"Coffee!" I announce as I push open the glass doors of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virgina with my back, twirling around so I don't spill anything as the door almost hits me.

Hotch grabs his cup inscribed with a giant "H" on top on his way out, probably to turn in paperwork. I earn what I think is a smile and a small nod. Yesterday was the finished case of a man who murdered three girls in one week in Cambridge, Ohio. Reid's geographical profile led us straight to the killer.

I stick Garcia's cup, riddled with rainbow-colored designs, in the microwave, as I do every morning so she can pick it up on her way in. Emily rushed towards me. This means she didn't have her first cup at home this morning. She grabs Morgan's cup which has a giant "X" on the top, just so no one touches it (for safety purposes, if you get it...) and heads back to her desk where they chat about something.

Rossi always has his own. And I mean always. No one can make his coffee how he likes; I learned this my first day on the job. I got the hint quickly, and stopped bringing seven cups, only six now. I don't drink coffee. It's too bitter, so I stick with a soda in the morning. It's weird, yes, I know, but I like it much more than coffee.

Last stop: Dr. Spencer Reid's desk. DON'T WANT TO. Here's why: Lately, he'd been avoiding me. I had no clue why. So I asked. BIG mistake. I got my head bit off, for what reason I have no idea, about how he had too much to deal with right now, blah blah blah. Whatever. I've only been here three months. What could I have done wrong? Beats me.

I stalk over to his desk, set down his coffee, and bee-line to Hotch's office to drop off the new case files. Another case. Great. I sigh as I walk into the room with the giant round table, the giant flat screen T.V., and the giant memory. Believe it or not (I don't think even I do) I grew up here. At the BAU. In this room.

Name: Shay Noel Gideon; Age: 19; Father: Jason Gideon. Interesting, isn't it? When Hotch, Emily, Rossi, Garcia, Morgan, Spencer, and JJ weren't even here, I was. Long before they stepped foot into this building, this department, this room, I played in here with my toys while Daddy read and read and read. Every day. All day. When I was just a little kid I payed no attention; I thought it was a book or something. Well, lots of books. As I got older, I got curious. Curiouser and curiouser, as they say (Reid would be proud). One day, curiousity killed the cat. Well, maybe not the cat, but the cat discovered another who had been killed. Murdered. Tortured. Mutilated. Dismemebered. You name it, some psychotic person had murdered a child, my age, in their own home. Gave me nightmares until I told my dad about it and he told me the story of how they caught the demented man. After that, I aspired to be just like my dad. Catch all the criminals.

I looked up from my Mountain Dew to see JJ organizing her own files. I haven't been here long, but I've already realized how vital JJ is to the team. She smiles at me, takes her coffee, and heads out the door, passing Spencer on his way out. Wonderful, just what I need to brighten up my morning. I review the papers, but don't really pay attention to them. I watch Spencer out of the corner of my eye. He wanders over to the windows and puts the blinds down - standard procedure before we have a meeting, I have come to learn. I see him finish the last one as he disappears from my view. I snap my head back to the case files in front of me and stare at one word: "the". What a great word I picked.

The lock clicked. I look up from the papers fully, with good reason this time. All I see is Spencer's back. I burn holes staring at his auburn-tinted sweater. There's hair all over the back. Dog hair. 'Didn't know he had a dog... Wait. FOCUS.' I shake my head to gather my thoughts. 'What the heck is he doing?' "Spe- Uh, Reid?" I don't actually call him Spencer, only in my mind. I would get weird looks, suspicion. Only JJ has the privilege of calling him something other than Reid, why, I don't know.

"We kind of need to talk." He says after a long silence.

"Oh, really? What an idea. Talking." I scoff when I say this.

"About your internship..." He starts. He stops.

"Woah, woah, wait. You want to talk about my internship?" I look at him in disbelief. I thought he was going to actually talk about our "argument" two weeks ago! What is this?

"Uh, yes. What were you expe-" He's interrupted again. But this time by the rattling of the door handle. Smooth one, genius (no pun intended).

