" The irrationality of a thing is not an argument against its existence, rather, a condition of it. "

— Friedrich Nietzsche

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6.1 ; L.D.S.K.

THE SHARP RINGING OF the gunshot vibrated in Caroline's ears as Reid pulled the trigger of his gun, the long silver barrel aimed out in front of him. She tugged at her earmuffs and peered past Reid at the human-shaped target across the shooting range. The bullet hadn't even hit the black outline of the human body, but instead had pierced through the white background. Beside the recent bullet hole was five more identical rounds from his previous attempts from this morning. She heard Spencer sigh in disappointment.

She frowned and turned to Hotch, who was waiting for her assessment. She shook her head once and he sighed.

"On swat, we broke shots down into 3 steps," Hotch instructed as Reid reloaded his gun. "One—front sight. Focus on the front sight, not the target." Spencer nodded as he listened, concentrating intently to every word. "2—controlled trigger press. 3—follow through. After the shot, you come right back to the target. Now, what did you do wrong?"

"I didn't follow through," Reid muttered.

"Right. You came off the target to see where you hit."

"Hotch, my firearms qualification is tomorrow morning," Spencer groaned as he sat his gun down in front of him, clearly exasperated. "I barely passed my last one."

Caroline stared down at the target and sighed. They had been working on Reid's shooting technique for his qualification for two hours now and his margin of progress wasn't where it needed to be if he wanted to pass tomorrow. She remembered the last time he took the test and the only reason he didn't fail it was one lucky shot that he made when he was distracted. Since then, he had gotten better but not by much, which is why he asked Caroline for her help.  It had been her decision to bring  Hotch because, despite the fact he could be a drill sergeant,  he had been the one who taught her how to fire a gun and how to do it accurately. 

Now, she was a trained sniper and marksman. Hotch might be hard-ass, but he knew what he was doing.

Hotch moved Reid out of the way as he stepped up to the range. He pulled out his gun and his finger hovered over the trigger. "Front sight, trigger press..." The gunshot rang through her earmuffs as the bullet pieced through the head near the left ear of the target. "Follow through."

He holstered his gun back on his hip. "You do those 3 things, you'll hit your target every time."

Reid tugged at his sweater vest uncomfortably and she could see the doubt plastered all over his face. Caroline laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"You got this," she encouraged him, giving him a warm smile. "Hotch knows what he's doing. Just try it."

He nodded cautiously, still frowning as he stepped up to the range. He aimed his gun down at the target.

Caroline bit her lip when she saw the tenseness in his shoulders. She could tell he was worried about his qualification, but if he didn't loosen up, there was no way to make that shot clean.

He pulled the trigger and both Caroline and Hotch stared down at the target. Reid's bullet had pierced right through the crotch.

Caroline struggled to keep a straight face. Hotch, however, did not.

"Did Caroline teach you that?" Hotch chuckled. She glared up at him and he simply chuckled more as she glowered.

"They're gonna take away my gun," Reid sighed, the disappointment saturating his voice.

"Profilers aren't required to carry," Caroline offered hopefully.

"Yeah?" Reid retorted, "You're a professional sniper, Care. And Hotch carries two guns."

Hotch reached down and pulled the gun he kept holstered around his ankle out. He held it out to her, offering it to her.

She took it, smiling a little as her fingers wrapped around the trigger. She focused the gun at the center of the target and took a deep breath. Her breathing slowed, her eyesight becoming sharper as she concentrated on her target.

Front sight, trigger press, follow through...

Caroline felt the kickback from the gun reverberate through her arms as she fired three consecutive shots, straight through the heart. She didn't even have to check the target to know that she had just nailed the shot.

She pulled back on the cartridge and put the gun back on safety before she handed it back to Hotch, grinning with confidence. Range shooting was one of her favorite things to do because while firing a gun was one of the most exhilarating things to do, range shooting didn't play with life and death. It was just her, the target and her gun. Nothing else between that mattered. Just the shot.

"When I joined the BAU, Gideon said to me, 'You don't have to carry a gun to kill someone,'" Caroline told Reid.

He frowned, holding his earmuffs around his neck. "I don't understand."

"You will," she smiled. "Good luck tomorrow. I know you can do it."

Reid nodded as Hotch and Caroline exited the shooting range, she turned to her boss.

"So, do you think he'll pass tomorrow?" She asked him as they put away their safety goggles and earmuffs.

"Oh, there's no way."

