The CSI team and BAU team were divided up with one BAU member and one CSI member per team. Sara with Morgan, Gideon with Catherine, Reid with Grissom, Greg with Hotch, and Nick with JJ. Gideon was the one to make the teams, and Grissom suspected it was a hand extended in peace -- far be it for him to turn it down. Each team took two names and proceeded to track them down.

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"So your specialty is obsessive crimes?"

Morgan glanced over to Sara who was sitting behind the wheel. "Yeah. Everyone offers a different perspective to the team. I have a sister who is completely obsessive compulsive. It's not that hard to see similar patterns in the unsubs."

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Gideon turned to Catherine who was driving them to the first of their two suspects. "From my understanding you are the one that encouraged Nick Stokes to get help for his..childhood trauma."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, startled at such a personal inquiry. "Well, yes. After he told me about it on a case, I found a help center, Recovering Childhood, which, by the way, is one of the best in the country. You have to admire a place with such a great reputation that is still non-profit and provides free counseling."

Gideon watched the buildings blur past and wished for a world where such a charity was unnecessary.

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Reid openly stared at Grissom who was gripping the wheel intently and looked like he was going to break into a terrible road rage. "Nick told me that you have problems with kid cases. Everyone has their hot button. No one thinks less of you for feeling so strongly."

Grissom never took his eyes from the road, but his snort of disdain was clear enough. "Most of them have forgotten I have feelings."

"Because you don't show them. You've trained them all to believe the evidence and follow what they see. You show them a man that has buttoned down all his emotions and preaches knowledge not emotion. What do you expect?" Grissom didn't reply, and Reid left him to think on what he said.

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Greg was be-bopping behind the wheel of his car singing along to Modest Mouse's 'Float On'. Hotch looked like he was barely containing himself from sticking his fingers in his ears.

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JJ watched as Nick deftly wove in and out of traffic. "I followed the Gordon case on the news. The short interview you gave was very well done."

Nick looked a bit confused at this line of conversation. "Uhhh, thanks?"

JJ grinned, and Nick couldn't help but flash to Reid's description of her from when they went to the Redskin's game together -- all energy and blinding smiles. "Sorry. It's actually my job, to deal with the media. The media can be one of our greatest weapons against the unsub. At least when used properly."

Nick nodded thoughtfully. "I know what you mean. I had reporters camped on my lawn for days. They didn't do anyone a lick of good."

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Reid and Grissom had struck out the first try. Hopefully Ben Kincaid could prove more helpful. The two of stood on the stoop, waiting patiently for Ben to answer the door. Nothing in particular stood out about the house. The lawn was neat without being immaculate. The car was nice without being over done. Everything looked quite traditional and normal. Finally, a middle aged man answered the door and he was just as non-descript as his house. Short, somewhat brown hair, five ten and somewhere in-between handsome and ugly. "Yes can I help you?"

"Gill Grissom, Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI. We need to talk to you about a somewhat private matter. May we come in?" Ben searched each of their faces, perhaps seeking their sincerity, and he must've found it because the door swung open and allowed them to enter. Just like everything else about Ben Kincaid, the interior was just as bland as the rest of him.

Reid listened with half an ear as Grissom questioned Mr. Kincaid -- he was much more interested in learning about him through what his possessions said about him. One photo on the self stood out in particular; it was of a younger Ben with a mulatto woman. This instantly set off warning bells in Reid's head. Interrupting Grissom Reid asked, "Mr. Kincaid, who is this woman in the picture?"

Both looked a bit startled at Reid's interruption, and a look of sadness flashed across Kincaid's face. "That's my sister. She died 9 weeks ago. Suicide." A brief look of alarm flashed across Reid's face as he made eye contact with Grissom.

"Mr. Kincaid, would you be willing to come down to the station for further questioning?"

Kincaid seemed composed and calm. Reid was hoping that the scene wouldn't have to get any worse than it had to. Kincaid made his way over to an end table, "No, Spencer. I don't think that will be necessary." Kincaid turned around, "After all, the final peace is upon us. You wouldn't want to miss out." Reid stared at the gun pointed him and thought rather absurdly, 'damn, where is that universal kick me sign located anyway?'