I heave myself out of the plush leather chair and slink towards the door to unlock it. "We'll 'talk' later." I insert air quotes around talk (I figure it'll never happen). I slide the lock and swing open the door. Emily comes in first.

"Why... was the door locked?" She gives me a wary look as she sets down her coffee in her usual spot.

"Sorry. Force of habit. Live alone in an apartment; always lock every door." I shrug nonchalantly as part of my act. Heh. Pretty good actor, huh? I can lie to proffessional profilers. I look at Spencer with my you-owe-me-one face. He avoids my gaze, pretending to study the words in front of him. 'I'm not stupid! I know that you can read all of that in less than 10 seconds.'

Emily nods as everyone else takes a spot at the round table. I like to think that all the agents are the Knights of the Round Table. Ready to go out and fight with valor and courage. But, I have my wild imagination. Make connections in the strangest ways.

JJ speaks: "Third case this week, I know, guys." She says as she observes all the tired faces. Frazzled hair (save for Morgan), dark circles, coffee cups in hand (no decaf present). "But this one's the last as far as I know." A few sighs are let out, but the room is silent otherwise. "Nancy Diaz, Georgia Peterson, and Lacey Swift. All live in Estacada, Oregon; middle to upper class; stabbed repeatedly." JJ clicks the remote several times as the pictures of the women and a map appear on the screen.

"What makes this different? Why were we called out on this one? Seems like a typical serial murder. Local police should be able to handle it." Spencer questions after he takes a few seconds (literally) to read the entire case file. 'Knew it.' Pictures of the women's dead bodies appear suddenly on the screen. They are all sitting straight up, eyes wide open.

"Rigor?" Morgan offers. That's the only reason I can come up with. How else do you find a dead body like this?

"That's what everybody thought." Hotch took over. "But after the autopsy, the coroner discovered that the bodies had already been through rigor mortis. The bodies were positioned like this after death." He motioned to the T.V.

"So how long does the unsub keep his victims after death for this to happen?" Emily sips her coffee as she asks. She looks the least tired of everyone. I need to find out what kind of concealer she's using to cover up the dark circles. Mental sticky-note.

"Rigor mortis usually sets in three hours after time of death, reaches its maximum at twelve hours, and then slowly declines from then until approximately 72 hours after death. Then the body begins to decompose from there." Spencer offers his input of random information so that everything fits together in one's mind. As always.

"Reid's right. The unsub keeps them for at least twelve hours after he's killed them." Hotch makes Reid's words understandable for all of us normal people. "We leave in five." He collects all the papers and heads out the door, everyone trailing behind. I stay behind and turn off the television and pick up any abandoned coffee cups. Usually someone would complain about what I'm doing as an intern. About how they're not really helping in the investigation. But I'm okay with it. I offer to do it. It keeps my mind off of... well, everything.

Everyone chats as we board the plane. I mean jet. Whatever. I'm silent; I don't have anything to say to anyone (except Reid). I take my seat on the couch, not stretching out like I usually would. Even though I'm tired, I decide to sit up so I can focus. It probably still won't work. Morgan starts the breifing without announcement. "He bounds and gags these victims. He obviously doesn't think he can handle them on his own without restraints." The manilla folder claps as it lands on the table in front of him.

"He's probably small, weak. Maybe around 5' 5". Below average height." Hotch adds.

"Were there any signs of rape?" Emily asks, still studying the rest of the papers, again sipping her coffee.

"Yes. They also found drugs in all the girls' systems. Used for sedation." JJ offers.

"So all he wants to do is dominate. Typical." Emily earns a smile from JJ and I. I couldn't help it; it was true.

"Anyway," Hotch with his stern face again speaks, "the thing is... He makes their children watch." Everyone exchanges glances with downcast eyes. We all hate cases like this. "All of these women are either single or married, but have at least two children."

"Son of a-" Morgan starts, but trails off. Is it me, or is he glancing at me a lot? What? Did I do something to offend him, too?

