A/N:

Summary: Reid is acting strangely. BAU team, meet Matthew Reid, 28-year-old terror.

Notes: All I can say is lol. Matthew is loosely based off of Matthew Gray Gubler's portrayal of himself on "Matthew Gray Gubler: The Unauthorized Documentary". I friggin love those videos. Anyway, please pretty please review, my sweets :)

Doppelgang'ed

It was on an unremarkable Monday that Hotch walked into the bullpen, first there, as usual. He could usually expect Reid an hour or so later, and JJ after him; then Rossi, Prentiss and Morgan would punch in with a few minutes to spare (though Rossi had pulled the whole "I-invented-the-BAU" card on one occasion when he'd sauntered in on a slow day, thirty minutes late, for no apparent reason). By eight o'clock, Hotch could expect to see each and every member of the team at their desk and at work, sans Garcia, who liked to remain hidden in her lair until called for or it was time to present the case.

At the very least, Hotch could at least expect to see those who were not at their desk in the break room, guzzling coffee. Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss both had a few minute's leeway before he would declare them late, and while JJ's hours were different than the rest of the team, it was the same for her; finally, Garcia was held to that same standard and always made sure to say "Good morning" to Hotch before burrowing into her lair. But Reid?

Reid couldn't be counted as officially late until after eight o'clock, and if he wanted to start coming in the same time Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi did, Hotch wouldn't have said anything about it. But Reid had come early since he'd been a probationary agent, at only twenty-one years of age—Hotch couldn't remember a time that he had been late, the time he'd spent recovering after Hankel excluded. Reid rode the same train to work every day, stopped at a coffee shop on the way from the metro to the office, and came in nearly the same time.

Every. Day.

Reid was reliable, and had no reason to sleep in on a whim or change his schedule. Even if he missed one train, another would be there within five minutes or so—no, there was no reason for Reid to be late, or rather, to not be early.

And so, it was five past eight when Hotch began to really worry. At the very least, he would have called in sick by now. This wasn't like Reid at all.

He picked up his phone and was searching his contacts for the younger agent's phone number when a loud crash drew his attention to the bullpen. He could only hear a loud conversation from his office, though, and stood up and walked out to the catwalk to get a better look.

Hotch was suddenly glad that he hadn't called Reid, because he was right there, standing at Morgan's desk.

Before anything else, Hotch realized that he wasn't wearing his usual attire that made him look like a so-called "teacher's aide"—instead, he'd shown up in a pair of dark jeans that were so long that he'd cuffed them, and so skinny they looked like they might belong on a girl. Along with it he wore a velvet jacket, and a dark blue button-up. He looked more likely to be an actor in a hipster music video than a BAU profiler – hell, if Hotch didn't know better, he'd think that Reid was no older than nineteen. Altogether, along with the rumpled shirt that was in need of ironing, and the tie that hung loosely tied around his neck, he looked like a slightly overgrown teenager that had overslept for some sort of party. His hair was messy and looked almost styled—but Reid had never styled his hair before, right? Not like a nineteen-year-old boy, at least.

It looked like the crash had come from Morgan's inbox, which had been previously sitting on his desk full of files waiting to be completed, and which now sat on the floor, the forms and paperwork spread, out of order, all over the floor. But neither of them was moving to pick them up; instead, Reid was speaking quickly in his usual style of speaking, his hands moving as he talked. But it soon became clear to Hotch that the topic of conversation had nothing to do with anything even remotely intellectual.

"—I just really have to say, I'm not impressed," Reid was saying to Morgan, who was staring up at him like he'd grown another head. "I'm just not impressed. I mean, sure, the whole business-casual thing? I get it, Derek. I do. I mean, you work out; you're an FBI agent, a real ladies' man. Why not flaunt what you've got a little? I understand. But, really? You're going with the whole "I'm-not-gonna-button-these-last-few-buttons-thing"? It's old. It makes your whole outfit look a little dated, to be honest. And how about a little subtlety? Then again, maybe Emily over here's playing hard to get."

Reid spun around and leaned nonchalantly against the filing cabinet by Prentiss' desk, as if he had been there all along. Morgan was still spluttering behind him, struggling to think of something to say.

"Ugh," Reid said, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Trust me. I know how you feel. Girls are all over me all the time. It's exhausting. But don't worry, baby, it doesn't have to be like that with you and me. We get each other, I can tell. And you want me, don't you? I can see it in your eyes. Hey, don't worry about it. I heard you wanted my phone number. I can understand why you'd be nervous about asking for it. I've broken tons of girls' hearts before. At least two, maybe three girls. Seriously. But here. I'll just write it on this, huh? How about that?"

He grabbed a manila folder that typically was used to put reports in and began scrawling on it in one of Prentiss' sharpie.

"…9…3…0," he muttered as he finished the last digits. "Call anytime. Well, maybe not anytime, because you're more like a seven. Or a six. But definitely not a ten, you know? I'm a ten. You understand. But definitely call if you want to have sex with me sometime. Which I know you do. Hey, don't worry about it."

Then Prentiss stood up and slapped Reid across the face.

Hotch realized he had been standing across the bullpen watching with his mouth hanging open for the last two minutes and shook himself out of it.

Meanwhile, Reid had become indignant and was cradling his cheek, pouting. "Fuck you!" he said loudly, and the whole bullpen stopped what they were working on to stare. "You know what, Emily? You know what? Fuck you! You know what, you're not even a six. You're like a six point five, okay. I mean a five point five. That's barely half of ten."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Reid?" Morgan finally boomed. Reid spun around to look him in the eye, still cradling his cheek. The hurt on his face was obvious, but whether from the slap or Morgan's comment, Hotch couldn't tell.