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On the other side of town, Nick Stokes phone was ringing. "Nick Stokes." There was empty silence. "Hello? This is Nick Stokes?" Still silent. Just as he was about to hang up he hears a tinny voice come through the ear piece, and it sounds vaguely like Reid.

"Ben, may I call you Ben?"

"Spencer, is that you?" There's no answer and at this point, Nick has a horrible feeling that something has gone terribly wrong. Putting the cell on speaker phone he gestured for JJ to listen.

"Ben. There's no reason to keep us both here. If you-" Nick and JJ exchanged a look and Nick's hands tightened on the steering wheel. JJ pulled out her phone and quietly called Garcia for a trace on Nick's phone. Nick listened intently for a clue as to what the situation was.

"Ben calm down listen to me. I know that you weren't trying to hurt those children. I know that you were giving them peace. I understand how desperately you want that. Believe me, I do." Nick's heart was practically breaking in two listening to Spencer's heartfelt plea. "I know that you don't want to hurt Mr. Grissom here. He doesn't understand, not like we do."

There was rustling and shifting, the sound of the door and JJ was telling him the address and calling the rest of the team. Nick's heart was thundering in his chest. He couldn't believe that this was happening, how he feared for Reid trapped with a suicidal serial killer and Gruesome Grissom. God save them all.

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The tight control that Ben had kept himself under was slowly eroding. Reid was in the untenable position of being unarmed and having a person with no qualms about killing between him and the door. His first goal was to get Grissom out of the door, despite the fact that Grissom was CSI he was still technically a civilian and therefore, his life was elevated priority one. Of course, he'd like to survive the encounter as well, preferably with Ben intact as well.

Grissom seemed a bit shocky. Perhaps he hadn't had many encounters with gun toting killers. Of course, Reid could probably top quite easily whatever number it was -- his whole life had been a run of bad luck.

Ben's wild eyes locked on Reid. "I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were like me. That you knew what suffering, true suffering was." Ben's eyes rolled in his head like a crazed horse's. "Tell me. Tell me who."

This time there was no mistaking that who. "My uncle." Reid watched Ben carefully and continued to talk, hoping that the cavalry was getting his message and coming soon. "He was a drunk like my parents." Reid laughs and it sounds so bitter it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "Mom wasn't always that way you know. But when I was three the schizophrenia flared up, and she started to drink to help control it. She wasn't there mentally enough to stop it. She couldn't protect me." Reid's voice is quietly desolate and Ben is calmly slowly and inching closer. "I remember the smell of cinnamon schnapps on his breath. Goddamn eidetic memory."

Reid's voice lowered even more drawing Ben ever closer. Reid's eyes fluttered closed, either visualizing the memory or trying to block it out, it wasn't clear. "I remember the burn of the thread bare carpet against my knees, the hand on my neck holding me down." Reid's eyes fluttered open slowly, glistening and meeting Ben's. "I remember the pain."

Ben nodded slowly, stiffly. "Yes. The pain is so clear, and always there. Come with me. Come with me, we'll die together and be in peace."

Reid, faced with Ben, shook his head slowly no. "I can't, Ben. I still have so much more to do. So many lives to save. Ben, don't you want to continue to help people? Don't they deserve your help?"

Ben's eyes hardened just slightly, "I deserve everlasting peace!" Reid lunged forward and the two struggled with the gun, both gripping it tightly when it fired.

The sound of the gun shot seemed to shock the occupants of the house, but it galvanized the efforts of the agents and CSIs outside. Reid froze for a moment, startled at the sound and the stillness of Ben who was pressed against him. Ben's fingers were lax on the gun so he carefully pulled it away from Ben's grip and looked over Ben's shoulder at Grissom who was wide-eyed and a little pale. Grissom dropped from his vision range and Reid grew unsure of what he was doing or whether Grissom was okay. Suddenly, Ben slumped into his arms and he was falling backwards unable to hold them both up. Pain rocketed through his right shoulder and radiated out to his chest and arm. Standing over him was a grim looking Grissom holding a stone bookend with blood on it.

