he wrote 'I believe in happy ending.' (grins)

A/N: Oh… my gosh…! It's OVER. (sobs, wiping eyes)

You guys, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your love and support for this lil' fic! I was REALLY hesitant to ever get started with this but you've totally made me happy about my decision to go through with this. Every single review, listing and hit is greatly appreciated! (BEAMS, and hugs)

PLEASE, do leave a note before you take off, though, and let me know what you thought of this ending! Any good, at all…?

Once more, THANK YOU! Who knows, maybe we'll be typing again one day.

Take care!