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      As it turned out, Hotch was right. Reid called Caroline the minute after he took the test and told her he had failed—badly. He was so embarrassed about it, she had to talk him into coming to work the next day.

So, she sat at her desk with her fingers interlocked in front of her as Gideon walked by her desk in the bull pen. She turned her body around in her chair to face him.

"Reid failed his qualification," she informed him.

Gideon shrugged. "He can re-test in 2 weeks."

"Yeah, but he's going to be embarrassed about it," Caroline casted a reproving look at Derek sitting at his desk across from her, who in turn gave her a confused look. "So let's not mention it, okay?"

Gideon, catching Caroline's meaning, nodded and turned to Derek. "Yeah, let's not, huh?"

Morgan held his hands up defensively. "Not a word."

Just as he said that, Reid came into the bullpen, keeping his head down as he purposefully walked to his desk and sat down, throwing his bag over the cluttered desk. He avoided Caroline's sympathetic eyes.

Derek, without saying a word, stood up from his desk and walked over to Reid's. He rested his hand on the small glass divider between Reid and Caroline's desks and almost leaned over Reid sitting in his chair. She watched the two  with wary eyes.

"Hey," Morgan said coolly to Reid. "We're all here for you."

Reid rolled his eyes and shuffled some papers on his desk.

"I'm serious. If you ever need anything..." Derek pulled his hand from behind his back and produced a small silver whistle hanging on a long blue chord. He slipped it over Reid's head, grinning. He pulled the whistle to his lips and gave one loud blow, the whistle tweeting loudly in the office. "Just blow on that."

Derek chuckled in satisfaction as he walked back to his desk; Reid was steaming. He glowered as he yanked the whistle from around his neck and threw it aggressively on his desk. The metal whistle clanked  against the wood as it bounced off his desk and landed on his bag.

Caroline decided she was going to kick Derek Morgan so hard in the balls, they would turn inside out from the sheer force. Reid was embarrassed enough as it was and Derek's little practical joke didn't make it any better.

"Okay," Caroline heard JJ's voice announce from behind her, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines, yesterday afternoon." She began handing out the new files of the case, passing them around. "3 victims shot at distance. It's the third such shooting in 2 weeks."

Caroline's eyes scanned the file, assessing. All victims shot at range; nobody seen or heard a thing. Cleans shots into the abdomen—either a bad marksman or couldn't work up to the kill shot.

Elle, who had been working silently at her desk all morning, spoke up. "So, a sniper?"

Derek shook his head. "We don't use that word."

Elle frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, the public perception is that the FBI doesn't have an exemplary record with snipers," JJ explained.

"Besides," Caroline added, "a sniper is a professional marksman. These guys aren't snipers."

"What do we call them then?"

"An L.D.S.K—long distance serial killer," Caroline replied.

"How many of these guys have we caught using a profile?" Elle asked.

Gideon, who snuck up from behind Caroline, stood in the center of the group and sighed, "None."

Elle, clearly uneased by the odds, stared down at her desk with a frown. Caroline's eyes scanned over the file once more, trying to shove out the statistics.

L.D.S.Ks are erratic, self-centered—which is basically most of the human population. Since the kills are so impersonal, developing a good profile beyond the basics was hard to do. These type of killers don't leave behind any clues, any evidence.

They were almost ghosts, in a way.

"Okay, it's been two weeks with three shooting incidents," Hotch said as he read through the file, ignoring Gideon's comment. "6 victims, all shot in the abdomen. The first and only fatality, Henry Sachs, married, father of 3, shot in a shopping center parking lot. 9 days later, Doug Miller and Kevin Parks were playing basketball at a community center. Then four days later, Franklin Park, Jerry Middleton, Kate Murray, and Time Reilly." He paused with a thoughtful look on his face. Two of the three most recent victims were just teenagers—no older than 16. What could they have done to deserve this?

"Des Plaines police have found no link between any of the victims," Hotch finished, shaking off any thoughts he might have had.

"Any ballistics?" Derek questioned, looking to Caroline. She was supposed to be the expert in all things sniper related—considering she was one. Or at least, trained as one.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair as she examined what little there was on the ballistics report. "It looks like he's using frangible rounds, which fragment on impact, making ballistics comparisons basically impossible."

"The good news is that all the park victims are gonna make it," JJ spoke up, "the bad news is that none of them saw anything. However, one of the patients does have an intact bullet lodged in his spine."

Gideon raised an eyebrow, clearly interested. "What's the prognosis?"

