“We have to do something.” Hotch said, quietly. He wasn’t sneaking, but he still felt like he had something to hide.
“Like what?” Rossi absentmindedly replied.
“Do you even care?”
“Nope, not really,”
“You don’t think there’s a problem?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not? It’s an obsession.”
“So?”
“An unhealthy obsession,”
“No such thing,”
“Oh, come on!”
Rossi sighed.
“Look, if you can get the rest of the team to agree that this is an issue, I’ll consider it.”
“Fine,”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s 3:00. Reba’s on.”
Hotch rolled his eyes and left the office.

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

“Hey, guys,” Hotch said, after checking to see if he was there, “Can I talk to you about something?”
Everyone gave various grunts of agreement and gathered around him.
“Have any of you noticed anything strange? With Reid?”
There was a moment of silent reflection.
“Not really.” JJ finally said.
“Seriously? I’m the only one who thinks he’s been acting weird?”
“What, you think he’s back on drugs?” Prentiss demanded, as she always did when she spoke.
“No, nothing like that…”
“Then what?”
“He’s been making comments, and I’m not sure what it means…”
“Is this about him wanting to have sex everything in sight?” Morgan asked.
Hotch stopped suddenly.
“So I’m not the only one who’s observed this?”
“Uh, no, dumbass,”
“Then why haven’t we done anything?”
“Because it’s hilarious?”
“You don’t find it disturbing?”
“Well, yeah, but in a hilarious way.”
“You find disturbing things funny?”
“Yes,”
“That’s…disturbing,”
Everyone in the room giggled. Hotch gave a long, exasperated sigh.

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

“Colorado. What the hell kind of serial killer lives in Colorado?” Morgan said.
“Ted Bundy killed four people in Colorado.” Reid chimed.
“He didn’t live there, he was just passing through. Besides, that was in Vail. Vail doesn’t count as a part of Colorado, it’s too chic.”
“True. Ted Bundy was hot. I’d hit that.” Reid said.
Hotch sighed, as subtly as he could.
“So far, he’s killed three people,” JJ said, “Only thing in common is they’re all male alternative high school students.”
“Great,” Morgan whined, “Not only are we in fucking Colorado, but we have to deal with teenagers. Goddamn.”
“Think of them as fresh meat.” Reid said.
“…oddly, that helps.”
“I try.”
“What’s the MO?” Hotch asked, in an attempt to get everyone back on track.
“Well,” JJ said, “It’s kind of weird.”
Yes, because we are so unfamiliar with weird. Hotch thought.
“Staples,”
Silence.
“We need to buy office supplies?” Prentiss asked, with her usual tone of hurried seriousness.
“No, the MO is staples. He stapled into their arteries, specifically the carotid.”
“Huh. I never would have thought of that.” said Morgan.
“It’s quite genius, actually,” Rossi said, flipping through the TV guide. Hotch wondered why they had a TV guide at the FBI headquarters.
“Is that Wallace Langham on the cover?” Reid asked.
“I think so.”
“He’s hot. I’d hit that.”
“Anyway!” Hotch said, as loudly as he could without yelling, “When are we leaving?”
“We should probably go now, actually.” JJ said, checking her watch.
“Okay. Come on, everyone, into the van.”
“I call shotgun!” Reid said.
“You got shotgun last time!” Morgan responded.
“Nu-uh!”
“Ya-huh!”
“You’ll have to beat me to it!” Reid yelled as he took off.
“No fair! Rossi, tell him it’s my turn!”
“Stop fighting or we’re not getting McDonald’s on the way!”
Morgan grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.
Hotch sighed.

Hotch sometimes got in these moods where he was determined to write a book and, because of this, started writing it in his head. This was one of those times.
The team was at a softball field, in the dark recesses, where the crime scene was. Or whatever the equivalent of dark recesses was in a field in fucking Fort Collins.
The singing screechs of 11 and 12 year old girls pierced the still summer air, much like howler monkeys in a primate house.
“Everyone, this is Detective Lynn,” JJ said, motioning toward a man whom Hotch at first mistook for Danny DeVito, causing a few moments of horror and confusion.
“This is the team.” JJ continued, motioning again.
“Thank y’all for coming out here,” Danny said, “I know you probably didn’t want to go to Colorado…”
Hotch elbowed Morgan in the ribs before he could say anything.
“…but thanks for coming anyway.”
Hotch faintly heard Reid giggle, “Hehe, coming.”
“What’ve you got so far?” Rossi asked.
“Nothing, really; just a body and an MO.”
“We’ve worked with less.”
“Good,” Danny said, “We should probably go find the coroner.”
“What do you mean, find?” Hotch asked, “You don’t know where he is?”
“Well, sometimes he gets high and just kind of wanders off. He never gets too far, we can probably set up some barriers around the area. No biggie.”
“And this is acceptable to you?”
“What do you expect? He’s from Boulder.” Danny said, with a shudder.
Hotch sighed.