"We'll be there in about an hour. I know everyone didn't get sleep last night." JJ half-smiles as she implicates we all needed sleep. She wanders back towards our "kitchen" to make more coffee. The smell fills the cabin, and I lean my head back and close my eyes, intoxicated. I take a deep breathe. Never said coffee smelled bad. I stay like this until I notice someone sit beside me. I peek out of my right eye. It's Morgan. I sigh, open my eyes, and sit up straight, facing him. "Yes?"

"What's up, kid?" He smiles. I narrow my eyes. He only calls Spencer "kid".

"Us." I'm such a smart-aleck.

"Funny." He chuckles. "But seriously, are you okay?" His eyebrow arches.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Why would-" SHOOT. Rewind. I only told Hotch that I was Gideon's daughter. To everyone else on the team I'm just Shay Noel. If I would have told them, they would've thought that I got into this internship just because I'm his daughter. I didn't lie about having a brother, but the rest of my life to them is a lie. "Um... Oh. Yeah. I'm okay." I try to sound a little sad. This is how I keep up appearances. Acting skillz.

"Alright, then. Try to get some sleep." Morgan pats my shoulder before going back to his chair and putting on his headphones. I take his advice and lie down on the couch. I lay face up, hands crossed behind my head. My eyes seem to shut on their own - I'm beyond tired. I turn on my side to get more comfortable. I feel something lightly flutter over me, it's soft and warm. A blanket. I don't open my eyes to see who it is, but as they walk past me I smell something that replaces the aroma of the coffee. Okay, so either this person seriously eats a lot of candy, or I'm just really weird. It's sweet, like when you walk into a donut shop, but strong and slightly bitter, like dark chocolate. I let this scent wrap around me before it disappears. I smile before I'm forced to fall asleep into a nightmare.

Same setting. Same dark road. Same silence. Same lonliness. Same eyes. Same monsters that want to devour me. Closer, they're getting closer. Too close. My back hits a tree. Dead end. Literally. The monsters are coming. Their bright yellow eyes full of lust for blood. They get nearer, nearer, nearer...

"Hey, wake up!" I'm rudely welcomed back to reality by a smack in the head. Morgan.

"Sorry," I sit up slowly, rubbing the back of my head, glaring daggers at the tall, muscular man that is laughing at me. "Are we there?" I throw the blanket off of me. It smells like the person who gave it to me. I grab it again and pull it to my chest, burying my face in it. It's oddly comforting.

"We will be in about 20 minutes." JJ sits beside me, eyeing the blanket I was holding.

I pull it closer. "Okay..." I'm a little annoyed that I lost 20 minutes of sleep, but very thankful that my nightmare didn't continue. I've never seen how it ends, and I don't think I would like to.

~Reid's POV~

Shay holds the brown and red plaid blanket to her chest, resting her head on her knees. She gently rubs her emerald eyes. Locks of blonde and brown fall on her shoulders and seem to melt in with the blanket. "When we arrive, I need Reid and Shay to stay behind at the police station," I realize Hotch is speaking and focus on him. He looks at me. "We need to get started right away on a geographical profile, but first we have to figure out where the victims live." Everyone nods. "I'll get Garcia on the phone. Shay, talk to her and write everything down."

"'Kay." She reluctantly let the blanket fall from her fingers and trots over to Hotch and holds the phone in her small hands, short fingernails painted with a dark purple. "Wassup, my homie?" She answers.

"Nothin' much, sugar pie." I can hear Garcia on the other end. They always have unusual nick names for eachother. I think it makes Morgan jealous. "What'cha need?" I hear Shay's fingers tap away on the table in front of her. This is one of her everyday habits.

"I need addresses and neighborhood division names for Nancy Diaz, Georgia Peterson, and Lacey Swift. Please and thank you." She runs her hand through her hair, and it somehow falls back into place perfectly. A piece of paper disappears from my notebook in front of me, and there is a hand in the pocket of my shirt. I jump slightly. Shay doens't look up from her paper, just clicks the pen and begins writing down addresses. Her writing is neat, I notice.

