A/N: YOOOOO thank you all for the one hundred plus follows, fifty plus favourites, and forty plus reviews. Y'all are awesome.

Also, I suggest you read chapter four again before continuing with this chapter, simply because a. it's been a while (again), b. it follows on like immediately after the end of chapter four, and c. even I had to check back.

x o x

Hotch strides back into the area where his team is bickering, already calling Reid's number. If that was him that got shot just now…

Well, if that was Reid that got shot right now, it eliminates one huge problem and creates another.

"Why's there a sudden stampede of cops, Hotch?" Morgan asks as his boss comes back into his view.

"Someone was just shot in the head by the local Starbucks," he answers, seamlessly slipping on his suit jacket.

"One of ours?" Lewis frowns.

That may well be more true than you think.

"Possibly," he replies, "but I don't want to jump to conclusions. Lewis, you come to the scene with me, Morgan and JJ, you stay here and work on the profile some more."

"What about Reid?" Morgan asks.

"I'm call him," Hotch answers, glancing down at his phone screen. No reply. He hangs up, then calls him again.

"Sure," JJ nods. The side glance she gives Morgan doesn't go unnoticed, but he doesn't have the time or patience to deal with it. Instead, he gestures to Lewis, and the two make their way out to the SUV together. He doesn't know why he's bringing Lewis and not one of the team members Reid's known for longer. Maybe it's because he thinks Reid would feel better being vulnerable to someone who doesn't really know him, rather than being vulnerable to someone he's known for years.

Or maybe it's because I don't want Morgan or JJ seeing Reid's corpse, he thinks grimly.

"Reid'll be pissed he's missing the action," Lewis comments lightly. "Still, I suppose he's the best candidate for ordering us coffee, since he can remember everyone's orders."

"I suppose." There's still no reply from Reid, so he hangs up and tries again for the third time.

"He'll be fine, you know," Lewis says suddenly, throwing Hotch off course.

"What?"

"You're worried Reid got in trouble getting the coffee," she explains to him, which seems like it should feel condescending, but oddly doesn't. "Does Reid get in trouble a lot?"

"More commonly than the rest of our team," Hotch murmurs darkly. He puts his phone away as they clamber into the SUV. "At least Morgan and JJ didn't seem worried."

"I don't think Reid specifically said he was going to Starbucks, so they probably didn't make the connection," Lewis replies. "You don't need to worry. He'll be fine."

Hotch pauses. "He's not picking up his phone," he says.

"I'll try, then. Maybe he thinks he's gonna get an earful from you, or something."

You bet he's going to get one, Hotch thinks grimly as they tear out of the precinct parking lot, but not about what Lewis is thinking of.

x o x

There are already cops lurking around when their SUV pulls up to the crime scene, talking to witnesses and cordoning off areas with yellow tape. The Starbucks is being evacuated, customers being shooed away by law enforcement as they try and get a good look at the scene. Morbid fascination. There's a body covered by a white sheet further down an alley next to the Starbucks - the victim.

He lets himself breathe a sigh of relief when he sees Reid's thin - yet seemingly unharmed - form, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, back propped up against the alley wall. He can't see his face, but he can remember the white shirt he'd been wearing, and his messy hair is recognisable from a mile away.

An officer sees Hotch and Lewis walking towards the body and steps in front of them. Hotch recognises him from the precinct; he'd looked skeptical of the BAU when they'd first arrived, but hadn't been especially antagonistic towards any of them.

"Officer, please let us through-"

"What the fuck are you guys playing at?" the officer snarls, interrupting him.

"Excuse me?" Hotch says, giving him a Stern Glare. The officer doesn't seem intimidated, surprisingly; rather, he just seems to get angrier.

"Your agents can't just go shooting people in the street when they think they see a serial killer," the officer rants, pointing to Reid. "He says he shot the guy you're looking for, your unsub guy, or whatever you call it. Beside a Starbucks. Who the fuck does that?!"

"Officer, please calm down," Lewis frowns, as Hotch shoulders past the two of them and heads toward Reid, who's still sitting with his head between his knees. He feels hesitant to approach him; Reid looks like he's about to have a panic attack, what if Hotch just makes it worse?

