That's a sobering thought, and Reid nods his acknowledgment, letting a moment of silence fall between them while he sips at his coffee. The Lunar Killer, loathe as Reid is to actually call him that, is still out there, still hurting people and likely planning to do it again and again until he's finally stopped. It isn't an unfamiliar feeling, working on a case and watching more people get hurt before he can figure out who the unsub is, but that doesn't make it any less painful. That doesn't ease the guilt. He's yet to be able to stop these families from getting torn apart, traumatized beyond measure, and it's overwhelming sometimes. He supposes it would be for almost anyone.

"That's what makes the job rewarding," Reid finally says. His voice is a little hoarse when the words leave him, and he clears his throat, straightening in his chair. "You know, I've worked for the FBI since I was twenty-three, I've seen a lot." He's been through a lot. "I used to wonder when it would stop getting to me. My, um, my boss-- my friend. He said to me once, 'We don't always beat the monsters to the babies, but we do enough to make the job worth it, keep the nightmares bearable.'"

He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes, it's tight at the corners and it's sad because he thinks of Gideon and how much he misses him.

"It's strange, I got kind of complacent here. It's just not the same level of monstrosity that I would see working with the FBI, you know? But this case, this guy, it's starting to get under my skin." Reid realizes then that he's tapping at the side of his cup with his finger so he sets it down, puts his hand on his lap, then huffs out an embarrassed laugh. "I don't mean to unload on you."