Reid gently rolled Ben onto his back with the help of Grissom who was staring at him oddly. Reid blinked up at him, almost dizzy with all that had happened in the last few seconds. "Agent Reid, your shoulder?"

Reid moved his right arm tentatively it wasn't broken but when he brought his left arm from his shoulder it was tacky with blood. Realizing that he had been shot made it hurt even more, and the world started to narrow, his vision going tunnel with only Grissom's head clear. He watched Grissom's lips moving but the sound wasn't reaching his ears. He could clearly see the word help fall from the man's lips, but Reid tried to tell him that he wasn't going to be able to help anybody right then. Really, he just needed a nap and he'd be fine. Then there was a strong hand pressing on his shoulder that made pain shoot through him and a warm hand cradling his head. It was easier to ride the waves of pain into the darkness that lurked on the edges of his vision. After all, wasn't he as deserving of peace as Ben was?

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Grissom heard the front door being busted in but didn't turn from Reid, worried that the agent would slip unconscious while his attention is turned away. "Agent DOWN! We need medical help!"

Brass ran over gun lowered, but drawn at his side. "Kincaid?"

Grissom indicated with his head, "unconscious. Agent Reid has been shot. We need a medical team in here now!" Grissom pressed further on Reid's shoulder, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood. Reid's skin was looking translucent, and his lips were the same pale color of his cheeks. "Agent Reid, stay awake! Don't go to sleep!" Reid's eyes were fluttering closed and Grissom pressed again on the shoulder hoping that brief flair of pain might wake him up, and it did help momentarily -- Reid's eyes bulged open and he groaned. Grissom didn't even look up as Nick slid in beside him and urgently encouraged Spencer to stay awake. Grissom watched Reid's lips move silently. Then, his eyes slid closed and wouldn't reopen no matter how much pressure he put on the shoulder wound.

Nick turned to Grissom, eyes bright with tears. "What did he say?"

Grissom stared back at Nick concern written all over his face, "Don't I deserve peace?"

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The hospital waiting room was rife with various law enforcement personnel. Agents drifted in clusters with CSI's fringing the edges. Like a middle school dance one law enforcement agency on one side of the room one on the other.

Finally, a doctor in blue scrubs approached the impatient groups, "Jason Gideon?"

Gideon broke off from the pack, "That's me." The doctor glanced around at all the people listening. Gideon shook his head, "it's okay, their his family too." That wasn't strictly true, of course, and some of the CSI personnel didn't even know Reid well at all -- they were there in support of Nick.

"He pulled through the surgery just fine. He'll need to wear a sling for a month to help the arm heal, but with physical therapy, he should get full function back."

The whole room breathed a collective sigh of relief. The doctor gave them all a pointed look. "He won't be awake from the sedatives for several hours. I suggest you take the time to clean up." Looking down Grissom realized he was covered with blood, and Nick hadn't faired much better. Nick wandered over to Gideon.

"Spencer has bad reactions to a lot of analgesics. He wakes up early sometimes, too."

Gideon nodded, "I was there when he got his wisdom teeth out and woke up during the surgery."

Nick nodded, "Classic Reid. Wakes up and verifies that he didn't hallucinate and repeats the entire conversation verbatim." Nick laughs a bit and it doesn't sound nearly as brittle as it did five minutes ago.

"Don't worry. I'll stay here. Get clean and changed and catch some sleep. One of us should be here when he wakes up."

Nick nodded, "thank you," and the suspicious gleam in his eyes passed unremarked on.

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True to form, Spencer went against form and woke three hours before anticipated. Gideon had managed to wrangle Nick into the ICU room with him. Both watched as Reid's eyes fluttered open slowly. Suddenly shifting and gagging, Nick was there with an enmis basin and a supporting hand. Eventually, the dry heaving stopped, and Reid's head flopped back down on the mattress, already exhausted. Nick helped him rinse and spit. "God I hate tramadol."

Gideon, who had paged the nurse to let her know Reid was awake, leaned down, "why do you think you're on tramadol?"