She sees me staring at the paper and looks at me. I tear myself away from my thoughts and offer a mousy apology. She rolls her eyes and gets up from her seat to give the paper to Hotch. I sigh and take my seat before the table, staring out the window at all the clouds.

"Something wrong?" Morgan takes his place in front of me.

'I don't know. Is something wrong? Am I okay?' Before I can answer, I hear my name.

"Reid, catch!" I see the pen leave Shay's hand and hurtle towards me. I fumble with my hands, attempting to catch it. It ends up in my lap.

Morgan laughs. "I don't think we'll ever get used to her."

I let a puff of air, exasperated. "Yeah..." I concentrate on getting the pen straight in my pocket.

"So, you okay, kid?" Morgan shifts in his chair, his chin in his hand.

"Did you know two-thirds of people say that they fall in love with someone they've known for some time as compared to someone that they just met?" I blurted out.

Morgan laughs. Loudly. "What does love have to do with this?" He punches my arm jokingly.

"Well, you are talking to me. What should it be about?" I smile. I think.

He laughs again. "Okay, fine, you got me there." Our conversation would have continued, but the jet landed and everyone was filing out. I jump up and grab my bag, swiftly exiting the cabin behind everyone.

~Shay's POV~

As Hotch had ordered, Spencer and I are stuck in the police station, awaiting any commands. Emily and Morgan are going to the crime scenes, Hotch and Rossi are at the victim's homes, and JJ is setting up a press conference. The room isn't silent; the sound of ringing phones, people constantly getting up and down, and men talking about different things fills the void air. But it is painfully awkward. A phone call saves me.

Spencer's phone buzzes on the table three times before he gets to it. He picks up. "Yeah?" I can't hear anything, and I can't tell who it is. He pretty much speaks the same way to everyone. "Hotch wants us to talk to the children of the victims." Spencer has an almost sick look on his face. He doesn't look at me as he speaks. Jerk.

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. I walk out of the room reserved for the BAU and over to the families. They sigh in relief when I walk over. "Have you found out anything yet?" One of the fathers holds his five year old daughter in his arms. He looks up at me. Before I answer, he continues, "Aren't you a little young to be working in the FBI? How old are you?" He scans me up and down. My red t-shirt with a rose on it, black basketball shorts, red converse with black laces and all. What can I say? I dressed comfortably for a jet ride.

"Um, I'm 19, sir. I'm an intern." I try to smile at him, but I find this hard.

He looks warily at me. He's suspicious. All of the other parents give me the same look. I try to ignore it. "Have you made any progress?" He bounces the little girl on his knee.

"Actually, Mr. Peterson," I'm not a people person. I start to stutter.

"I don't want an actually. My son and daughter don't have a mother now! The police can't do anything, and now the FBI can't?" He set his little girl down and stood to his feet with anger.

"Um, I'm sorry, sir, but-" I try to be polite. If I didn't work for the FBI, and people hadn't been murdered, I would blow up in his face.

"Other agents are investigating the crime scenes and your home for anything that can help us." Spencer appears beside me, slightly in front. My hero. Yeah right. But, I am thankful. Mr. Peterson sits down, once again propping his daughter on his knee. "We have something else that could help us, but we do need permission from you first." Spencer motioned towards the little girl. If I remember right, her name is Hannah. Mr. Peterson gives an almost horrified look.

"You want her to re-live this?"

"Well, not exactly, but yes. It may help us find the person who did this." Spencer sticks his hands in his front pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. He does that when he's nervous. "If you're not sure... You can ask your daughter yourself."

Mr. Peterson looks from his daughter to us. From us to his daughter. Then he sighs. "Okay." He places Hannah in front of him, facing him. "Hannah, can you go talk to these people?"

Hannah looks at us, especially me. She whispers to her dad: "I only want to talk to that lady." as she points to me. It makes me feel kind of good. I smile.