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

Eventually, they found the coroner and informed him that he was the coroner and brought him back to lab.
“The dead guy’s hot. I’d hit that.” Reid commented.
“Wait,” The coroner said, looking at Reid, “Has he been here this whole time?”
“Uh, yeah.” said Morgan.
“No way,”
“Yeah,”
“Whoa,” the coroner said with a chuckle.
“Anyway!” Hotch said, “What’s the story on the dead guy?”
“Other than the fact that he’s damn sexy and I’d hit the hell out of that shit?” Reid asked.
Hotch sighed.
“Yes.”
“Uh, well,” the coroner began, “He died ‘cause of a staple.”
The coroner was highly observant.
“And?”
“I dunno. There’s not much else to say.”
“No fingerprints?”
The coroner was staring intently at the wall. Prentiss waved a hand in his face, snapping him back to reality with a twitch.
“Wha’?” the coroner grunted.
“Were there any fingerprints?”
“No,”
“So we’ve got nothing?”
“Pretty much,”
Hotch sighed.
“Thank you for the help. Or, lack thereof.”
The coroner chuckled.
“’Kay,”
Hotch sighed again.

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

Hotch and Reid were driving in the menacing black SUV with tinted windows down a pothole ridden road in a strange neighborhood, with one side of the street, factories, the other, residential homes.
They walked through the glass doors, coming to a halt before the front desk. A woman still living the 80s was engrossed in her writing.
“Excuse me?”
Her head snapped up, startling both Hotch and Reid.
“Yes?” she spat.
“We’re, uh, here to see,” Hotch checked his paper, “Sabrina.”
The secretary nodded and picked up the phone.
“Sabrina? There are some…” The secretary paused for a moment, slowly looking Hotch and Reid up and down, “People.”
The other line quacked something.
“Okay, I’ll send them in.” The secretary said, thrusting her arm forward very quickly in a point. Hotch was surprised she didn’t pull something.
“That way,”
Hotch nodded, mumbling a thank you as he left for the door.
“Hotch. Hotch. Hotch. Hotch.” Reid said, pawing at Hotch’s shoulder.
“What?”
“See that guy over there?” He pointed to a tall, lanky man, standing by the wall, swinging a yardstick in a circle.
“What about him?”
“I’d hit that.”
Hotch shook his head.
They reached the door the secretary had pointed them to. Hotch lightly knocked and pushed it open a little, enough to get his head in.
“Sabrina?”
A woman walked out of the closet in the office. She was carrying two tumbleweeds. Hotch decided to not ask.
“Are you the guys from the FBI?”
“Yeah,” Reid said.
“Okay. Good. I’ll be with you in a moment, I just have to put these in my car.”
Hotch nodded.
Reid was peering out the door, at the yardstick guy.
“Reid, you had better be sitting at this table by the time she gets back.”
“Fine, fine,” Reid took a seat with a huff.
After a few more minutes, Sabrina returned.
“So,” she said, sitting down, “Where shall we start?”
“As you know, one of your students was recently murdered. Can you tell us about him?”
“Zachary? He was a strange kid; addicted to OxyContin; wanted to have sex with everyone and informed them of it.”
“Was he gay?” Reid earnestly asked.
“Not technically out, but yes, he was.”
Reid nodded, trying to stifle a grin. Hotch shook his head.
“Can we talk to some of your students who knew him? His friends?”
“Of course. He was well-liked, you could ask anyone and they could tell you about him.”
“Good. Is class in session right now?”
“Yes. Feel free to interrupt, no one works anyway.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Sabrina nodded and opened the door, allowing Hotch and Reid to exit.
“Alright, where should we go first?” Hotch asked, and immediately regretted it.
“Let’s go find Hot Yardstick Guy.”
Hotch sighed.
“Fine,”
“What do you want?” Hot Yardstick Guy demanded, once they found him, leaning back in his chair like it was a throne
“We’re from the FBI.” Reid chirped.
“Great. I still don’t know what you want.”
“One of your students was murdered.”
“Acute observation,”
“The observation is a triangle?” One of the students piped up. Hot Yardstick Guy whapped him over the head with his yardstick.
“Stop hitting me!”
“Only when you stop being a dumbass,”
“Um, I’m sorry, what was your name again?” Reid asked, whipping his little notebook out of nowhere.
“Justin.”
“Last name?”
“White,”
Reid nodded and scribbled the information down.
“Does anyone in here know Zachary?” Hotch asked the room.
No one looked up.
“Zachary Albert?”
A tenuous hand was raised.
“Yes, you?”
“I knew him.”
Justin whapped the kid over the head with his yardstick.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Because you’re a dumbass.”
“Come with us.” Hotch said, motioning at the kid. He stood up, rubbing the back of his head, and followed.
“So,” Reid asked, “How would you describe Zachary?”
“In one word? Manwhore.”
Dear God, it’s Reid.