The 2011 Profiler's Choice CM Awards

Window for nominations opened August 28, 2011

on Chit Chat on Author's Corner

I attempting to help advertise the awards and hopefully you would like to join me -

Please copy this blurb and post in your stories and/or profile.

The more people that advertise the awards, the more people who will know about and hopefully participate in them!

All ballots must be returned by October 15, 2011, at 11:59 PM EDT

Warning: Allusions to drug use. Implied slash.

Disclaimer: Not mine. I only love them dearly.

Spoilers through 2x19, Ashes and Dust

Unbeta'd. All errors are mine. Please read and review!

Chapter One

Epiphany

"We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. –Somerset Maugham

After five years, Aaron was still piecing together the puzzle that was SSA Dr. Spencer Reid.

For example, when Randall Garner cited Diana Reid as proof that his daughter was a metaphor, there was no hesitation in Reid's sharp reply.

"My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic who'd forget to eat if she wasn't properly medicated and supervised." Since Reid had never, never mentioned his mother in the presence of the team before, not even during the case with Dr. Bryar, Aaron had to swallow back his own surprise to nod at Morgan, who was looking at him with eyes gone a little wide and wild. He knew. Diana Reid's condition was listed in Reid's personnel file. While Reid might not like to discuss it, there was no way to get into the Bureau, much less the BAU, without full disclosure. And Reid had let go his secret, risking Morgan's ribbing and worse, to save Rebecca. To save all of them.

And when Aaron was beating out the flames licking up Reid's legs and dragging him, staggering, away from the blast radius and the smell that was nothing like a barbecue, Aaron realized something.

Spencer Reid was selfless.

And before that had been the interview with Eric Miller. Reid's reluctance, his nervousness, were apparent, when Gideon sent him in to take the lead. But when Miller had surged up, raging, Reid had ignored Aaron and Elle rushing in. He stood, locked gazes with Miller, and proceeded to deliver a quiet, devastating profile, not even sparing Miller reminders of his childhood sexual abuse. Ignoring Elle even when she started to freak. "He's not finished," Aaron remonstrated. He had watched Reid keep those huge hazel eyes locked with Miller, watched Miller crumple at Reid's final blow: "My one concern, is, Eric, did you or did you not continue the cycle with your own children?"

The interview was terrifying. With anyone else Aaron might have called it cruel. But as Reid had not looked away from Miller's anger, he bore witness to his pain. To his innocence. Well, he had known Reid long enough that this was less of a surprise. But it never been demonstrated so clearly before.

Spencer Reid was brave.

Then there was Georgia. Aaron shuddered. Reid's face contorted where he knelt over Hankle's body, blood matted in his hair and barely able to use his hands after having them cuffed to a chair for more than two days. Apologizing to Hankle. He had been afraid of the answer when he had pulled Reid, faltering, from the ground, when he had asked, "Are you alright?" More afraid when Reid, who kept a careful, safe distance from everyone, had gripped his arm, initiated a hug, and said only, "I knew you'd understand." He had hugged Reid back and quietly panicked.

Spencer Reid was dangerously compassionate.

Soon after, in Houston, he had watched Reid's concentration shatter, watched him shudder away from loud noises and jerk the window closed to block out the implosions of a nearby construction site. Noted the hollow cheeks, the worn spot on Reid's belt that was now two notches tighter. Through it all, Reid had pieced together the data and the profile and given them the insight into their unsub, who was suffering severe PTSD, they had needed to crack the case.

Aaron had spoken to him, slowly, from across the empty room where Reid worked, separated by furniture and space and what none of them wanted to say. "He's reliving the worst moment of his life. He's gotta be terrified."

Reid had stared back, helplessly, hands limp at his sides, and finally, only, "Yeah."

Aaron had not known, but he had hoped:

Spencer Reid was resilient.

Aaron had felt his panic flare up again when Reid vanished on them in New Orleans, and then, white-faced and refusing to meet his eyes, demanded a week of personal leave. He had the time and to spare, and Aaron had no reason, no excuse, to make him stay or beg him not to leave. Reid surprised him again, and then Aaron realized he should have expected nothing less and felt vaguely ashamed of himself.

Because instead of handing in his badge and gun on his first day back from leave, Reid had settled at his desk, pulling close his own files, and the folders Prentiss and Morgan slipped him, and finished them all in three hours. Crowds and loud noises were less of a problem. While there was something haunted in Reid's eyes, something Aaron thought would probably always be there, now, the team finally started to relax.

When they went to San Francisco chasing an unsub with a penchant for burning down houses with the families locked inside, Reid likened the unsub to an addict. "Fire's his drug. Each time an addict needs a fix, they need more of the drug to get off. It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help."

Aaron looked at him sharply, noting the key word, almost.

Reid's slender hands had still been clumsy with the tremors from the last of his withdrawal. He had let J.J. tease him, with no suspicious sad glare, no explosion of temper. Only a gentle smile.

And in recognizing the towering strength it had taken the man to pull himself back together without help, the integrity to do so when there were easier paths that might have meant less pain and fewer nightmares, Aaron had pulled more pieces of the puzzle together and come to the most unsettling of his realizations.

Spencer Reid was beautiful.

Aaron lay entwined in Haley's arms, sharing his thoughts about work and Reid because the last case had ripped him down, Haley had demanded he come home and not go out, go decompress, with the team, and his compartmentalization was shaky. The room was dark with twilight.

And when the last observation left his lips, he lay, stunned, as Haley's open palm cracked against his cheek. Confused when she stormed out, snatching up her underwear, and slammed the bedroom door.

What?

Oh.

Oh.