JJ frowned. "Well, there's disagreement among surgical staff as to whether they can remove the slug without paralyzing the patient."

Derek snorted. "Well, without a useful witness or a solid piece of forensic evidence..."

Hotch rested his back against Caroline's desk and let out a heavy sigh, then murmured, "The profile is all we'll have."

"But L.D.S.K.s are so rare," Caroline shook her head, "we haven't been able to build a standard profile yet. All we know is that they're always male and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or media."

JJ frowned. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," Gideon replied. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs from their victims and others return to the dump site to interject with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim—contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"But our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," Derek interjected. Caroline could tell the prospect of having such little to go on for him wasn't an appealing thought, given by the snipping tone of his voice. He sounded annoyed and highly brash.

Hotch's level voice calmly washed over the group, almost reassuring. "He will."

Elle sighed as she closed the file. "Until he does, what do we have?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile," Gideon murmured. "Sometimes it's what they do not do."

Reid, for the first time since the Derek gave him the whistle, spoke up.

"He doesn't kill his victims," he said in a clear, sure voice. It was obvious his brain was drowning out the thoughts of Derek's joke and his gun permit with the thoughts of the case. He sounded more determined than embarrassed now. She could tell he was doing what he did best—and that was thinking.

"Underkill's a unique signature," Caroline said slowly, more to herself than anyone else as she tried to reason through it. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

Everyone raised their eyebrows at her as Derek scoffed, "And?"

"Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot or simply the will to take it?"

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            When Caroline first entered the conference room, she immediately heard the yelling.

"Good morning, doctors!" The head of the hospital announced, interrupting the screaming match between two doctors as she entered the room with Caroline, Gideon and JJ following her.

It had been JJ's idea to run by the hospital to see if there was any progress with the bullet lodged in a victim's spine. Granted, she thought it was going to be a quick no and they would leave, but it seemed it was far more complicated than it originally planned out.

"Forgive us," the older of the two doctors apologized sincerely, straightening his tie. "We were just reviewing the cases at hand."

The head of the hospital turned to the profilers and gestured to the two doctors. "This is Dr. Neil Ernstadt, chief of surgery and our trauma specialist, Dr. Barry Landman. These are the FBI profilers, Agents Gideon, Jareau, Lucas."

Gideon extended a hand to Dr. Ernstadt and the two shook hands in greeting before Gideon turned and extended a hand to the other doctor.

Dr. Landman, who was a tall man with curly hair, turned up his lip and pulled his hands away from Gideon. "Ah, you'll have to forgive me. I don't shake. My hands, you understand?"

Caroline frowned but Gideon respectfully backed off, nodding his head understandingly. Beside her JJ let out a quiet scoff, so quiet only Caroline truly heard it. She repressed a smile.

"So as psychological profilers, what exactly are you looking for?" Dr. Landman asked, clearly skeptical. Caroline noticed his eyes never left Gideon when he asked, almost as if she and JJ weren't even in the room.

"How the victims were shot," Gideon replied. "That could reveal the shooter's signature behavior."

Dr. Ernstadt turned to the x-ray monitor hanging on the wall behind them. The black-and-white X-rays were of the chest and abdomen, littered with bullet wounds. "These separate wound channels blossom from the entrance wounds. You can see the trauma's extensive."

Gideon furrowed his brow. "You performed the surgeries?"

"On patient Miller," the older doctor admitted. "I consulted Dr. Landman in the others. The intact slug lodged between the L4-L5 vertebrae. Any attempt to remove it would likely leave the patient paralyzed."

"In your opinion," Mr. Landman snapped.

Dr. Ernstadt ground his teeth together. "Yes, in my opinion."

"Disagree?" Gideon asked.

"With the right surgeon, there is no risk," the arrogant doctor quipped.

"There's always risk!" Dr. Ernstadt retorted.

The head of the hostpital cleared her throat, easing the tensions in the room. She turned to Gideon. "What significance does the bullet have in building the profile?"

"Well, even if we can't get a ballistics match, we can get a rifle type and the specific type of rifle the suspect uses, that could be very significant to the profile."

The head of the hospital sighed and looked to the arrogant doctor. "Do you believe you can safely perform the surgery, Dr. Landman?"

Dr. Landman smirked, revealing a row of perfectly white, almost sharp, teeth. "I know I can."

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A few hours later, the group of profilers hung around the hospital conference room, waiting for Dr. Landman to come out of surgery. Caroline knew that, without a doubt, they were going to get their bullet. But the question that was on her mind was whether or not a man would be paralyzed because of it.