"I'm Shay. You're Hannah, right?" She nods, her pigtails bouncing. "Do you like puzzles?" She nods again. Wow. A kid that likes puzzles. That's different. "Well there's a puzzle in that room over there that's one of my favorites, but it's really hard. Can you help me with it?" I bend down and hold out my hand. Her face brightens, and she grabs my hand and almost runs to the conference room. I trot off beside her, closing the door behind me.

I get her started on the right side of the puzzle, then go peek out the window behind the blinds. Spencer is awkwardly trying to talk to a little boy. Mr. Diaz's son I think. I laugh slightly, then catch myself. I'm supposed to be mad at him. Darn it.

"Shay," Hannah calls me. "Who was that man that was with you?" She holds a puzzle piece of half of a heart in her hands. Oh, the innocence of children.

"His name is Spencer Reid. He's a doctor." I sit on the floor next to her, picking up the other half of the heart, and hand it to her to piece together.

She looks at me with a confused face. "Why isn't he in the hozpidal?" Ha. Kids are so cute.

"He's a different kind of doctor." I don't think she gets it, but she nods anyway and continues on the puzzle. This is fun, but I have to ask her. "Hannah..." She looks at me with big blue eyes and her blonde hair falls in her face. "The last time you saw your mommy, did you see the man that hurt her?" Hannah stops handling the jigsaw piece in her hand and looks at her lap. She nods. "Can you remember what he looks like?"

She looks at me again with watery eyes. "Every time I close my eyes," she hiccups, "I see him." My heart starts to hurt. I don't want her to have to think about this. I don't want to make her re-live everything. "He's scary..." She whispers as a tear runs down her flawless white skin.

"I know... I know he's scary." I rub her back gently. "But can you tell me why he was scary?"

She doesn't say anything; just nods and wipes her eyes with her long sleeves. "He... He had on a mask."

"What kind of mask? Was it black?" I lean towards her.

This time she shakes her head, and her pigtails whip around. "No. You could see his face, but... It was..." She furrowed her brow, looking for the right word.

"Different?" She looked at me and nodded vigorously. "Thanks Hannah." I smiled at her. "You've helped a lot. You can finish the puzzle if you want to. I'm going to go talk to Dr. Spencer." Hannah smiled and picked up the piece she has been eyeing for a while and stuck it in it's place. It completed the heart.

I walk over to Spencer, who is sitting at an empty desk alone. He doesn't look exactly happy. "So did the kid tell you anything?" He twirls his fingers and doesn't answer. Doesn't look at me. Well there's something new. NOT. "Well Hannah told me that the unsub was 'scary'. He wears a mask." Spencer finally looked at me.

"Like a ski mask?" He asked, puzzled.

"Nope. She said it was clear; she could see his face through it, but it was deformed." I sat on the desk, swinging my legs back and forth.

"The unsub probably has a deformity of some kind, like a burn or scar. He doesn't want anyone to see it, so he makes his whole faces look deformed." He re-stated what was already going through my mind.

Morgan, Prentiss, Hotch, and Rossi come in the station and over to the desk where Spencer and I are. "You guys get anything?" Rossi asks, taking a seat across from us.

"Yeah, my new friend Hannah," I gesture to the conference room. "told me that our unsub wears a clear mask that makes his face look different, almost disfigured." I tousled my hair a little. It has to look pretty bad.

"So he has a deformity that he wants to hide." Morgan spoke up.

"Like a scar or burn." Emily added.

I nodded. Hotch presses a button on the reciever, alerting Garcia. "Garcia, I need single white males that live in the vicinity of 40 miles of Portland. He'll have some sort of medical history; he has some sort of scar or burn on his face."

"Aye, aye, captain." I can imagine Garcia saluting as she begins to click away on her keyboard.

"All we can do is wait." Rossi announces before leaving once again to update the families.

I look at JJ. She just shrugs.

I stand as Vince Clarkson is pulled through the station, all eyes on him. Everyone watches. The insane man who killed three woman, attempted at a fourth. Of course I wasn't there when they apprehended him, but that doesn't matter. My child social skills were pretty awesome, if I must say.

