Are You Profiling Me?

-32-

The BAU's round table room is quiet, but it's not peaceful. The soft hum of computers and the low murmur of the team working fills the air, but none of it can drown out the tension you're feeling. The case files in front of you are a jumbled mess of notes, maps, and photos—each one a reminder that Liam Baker is still out there, and he still wants something from you.

You glance at the clock on the wall. 4:27 PM. You haven't slept in days—three nights, to be exact. Not since the sniper incident that nearly took Jack's life. Every hour feels like a battle. Your body aches, your mind is foggy, and every time you close your eyes, the fear of a nightmare drags you back to a place you can't escape.

The nightmares have come back. The ones you thought you'd left behind—memories of war, of loss, of things you've tried to bury deep. Every night, they get worse. And now, you're afraid to sleep because you don't know what you'll wake up to.

But that's not the worst of it. The worst is that Jack is here, and you can't let him see you break. He's sleeping soundly, for now, in Hotch's office. But the fear is still with you—like a weight sitting on your chest, pressing down with every breath you take.

You reach for your coffee, the bitter liquid burning your throat, but it doesn't seem to help. Your hand shakes slightly, and you curse yourself for it. The exhaustion is obvious, even if you're trying to hide it.

The door creaks open, and Derek Morgan's familiar footsteps approach. You don't need to look up to know it's him—his presence has always been calming, like a brother you can count on. You're relieved to see him, but also a little bit irritated. You don't want anyone to see how badly you're falling apart, especially him.

But he's never been one to let things slide. Not when it comes to you.

"Danielle," he says, his voice low, but heavy with concern. "We need to talk."

You force yourself to look up at him, your eyes tired, too tired to hide what's really going on. Derek is standing in front of you now, arms crossed, looking at you with that expression that says he knows exactly what you're going through. That look that always makes you feel like you've been caught—because you have.

"Everything okay?" he asks, his voice soft but firm.

You nod, but even you can hear the lie in your voice. "Yeah. Fine. Just trying to catch up on the case."

Derek doesn't buy it. He leans against the table, not sitting, just standing there, waiting. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks down at you, sensing the fatigue. He knows you too well.

"You haven't slept, have you?" It's a statement, not a question. He's already figured it out.

You bite the inside of your cheek, unwilling to admit the truth. But he's not going to let you get away with it.

You glance away, focusing on the case files in front of you, your fingers unconsciously picking at the edges of the papers. You want to argue, tell him you're fine, but the truth is—you're not.

"I... I just can't," you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands tremble as you reach for your coffee cup again, trying to steady yourself. But it's no use. Your exhaustion is too heavy.

Derek's jaw tightens. He steps closer to you, his gaze softening but still filled with concern. He's always been there for you, through thick and thin. The two of you have been through so much together—military, FBI, personal battles—and he's never once turned his back on you. But right now, you're not sure how to explain just how bad it's gotten.

"You need to sleep," he says, his voice low, almost gentle. "I know you're worried about Jack, about Baker. Hell, I'm worried too. But you can't keep pushing yourself like this."