"Okay, so if I'm the unsub, why do I shoot my victims between 2:55 and 3:15?" JJ wondered aloud as she reviewed the files. She glanced up at the two profilers in the room.

Gideon chuckled. "That's when I'd do it. There's fewer cops on the street."

"Why is that?"

"Well, the police overlap shifts, so there's always someone on the street," Caroline explained. "Second shift starts at 3, first shift ends at 3:30."

"So wouldn't there by twice as many cops on the street at that time?" JJ asked.

"In theory," Gideon stated. "The first half-hour of your shift, you're in roll call. You're not on the street. The last half-hour, you're at the station. You're finishin' reports, you're booking prisoners, so the 25 minutes around the first/second shift, that's a bad guy's golden window."

JJ rose a curious eyebrow as she continued to glance through reports, appeased. Caroline frowned, "How many people outside law enforcement would know that though?"

Gideon shrugged and she mentally kicked herself for being so dense.

"Let me guess," Caroline said, "the unsub does and you've already thought of this."

"I had considered it."

"Hm."

At that moment, the door to the conference room opened and Dr. Landman marched into the room, still fully dressed in his sea green scrubs. He didn't pause as he approached and dropped a plastic baggie in front of Gideon. Inside was a bloody bullet.

"Hope you find it useful," Dr. Landman sneered as he turned to leave the room.

"Dr. Landman?" Caroline said as he opened the door, which caused him to groan and roll his eyes before turning back around to face her. "How's Mr. Middleton?"

"Patient will make a full recovery...as I told you he would," he replied. Then, he winked at her before exiting and closing the door behind her.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Oh God, gag me."

JJ shook her head in disbelief as Gideon, completely ignorant to the situation, examined the bullet. Even from where she was sitting, Caroline could tell it was a high-power gun the bullet came from. It was too small and sleek to be a regular slug from a plain old rifle.

"Readiology is set up to take photos and e-mail them out for consults," JJ said to Gideon.

"Call Hotch," Gideon murmured, ignoring JJ. "We're getting the bullet to Garcia."

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After Caroline got back from the hospital, there had been a third shooting at a local restaurant. That meant there were two shootings in less than 48 hours. The unsub was upping his game, decreasing the time between attacks. This didn't bode well for them if they wanted to stop him—and soon.

Because of this, and that the bullet was from a M-4, a variant of an M-16, Hotch and Gideon decided to go ahead and release what little of the profile they have to the police force. And from what they came up with, Caroline knew they weren't going to be happy.

JJ stood in the front of the room filled with police officers with her fingers interlocked in front of her, a picture of perfect professionalism.

"This initial profile is not ready to be given to the media," she announced to the room, her voice stern and hard. "Releasing this profile prematurely can get people killed."

With her statement made, JJ stepped out of the center, allowing Hotch to take her place. The eyes and ears of he curious police officers all locked on him.

"We're looking for a 30 to 40-year-old male veteran, driving a car large enough to shoot from, but not so large it was noticed," Hotch began, his voice sweeping over the entire room. "Like the Beltway Shooter, it's probably a sedan, customized to conceal the shooter, his weapon, and the sound of his shot. The unsub suffers from both narcissistic and paranoid personality disorders. He works out obsessively and is never without a weapon."

"He's completely self-centered and cannot empathize with others. Incapable of admitting fault, he blames his shortcomings on those around him. He has no friends, and his career history has been marked by frequent job changes."

Hotch gestured towards Caroline to continue. She nodded and came to stand beside him in the front of the room.

"He's drawn to extremely high-risk jobs by a need to prove his superiority to a world he perceives has undervalued him," she said calmly, "and these shooting are the ultimate expression of that need."

"We also believe that he changes jurisdictions intentionally and strikes during the first/second shift change, indicating an intimate knowledge of law enforcement," Hotch stated and the room broke out in murmurs and hushed whispers. They were getting it now.

One of the male cops, too far back to even make out facial features, called to the front, "You're saying he's one of us."

"We're saying he once was or is now a police officer," Hotch replied calmly and rationally, trying to diffuse the whispers.

A police officer in the front, with a sharp nose and a large forehead, chuckled. "Is he driving a white van, too?"

There was a collective laughter among the officers. Caroline glanced up at Hotch and his face was a calm, stoic mask of detached emotion. She tried to mimic his look, to remain professional, but she knew her face fell just short of Hotch's seriousness due to her abnormally blue eyes and curly blond hair.