"Reid?" he says, trying to put a mixture of sternness and concern into his tone. He's not sure how much it works; seemingly not a lot, because Reid doesn't look up, or even move that much. "Reid."

He considers getting a paramedic to come over, because why the fuck are they not tending to the guy who looks like he's about to hyperventilate, but then Reid lifts his head, and Hotch can't stop himself from gasping just a little. There's blood spray on his face and white shirt, so much that he has to close his eyes for a brief second and remind himself that it's not Reid's blood, it can't be. Lewis is suddenly beside him and lets out a shaky exhale, apparently waiting for Hotch to make the first move.

It doesn't matter, because Reid speaks first anyway. "He was the unsub," he says, and it's almost a whisper, though not so quiet they can't hear him. "Ed Willis. He recognised me from the press conference."

"And he threatened you?" Lewis completes his thought.

Reid just nods, turning back around and resting his head on his knees again. Hotch can remember Reid's presence at the press conference, but JJ had done most of the talking. In fact, he can't even remember if Reid had done anything to warrant the unsub's attention. "He pulled me into the alley as I walked past," he continues, still too quiet for Hotch's liking, "and he said he was going to kill me, so I shot him before he could." He still doesn't make any eye contact. "But I'm not hurt. This is all his blood."

"I'll talk to the officers," Lewis says, and extracts herself with grace. It's just Hotch and Reid now, so Hotch bends down so he can look at Reid without feeling like he's talking down to him.

"Reid. I need you to look at me. Properly."

Reid takes a deep breath and complies, some of the shock having worn off. He still looks too pale, but his pupils are normal size. Well, at least I probably won't have to call a medic over to check for catatonia, he thinks.

"Is that the whole truth?" he asks. He sees no point in stalling the inevitable.

Reid blinks. "What?"

"What you just told me, how he pulled you into the alley and threatened you. Is that all true?"

"Yes," Reid almost answers immediately. So far so good.

"And you didn't leave anything out?"

This time, Reid pauses a little before he answers; it's only a tiny pause, but it's still there. "No," he says, and then his eyes widen slightly in curiosity and says, "Why would I leave something out?"

Hotch almost finds himself falling for it.

x o x

After a short trip to the hospital to check if Reid really is fine, the two of them are finally able to relax in their hotel room. Their plane leaves tomorrow, and Hotch has encouraged his team to take it easy after the rather exciting - and somehow still anticlimactic - end to their case. Usually Hotch wouldn't be rooming with Reid, but he'd made sure that the two were together after Reid's accident.

Hotch is attempting to send a text to Jessica when Reid sits at the opposite end of the couch. "Where's the remote?"

"Don't put on Dr. Phil," Hotch murmurs. "My brain is fried enough already from the case today."

"I was thinking Jeremy Kyle, actually," Reid smiles. "Did you know there's an American version of it now? I should get my family on, we'd be famous."

"Mine too," Hotch agrees. It's strange seeing Reid...normal already, like nothing even happened. It's almost chilling how little Reid seems to be affected by it now.

Reid turns on the TV, though Hotch isn't particularly interested in watching. He hears him channel surfing, before finally deciding on some kind of dance reality show. The sound of two women yelling in fury at each other finally prompts him to investigate what the hell Reid's watching. "Why are they yelling?"

"They're arguing about whether Maddie's dance teacher favours her over the other girls at the studio," Reid explains. "The blonde one is her mother."

Hotch looks up briefly. "They're both blonde."

"The naturally blonde one is Maddie's mother. No way Christi's hair isn't dyed."

"Oh. Alright." Hotch finds that he can't go back to sustaining he and Jessica's conversation while the sound of two women screeching at each other lingers, so he decides to give up and watch with Reid. "Why's that girl crying?"

"That's Maddie, she's crying because Christi is basically insulting her to her face."

"But does she get special treatment?"

Reid shrugs. "She does, but none of the other girls really want the extra practice sessions enough for Abby to do them."

"Who's Abby?"

"The dance teacher."

"Why doesn't Abby just kick Christi out if she's disturbing everyone this much?"