Reid's fingertips twitched a bit and his lips quirked into a small smile and Gideon felt his heart stutter a bit in his chest. Reid may be pale and hooked up to three machines with bags under his eyes to rival suitcases, but he was still there, and he was going to be fine. " Nausea, numb lips, tingling in my fingertips. Classic tramadol side effects. At least for me." The laugh that followed was dry and brittle but with genuine mirth as well. "Ben? Is he okay?"

"Grissom knocked him over the head with a bookend. He has a skull fracture, and he's in a coma. He might never wake up."

A look of sadness passed over Spencer's face. "Everlasting peace. Perhaps he'll get his wish after all." Spencer whispered the last line, fading out quickly into sleep. Neither missed the passing wistfulness on his face.

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Two days and Reid was released from the hospital. Nick and Grissom had volunteered to drive the team to the airport. Nick and Spencer were off to the side talking quietly when they embraced gingerly. They broke apart and Spencer loped over toward Grissom.

"Dr. Grissom." Reid stuck out his left hand, Grissom took it and shook, "it was a pleasure to work with you."

"The same Dr. Reid."

Rather than let go of Grissom's hand Reid leaned in still gripping it. "Dr. Grissom, you should tell him."

"Tell who?" Grissom asked in a puzzled tone.

Reid leaned in real close, "Nick. That you love him. I've seen how you look at him." Grissom was literally struck speechless, mouth agape. "I promise, Dr. Grissom, you won't be disappointed." Grissom's hand fell limply at his side and Reid walked off, a pleased little smile on his face.

Elle walked up to Reid, "what was that about?"

Reid looked at her with a cat that caught the canary grin across his face, "oh, just a little professional advice."

"What, forensically?"

"Oh no, as a psychologist." Elle glanced back at Gil Grissom and had to wonder, but life went on and sometimes you have to let the little mysteries go, no matter how familiar they might be.

Epilogue

It was two weeks before Reid came back to the office. He wouldn't be back in the field until the sling came off. Reid always left by six which was unusual -- Reid was a classic work-alcoholic, but then, most of them were. Which is why Hotch took notice when Reid cursed. Loudly. Looking over, Hotch watched as Reid hurriedly shoved some papers into his satchel and rushed to gather the rest of his things. "Reid? What's the hurry?"

"I'm going to miss the bus!" It was clear the frazzled young man didn't mean to blurt out that answer. Aaron could have kicked himself. He should have known. The team had let Reid drive once, and only once. It wasn't that he was a bad driver. Quite the opposite. Reid would always have his hands on the 10 and 2 position and never deviated. He always went just the speed limit and compulsively checked his mirrors every five seconds. Everything textbook and standardized. At the time, Hotch had put the safe driving to the fact that Reid would always remember the statistics behind auto accidents when he slid behind the wheel. Now Hotch suspected that Reid had taught himself to drive from a manual.

"Hey Reid why don't I give you a lift home?"

Reid paused, probably debating the jarring pain of running for the bus versus possible questioning by Hotch. Slumping a bit, he agreed, and the little boy pout amused Hotch to no end.

The car ride was silent. Reid was resting his head against the window, eyes half closed -- he did look tired. There had been an unspoken pact to not talk about what everyone had heard went on in the Kincaid house. Either Reid was lying to draw the unsub's attention and gain his trust or he was telling the truth. People were happy to believe whichever theory they wanted. Either way, no one asked Reid about it, and he slowly relaxed into the notion that things didn't have to change at all.

"So," Hotch broke the silence startling Reid, "the secret to one-handed driving is hand placement." Reid watched wide-eyed as Hotch demonstrated by putting his left hand on the two o'clock position and turning smoothly to the left. Hotch drove one-handed the rest of the way.

Reid was ducking out of the car with a mumbled thanks when Hotch stopped him, "Reid. " Reid turned and faced the car. "You'll be alright. We're all proud of who you are, right now. Never doubt that." Reid only smiled a bit, just an upturn of one corner, but his eyes shined and Hotch knew he got the message. "So, why don't I swing by and pick you up tomorrow?"

A wide grin broke across Reid's face, "Nah, I think I'll drive." And with that, Aaron knew that everything was going to be just fine.

The End (For Real)