Hannah runs up to me and hugs my legs after Vince disappears behind a door. I ruffle her hair and grin. She looks up at me, still hugging me, and smiles ear to ear. "Told you." I held up my hands in a gesture that said "I knew it." She giggled like the little five-year-old girl she was and squeezed my legs one more time before letting go.

Just then, Morgan walked in, greeting Hannah. "So you're Hannah." They both smiled. "I hear that you helped us a lot. We couldn't have done it without you, you know." She gave him a high-five. Her hand is about twenty times smaller than his. Everyone else came in shortly. Hannah's dad swooped her up and she giggled again. "Hi Spencer!" She grinned widely while waving at Spencer as he walked in. He looked surprised, but waved slightly with a ghost of a smile.

Hannah's dad looked at her with a questioning face. "Who's that, sweetie?"

"That's Miss Shay's boyfriend!" She exclaimed.

Everyone exploded into laughter. I even saw Hotch laughing. But it wasn't funny! "Hannah! I never told you that he was my boyfriend!" I could feel my face turning red. I stole a glance at Spencer. I could see Morgan taunting him, but he just kept writing. Obviously embarrassed.

Hannah tilted her head to the side. "But you guys acted like it." My face flushed. 'Do we really act like a couple? Yeah, maybe a married old couple that bickers all the time.'

"It's okay, Shay. We don't believe her." JJ winked at me. I just glared.

I could hear Morgan across the room. "Come on, kid, why didn't you just tell us?" He teased, patting Spencer's back. Spencer swatted his hand away.

Hannah laughed with everyone else. I hope she always stays this happy.

Bad guy caught. Back on the jet. Mission accomplished. When we boarded, the candy-and-donut-smelling blanket was still there, in a heap where I left it. I dashed towards it, grabbed it, and plopped down into one of the chairs that has another, identical one beside it, missing an armrest.

Emily took the seats behind me, stretching out, with JJ across from her. Hotch took a single seat, spreading out paperwork on his desk. Rossi sat across from him. Morgan took over the couch with a pillow and his own throw blanket. Only seat left: beside me. My luck sucks. "Ughh," I fell against the back of the seat, studying the ceiling.

"Can I have my blanket back?" I hear his quiet voice as he sat beside me. I look beside me and am met with dark brown eyes. The smell of donuts and dark chocolate once again surrounds me. 'It was him...' Why did it have to be him?

I pulled the blanket towards me in a protective manner. "Then why'd you give it to me in the first place?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, you were sleeping and didn't have a blanket, so I, I figured-" He talked extremely fast, actually trying to explain why I had the blanket I was holding now. I laughed. He stopped talking, confused.

"Rhetorical question, Dr. Reid." I smirked at him as his face relaxed, almost into a smile.

"Did you know the definition-"

"Don't care." I threw the blanket on top of his head, laughing to myself. He pulled it off, his hair a disheveled mess. He blew a clump of distraught hair out of his face. I started to giggle like Hannah had. When I stopped laughing, there was silence. Complete and utter silence. I looked down at my hands in my lap. "What did I do wrong?" I peeked up to see his reaction.

His face was blank, but he stared at me. "You didn't do anything wrong." Spencer looked at his hands, then me, then his hands again.

"What?" I looked at him in disbelief. "Of course-" My voice was loud. "Of course I did." There. Better. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have snapped at me. Obviously there's something wrong. With me." I stared back at him.

"No... I just, it was a bad day, and you were the first person to talk to me." He looked embarrassed again, but for a different reason. "Sorry." He muttered the apology, but I heard it.

"Alright, fine." I smiled before snatching back the sweet-smelling blanket. From then, all I remember is that I didn't have a nightmare for once, but a dream that was sweet.

Next Morning, BAU

I walk in, six coffee cups and a Sprite in hand. Seconds later, there are seven stains on the carpet. Instead of a dead body, there is a picture of Spencer and I sleeping on the jet, my head on his shoulder. THAT WASN'T MY FAULT. I FELL OVER.

"Morgaaaannnn!"