One of the older officers, most likely a sergeant given his highly decorated uniform, sat up in his chair and barked, "Enough!" The laughter around the room slowly died out. The sergeant turned to Hotch. "That'll be all for now. We can talk in my office."

Caroline glanced over at the officer that had made the comment as she followed Hotch into the sergeant's office. The cop glared at her, his eyes scrutinizing her as they stared at each other.

She could see the accusation in his eyes—like it was the FBI's fault this was happening. His eyes narrowed.

She glanced away and tried to keep a clear head, but his strict eyes remained in the back of her mind.

As Hotch and Caroline entered the office, Hotch turned to the sergeant.

"Sergeant Weigart," Hotch addressed him professionally, "we would like to reenact the third shooting during the shift change."

The sergeant stared at him, taken aback. "Why?"

"Well, to better understand his M.O. How does he get there? How does he leave? What's the traffic like?"

"It could also help us with witnesses," Caroline added. "Maybe the victims or bystanders saw something, but don't realized the significance of what they saw."

The sergeant paused as he thought it over. After a moment had passed, he had given in. "All right, let's do it."

Now, all Caroline had to decide if she was prepared to be out in the field with the very people they were accusing of being the unsub.

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Reid kept his head down as he walked through the station, his eyes wandering to the sergeant's office door every minute or so. Caroline and Hotch were still in there, more than likely arranging the re-enactment of the third shooting. He hadn't heard the confirmation yet, but he knew Caroline was in there, and she was very persuasive when it comes to something she wanted.

As Reid shuffled by Gideon, bent over a desk with his head buried deep in his work, the older man, almost sensing his presence, sat up and glanced up at him before returning to his work.

"How you holdin' up?" Gideon murmured as he scribbled down words on a yellow piece of notebook paper. Reid sighed.

"Look at me," he gestured to his sweater vest and tie. "Without a gun on my belt, I look like a teacher's assistant."

Gideon sat his pen down on his desk when he finished writing and stood up, crumping the piece of paper he was writing on into a small ball in his hands. "You're not worried about how you look."

"Caroline told me that when she came to the BAU, you told her she didn't need a gun to kill somebody," Reid stated, his voice almost transforming it into a question. He still couldn't understand why Caroline told him that. Sure, it was probably to make him feel better, but it was the context that didn't make sense. Guns were given to FBI agents to shoot things, to protect innocents. A profiler couldn't do much else without a gun.

"Well the only truly effective weapon we have is our ability to do the one thing they can't," Gideon told him.

"Which is what?"

"Empathize. They dehumanize their victims. We humanize the killers."

Reid sighed. He appreciated the Gideon's effort, but it wasn't going to work on him. He was already embarrassed enough about Caroline giving him the pity eyes, he wasn't quite sure he could handle it from Gideon too.

"You're just saying that to convince me I don't need to carry a gun."

"I don't care you carry a gun or not," Gideon snapped. "Deadliest weapon we have is a thorough and accurate profile."

Reid frowned. "Of course you believe that."

"Footpath Killer, he had a shotgun to the back of my head," Gideon said. "I'm here, he's not."

With that, Reid's mentor brushed past him. Before walking off, he paused and turned back around to face the young profiler.

"You should listen to Caroline, Reid. She knows more of your struggle than I think you realize."

After the cryptic message, Gideon disappeared into the throng of bustling police officers, leaving Reid by himself.

Caroline understand his struggle? She was perfect—an expert marksman, a great profiler, kind, smart, beautiful. How would she understand what he was going through?

Reid could barely talk when she was around, much less discuss what he was feeling. It took everything he has to be able to speak to her because he felt so intimidated. Even more so when he kissed her and she had pulled away.

He should've known he didn't stand a chance with her. It was too good to be true. Someone like Caroline didn't fall for someone like Reid. Caroline was like a brilliant sun and Reid was the onlooker, who, if he stared too long, might go blind. She was unattainable for him and it drove him mad.

But, at least, they could be friends. It was his pathetic excuse to spend time with her. He'd play the friend card as long as Care would let him. He'd be there for her whenever she needed. He'd do anything for her.

She was his best friend and he would just have to learn to live with that.

•••••••••••

A/N: HOLY SHIT! I can not believe White Noise already has 3k reads! AKSKSAKS IM SO HAPPY MY MIND IS BLOWN. thank you to all my incredible readers, you guys are the best!

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