Reid gives him a look. "...It's on TLC, Hotch. It's fake."

"Oh, right." Hotch waits for a little longer to say what's been on his mind. "You know, you don't have to pretend you're okay after what happened today."

"I'm not pretending. It's fine." Reid answers a little too quickly for Hotch's liking.

"...Reid." Hotch give him a concerned glance, but Reid just turns away. "I've seen this happen before with you. We all have."

"Would you have been this invasive if I hadn't been in that accident a few weeks ago?" Reid rolls his eyes and turns the TV off, leaving the room awkwardly silent. Hotch clears his throat before trying to continue, heart sinking as Reid gets off the couch and stands aimlessly in the middle of the room.

"You're saying it would be illogical for me not to be especially worried after a trauma like that?" Hotch asks.

"More like you wouldn't be asking that if I was any other member of this team."

"I need to know what really happened with the unsub today, Reid." He hates to do it, but after Reid's recent behaviour and what he'd learned from Abigail, he can't help but be suspicious of his story.

Sure enough, Reid's form stiffens even further at Hotch's response, and he straightens, folding his arms. "I already told you what happened. He recognised me from the press conference we did and was gonna kill me, so I had to defend myself."

"It's not about whether it was a clean shot," Hotch tries to explain, "it's about you leaving out important details."

"I told you everything already, if you're so sure I'm lying then why don't you tell me what you think happened?"

A muscle in Hotch's jaw clenches as he weighs up his options. "Maybe your profile of Ed Willis was completely spot-on. Maybe he was suicidal and looking to go out by suicide-by-cop if we ever did catch him. Maybe he realised he was as good as arrested when he recognised you, and he told you about about all the hardship he'd faced in his life, and how he just wanted to end it all. And then maybe, you did that thing where you identify with our unsubs too much, and you gave him the out he wanted."

The younger man is silent for a few more seconds. Does that mean I'm right? Hotch wonders, but Reid interrupts his thoughts. "He was a murderer," he says stiffly, and it frightens Hotch how little emotion there is in his voice. "A serial killer. There was nothing for me identify with."

That's where I know you're wrong.

"Abigail already told me you jumped in front of her car that night." Hotch doesn't want to waste any more time; it's cruel, but he can't continue to ignore it anymore. Not to mention he doesn't thinkit would be good for Reid to continue to ignore it himself, either.

Reid is silent for what feels like an eternity, perfectly still. Hotch can almost hear him thinking, trying to think of a new lie, trying to think of a way out. He reminds Hotch of a gazelle pretending to be wounded, or perhaps a gazelle that really is wounded, and won't accept it.

It's a few more seconds before Reid speaks again, tone perfectly measured with only the smallest hint of tension. "She's lying."

"I know she isn't."

Reid pauses again, still facing away from Hotch. "I had a migraine," he says, through what sounds like clenched teeth. "And I was trying to get home, but the pain was confusing me, and I wasn't careful enough crossing the road back to my apartment. That's all that happened."

"Yet you didn't seem to remember telling me that the next day in the hospital," Hotch counters, moving a step closer. "

"I had a concussion." Reid's voice is quiet, but Hotch can hear the seething anger from him even with his back turned.

"Was it a concussion, or was it you forgetting your cover story?"

"When you get hit by a car you do tend to get concussions," Reid shoots back. "Is is so hard to think that I may have been confused about things I'd said the night before?"

"If it was anyone else, I'd believe them," Hotch replies. "But not you. You don't make mistakes like that."

"I'm not a machine!" Reid finally turns around to face Hotch, and the older man can just make out the gleam of tears in the younger man's eyes. "I make mistakes sometimes!"

"I didn't mean to imply that you didn't," Hotch replies, cursing himself for his mistake. You idiot. Why would you say that, of all things you could have said?

"No, you just said it outright instead of being so polite as to imply it," Reid snarls. To Hotch's surprise, he grabs his bag and starts packing his things.

Hotch crosses his arms. "Where are you running off to now?"

"Different hotel," Reid explains. He blinks hard once, and Hotch sees that the tears are gone. "I don't want to be sharing a hotel room with you all night."

