Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds. But I do own this story.

Warning: Character death - this is a very dark fic.

Author's Note: This is a late Christmas present for a friend. I hope she likes it and I hope you do too.

Angels

Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword.

Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading Gaol

Jason Gideon didn't believe in love at first sight: lust, certainly, but not love. You need to know somebody to truly love them. Love is something that develops over time; over years sometimes. It is when you catch your breath at the sight of your loved one; when a smile or a laugh fills your soul with joy; when you would do anything for them; when the thought of losing them is intolerable.

He didn't know when he had first fallen in love with Spencer Reid. It was a feeling that had built up as long as they had known each other. Gideon had recruited the young genius from college, impressed by his brilliance and intrigued by his potential. The gawky, nervous young man had blossomed under Gideon's tutelage and if he was truly honest, Gideon felt a certain pride in the way that Reid looked up to him. It was flattering to be thought of as such an inspiration. He shone in the light of Reid's devotion, his admiration and his need.

Gideon wasn't sure his feelings for Reid were reciprocated. Certainly, he had never told the young man how he felt. Look, but don't touch seemed like an appropriate mantra. He was too old, too much of a father figure for this kind of relationship. And there was also the trace of insecurity – the fear of Reid rejecting him was too strong. Whenever Gideon was tempted to declare himself, a vision came to him of Reid backing away, a look of betrayal and revulsion on his face. It was enough to keep him in check.

So, Gideon kept his love to himself. He was confident that he hid it well enough from the rest of the team. Except maybe from Hotch – he could hide very little from him. They had known - really known - each other for too long. But if Hotch suspected something, he never mentioned it. Hotch was nothing if not discrete; he had enough secrets of his own.

---------------------------------

Gideon stood in the doorway of his office, watching the rest of the BAU chatting in the bullpen. Morgan and JJ were joking with Garcia. Prentiss was smiling, but still on the sidelines. Reid was talking very seriously to Hotch. Then as Hotch walked away, Gideon watched Reid. The young man nodded and smiled as Morgan called to him. But he didn't smile with his eyes. It was a tight, forced smile – the smile of somebody who knew that he was supposed to be happy, but who had nothing to be happy about.

Gideon had seen that smile on Reid's face before. Only a few times since he had first known him, but it always meant there was something happening within. There had been periods of time when Reid had become distant, preoccupied. He had been outwardly his normal self – full of facts, ready to crack codes and decipher puzzles. However, during these periods, he was different inside. It was possibly only noticeable to those who knew him well, those who had studied him. But he was definitely different, as though he had disappeared inside himself: as though his soul had another place to be. But after a while, Spencer Reid had returned to them, the same as before and so Gideon let it go. After all, the young man should surely be allowed a vacation once in a while – albeit an internal one.

Shaking his head, Gideon returned to his desk. Reid had been "absent" before and he would be back. Gideon chuckled to himself – if he didn't spend so much time watching Reid, storing up memories for later, then he wouldn't even know. It was his own fault for wanting as strong a picture as possible for his late night reveries. He really needed another interest. Maybe he should have a hobby – something that didn't involve serial killers or beautiful young men. Perhaps fishing had a lot to recommend it.

Gideon sat down and opened the files he had received that morning. He had already read through them but he needed to look at them properly. The Las Vegas Police Department had asked him for a consultation and he needed to be quite sure of the details before he provided a profile. Earlier, he had wanted to discuss it with Reid, being as it was his hometown, but he wasn't too sure now. He would see what he could come up with first.

There had been three sets of murders, with at least a year separating each set. The murders had involved parents and children. The parents had been killed by having their necks broken. The bodies had been left where they lay, discarded and ignored. The children, however, had been killed very differently. Each child had been smothered and then dressed in white and laid very carefully and wrapped in a blanket. The bodies had been placed in flowerbeds – beds full of white flowers. A card had been left with each one with a single word written in black ink – Angel. The crime scene photographs looked like the children were floating in clouds.

From the two different methods and the treatment of the bodies, it had been assumed that there were two different killers. That was certainly the view of the detective who had contacted Gideon. However, Gideon wasn't so sure. There were certainly two different methods, but maybe there were two different reasons for killing.

He picked up the notes for the most recent murder. It had occurred three months ago and like the others, there was no forensic evidence at all. The killer seemed likely to have had previous convictions for lesser offences, as they obviously knew a great deal about law enforcement procedures. The case file indicated that the parents had been on the social services register for suspected child abuse. The child had been removed from the parents aged a few months, due to suspected neglect. However, they had sued for custody and the child had been returned to them. There were suspicions of further abuse, but no action had been taken. Then both parents had been found murdered, and the child, a little boy aged four had been found smothered.

In each case, the parents had been the first suspects – a possible murder/suicide, but the time of death had quickly ruled that out. The parents had died first, with the children being killed afterwards. Gideon picked up the photograph focusing on the card left with child's body. The word Angel was written in a very elaborate way. This unsub had obviously spent a lot of time positioning the body of the child. The children had all looked peaceful, beatific even, indicating that the unsub felt a great deal for them. And also, that he had taken care to ensure that they died painlessly.

Gideon turned to the crime scene photograph of the little boy, Brian. The blanket he had been wrapped in had been placed over his face. "Remorse," thought Gideon, "The unsub covers the children's faces because he regrets having killed them. Yet he still does it. Maybe he feels that he has to. An unsavoury task, but a necessary one."

He returned to the child neglect details and then looked at the notes for the other two sets of killings. There were no details of child abuse there, but possibly because the local police had not known to look for them. He decided to urge Detective Martin to look at child neglect in connection with the first two murders also and turned to his computer to start writing the profile. Then he paused. He could ask Garcia to check now.