"You're suspended if you walk out that door." His harshness surprises even himself, but he wonders if there's any other way to get through to Reid other than threatening his work. Sure enough, it makes Reid pause, but to Hotch's surprise, he resumes his packing after a few seconds and smirks.

"You'll bring me back," he says simply, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "That's what you always do."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Hotch counters. Reid shoulders past him and opens the door, not bothering to look back.

"It's exactly what it sounds like," he replies. "Think about it."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him as not a trace of his youngest agent is left in the room.

Hotch sits down heavily on the bed and runs a hand over his face. He wonders if he can get away with going down to the hotel bar and having a drink, just to treat himself for once.

But you don't deserve it after the shit you just pulled, do you? he thinks.

He wasn't wrong for not trusting Reid. Reid had brought that upon himself.

Hadn't he?

And then he realises, he still hasn't deleted Reid's voicemail.

x o x

there's too much noise in his apartment, and yet there's too much quiet at the same time.

the bridge is a only a short walk away, maybe five minutes if he walks briskly. the air is cold around him, and his harsh breath makes little clouds of air. his cheeks are cold from the streaks of tears on them; he reaches up to wipe a shirt sleeve across them, only to feel the bare skin of his forearm. maybe that's why he's so cold.

he can see the bridge now, and peers over the railing to gaze at the water below. there's enough wind tonight that the water isn't completely calm, but the waves are only small. how much would it hurt if he were to jump over right now? there's probably statistics on what would break, what wouldn't, how much everything would hurt, how quickly he'd die.

does it matter? if he dies, he dies. sayonara, bon voyage, good riddance.

without realising, he pulls out his phone and looks at the time; 1:09 in the morning. he wants to call someone, just to see if they'd care enough to pick up, but he's already written the note and left it back at his apartment. he supposes most of the team would be asleep anyway, or have a significant other to talk to.

except hotch, he realises, and starts dialing hotch's number.

unsurprisingly, there's no answer. figures. he decides to leave a voicemail, just in case his boss does happen to wake up in time to stop him.

"aaron...it's me. reid. i was just calling to see if you were awake...but i guess not. uh, i'm sorry if this woke you up. i shouldn't have called...i don't know why i called you, even. i guess...maybe i just wanted to talk to someone before i...uh, maybe i just wanted you to be the last person i talked to. i'm scared to do it...i'm scared it will hurt. but death, or more like the loss of existence...i think that would be less painful than living at this point. anyway, i'm sorry i called you this late. i hope i didn't wake jack. please, try forget about this. and about me. i don't deserve to be remembered for anything by you all…"

and then he hangs up, because thinking about jack and how unfair it is that people are born into the world without asking for it depresses him further.

he won't jump off the bridge. he thinks it'll hurt too much, and he hates to admit it, but he doesn't really want to die in pain. no, he'll go back to his apartment and take all of his antidepressants he'd been prescribed. he hasn't taken any of them since he'd been given them, so there should be more than enough to get him started. then, he'll take his whole prescription of sleeping pills, though there isn't as many of them left. maybe he'll take some dilaudid as well. it's his last day on earth, he can afford to splurge.

but the closer he gets to his apartment, even that option becomes less appealing. he doesn't want to have to face his apartment again, where he feels like he's suffocating in loneliness every night. he doesn't want to have to look at the suicide note he wrote, either.

he's about to give up altogether and just find a motel for the night when he sees a pair of headlights coming from in the distance, the first he's seen all night. would it hurt less or more than the overdose, than the bridge? would it be a slow death as he dies bleeding out on the road, or or would it be quicker, like a match into water?

as the headlights grow closer, he realises he's already made up his mind. he steps out into the road, or maybe it's more like a jump, and there's a noise like the swerving of tires, followed by a sickening crunching noise.

and after that, finally, blissful nothing.

x o x

And thus ends the chapters in Hotch's POV. Next few are in Reid's POV, so stay tuned for those. Also, I'm really sorry if there are any errors in this chapter, I need to get my glasses replaced.

I appreciate all feedback and comments that come my way. Please help me feed my children and leave a review.