Gideon waited a moment, thinking. This was not a BAU case. He had been asked for a profile, not a solution, and the local PD could take real umbrage at him poking his nose in. There was no suggestion that another murder was imminent – there had been at least a year between each killing. But now that he knew there could be a connection – well, he couldn't just let that one go. With a sigh, he headed for Garcia's office.

He gave her the details and left her to "work her magic" as she put it. On the way back through the bullpen, he paused at Reid's desk. He often found himself doing that.

"How are you?" Gideon asked the young man.

Reid looked up. His expression was blank at first, but then he smiled. The same smile he had given Morgan before. "I'm good," he said. "A little tired, but who isn't?"

Gideon nodded warmly at him. "Who isn't indeed," he said. He placed a hand lightly on Reid's shoulder. "Maybe you should call it a day when you've finished that one."

Reid nodded. "Maybe I will," he replied.

Gideon took a moment to look into the soft brown eyes. They seemed very deep, the dark centres almost drawing him in. Gideon wondered what secrets Reid was hiding. Then he forced himself to look away - it wasn't fair to profile him like this. He headed back to his office. He was tired too. He would go home and have a nice hot bath. Then he would see what Garcia had come up with tomorrow and write his profile after that.

--------------------------------------

The next day, Gideon sat in his office, concentrating on writing up his profile. He felt confident of his conclusions and had no need to discuss the issue with Reid. This disappointed him slightly – he loved to talk to the young man and watch his amazing mind at work – but Reid was busy enough right now.

Garcia had collared him when Gideon had arrived for work and excitedly told him that both of the other cases had child neglect issues. It had taken some digging, throughh school and hospital records, but there were definitely concerns about both of the other murdered children. Gideon pondered – perhaps the unsub thought he was saving them. And punishing bad parents - that would certainly fit with the careless fashion in which the adult bodies had been left.

Gideon grabbed a coffee and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, watching the other agents. Reid was busy, as usual, head bent over his desk. Gideon smiled to himself. The boy worked too hard. Maybe soon, when he was back to himself again, Gideon could take him out to dinner. They had done this on occasion before and had always had an enjoyable evening.

Gideon was a good cook and it would have made sense to have invited him over for a meal the evening, but Spencer Reid in his own home for the evening was far too much of a temptation. Better to eat in a restaurant, when not even a few glasses of wine would encourage Gideon to kiss him. Just one kiss would be enough to allow all the feelings to come tumbling out and Gideon felt convinced that neither of them would be able to deal with that. So a casual dinner in a very public place would be his reward.

He had just walked back into his office, when JJ popped her head around the door.

"It's Morgan's birthday next week," she said with a bright smile, "I have his card for you to sign."

"Of course," said Gideon, taking the proffered card from her. JJ was so thoughtful like this – she kept a note of everyone's birthday and made sure that a card was sent, signed by the whole team. Somebody really should do the same for her.

Gideon sat down at his desk and reached for a pen. He would read what the others had written first, to set the tone. He opened up the card and saw that Prentiss, JJ, Garcia and Reid had already signed it. Prentiss had written a perfunctory Happy Birthday whereas JJ and Garcia had written longer messages, full of jokes he didn't understand.

Then he looked at Reid's contribution. He had written Happy Birthday, Derek. Hope your birthday angel brings you what your heart desires. Best wishes, Spencer Reid. It was a standard, if somewhat formal, greeting to a colleague. But what caught Gideon's eye was the handwriting.

It was beautifully written with a fountain pen. Reid usually made notes with a pencil and his handwriting could be difficult to decipher sometimes. This writing bore a resemblance to Reid's usual hand but much more care had been taken; a great deal of care, in fact. He had seen that careful script somewhere before.

For a couple of minutes, Gideon stared at the card, unable to accept what his mind was telling him. Then he heard JJ clear her throat.

"Er, I'll give it to you in a moment," he said and ushered her out of his office. Then he closed the door firmly and locked it.

Taking a deep breath, Gideon opened the file on his desk and placed the photograph from the crime scene next to the card. He looked from the note left by the body to the message from Reid. The handwriting matched. He looked at the word angel on both the card and the note. They were almost identical. He suddenly felt very, very cold.

Gideon spent the next couple of hours in his office. He made a surreptitious copy of the birthday card and returned it to JJ, having scrawled his name in it and nothing else.

He wanted the handwriting to be a coincidence. But Gideon didn't believe in coincidences. He stared at the two words for a very long time. He would put money on them being written by the same hand.

Reid could have written the cards unknowingly for a killer. Or he could have written them knowingly. Gideon was not going to think about the other possibility. He got up and pushed open a gap in his blind. Stooping slightly, he looked over to Reid, who was typing diligently. Now and again, the young man paused and pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. It was a gesture Gideon had seen a thousand times and it had never lost its power to catch at his heart.

Sighing, he turned away, rubbing unconsciously at his chin. The murders had taken place in and around Las Vegas – therefore the killer needed to have been there at the time. If Reid was connected, Gideon needed to know when he had last been there. But how could he check personnel records showing Reid's whereabouts without arousing suspicion? Gideon thought for a moment, and then headed to see Garcia again.

"Whatcha got for me, hon?" she asked, barely looking up from her screen.

"I'm doing psych evaluations," lied Gideon. "I need to check when Morgan and Reid have last visited their families over the past three years."

Garcia turned round and frowned at him. "So if they haven't been home enough, you get worried about them?"

Gideon gave her a faint smile. "Something like that."

Garcia shrugged. "I'll holler when I get it," she said.

"Just come and see me," he replied, "They aren't supposed to know."

He returned to his office and waited. Soon Garcia came and handed him the records he needed. He locked the door behind her, took a deep breath and started to compare the dates with the files.