"What do you mean?"

"REID, MY OFFICE. NOW."

Hotch really hadn't meant his voice to be that loud, but his brain had finally caught up with him and it told him he had to say something, anything, to stop the train wreck that was, at the moment, Reid.

Reid made a face. "Um, right now doesn't really work for me."

Hotch must have looked really scary in that moment, because suddenly Reid clapped his hands together and grinned.

"Ah, you know what, now's good. Now's great, actually. I just can't be late for my audition for Tommy Hilfiger later… or… um, you know what, we can skip that. Yeah, let's talk in your office."

Once Reid had followed him into his office, Hotch shut the door and pulled the blinds shut so that those still out in the bullpen wouldn't see what went on inside. "Sit down, Reid," he commanded as he did the same. Reid slunk sheepishly into the seat across Hotch's desk and gazed up at him in one of the best puppy-dog looks Hotch had ever seen, besides maybe on Jack.

Since when does Reid give the puppy-dog look?

"Reid, stop making Bambi eyes at me."

Reid's eyes only grew impossibly wider and more innocent.

"Reid! You do realize that you just sexually harassed Prentiss? And I don't know what was going on with you and Morgan, but this isn't like you at all! Are you—"

"Yeah, okay, see, the thing with Morgan is, that inbox was gonna fall anyway. Um, and I'm pretty sure I saw Emily knock it over."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose. Reid was sounding just like some obnoxious teenage girl at the moment, but without the high-pitched voice and the giggling.

"Reid, what has gotten into you?"

"Wha—gotten into me! It was all Prentiss and Morgan! I was framed! They're just jealous because they know I'm going to get that shoot with Tommy Hilfiger. Which reminds me, I need to be going soon."

Hotch stared.

He hated to think it, but maybe Reid was back on drugs. There were plenty of drugs that were known to cause a change in behavior after extended usage, or if Reid was somehow high right now, maybe—did that explain it? It didn't tell Hotch where Reid would have gotten a velvet jacket and girl's jeans from, but…

The door swung open suddenly, making Hotch jump and Reid to pause in his endless chatter that Hotch had managed to block out, if only for a moment.

"Hotch, I'm so sorry I'm late, my br—"

Reid was standing in the doorway, but he was no longer speaking; rather, he was gaping at the man sitting across from Hotch that looked exactly like him.

"Matthew, what are you doing here?"

The first Reid—Matthew—scowled. "You know what, fuck you, Spencer, okay! Fuck you! I can show up at your work if I want to! Hotch here was just telling me that I do your job ten times better than you do. Right, Hotch?"

"What. Is. Going. On. Reid, who is this?"

"Oh, this is my brother Spencer," the first Reid said. Matthew. "He's kind of a stick in the mud. I wouldn't worry about it. Spencer, you heard the man, leave."

Spencer sighed and covered his eyes with his hand as if he had a headache. "Um, Hotch, this is my brother, Matthew."

"Your brother." Hotch's voice was flat and monotone.

"Umm… yes. My twin brother. Who needs to leave now."

(The last few words were hissed with such vehemence that later, Hotch would shiver upon remembering it.)

"Yeah, okay, fuck you, Spencer! I know when I'm not wanted, okay! There aren't even any girls around here!"

He stormed out of the office, and Hotch watched him leave the bullpen, praying he wouldn't decide to turn around and come back.

Please God, protect me from this and I'll go to Mass every Sunday until the day that I die, please God—

And his prayers were answered as Matthew disappeared into the elevator.

Reid—the real, dressed-in-college-professor-clothes, un-hair-styled, no-chance-of-being-high one, that is—practically collapsed into the chair his brother had previously occupied.

"Hotch, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice barren of all energy. He sounded like Hotch did after a few hours chasing Jack around at the park. "What'd he do?"

"I'm sorry?" Surely Reid didn't know, somehow, that Matthew was going to come and wreak havoc?

"Matthew. How bad was he? I'm really sorry, I don't know why he acts like this, honestly, he just sort of… does…"

"Reid," Hotch said slowly, "did you know Matthew was coming today?"

"What?" The agent looked scandalized. "No, no, of course not. I made sure he didn't know where I worked, actually. But he sort of locked my bedroom door, only from the outside, and I still can't figure out how he flipped the lock without me waking up, but—"

"Reid."

"Yes?"

"Please tell me what's going on before I lose my mind."

"Oh." He looked sheepish. "Well, that's my twin brother Matthew. He has all the maturity of a ten-year-old. He's in town for a photo shoot with Aldo—you know, the shoe company? And I told him he could stay with me…well, he sort of broke into my apartment, but he's family, so you know."

Agent Hotchner didn't know, actually, but he didn't interrupt.

"…and last night he told me that he was going to go prove he could do my job better than I can, he told me, but of course I didn't listen and—Hotch, I'm so sorry. I should have warned you. He didn't emotionally damage anyone, did he? He tends to do that sometimes."

Hotch's mouth was dry and his mind blank when he said, mostly on autopilot, "He was harassing Prentiss."

"Oh. I'll go apologize to her right away, sir. He tends to do that, too—the whole sexual harassment thing."

Reid rose and was already out the door, messenger bag in tow, by the time Hotch thought to say anything, but by that time he was too late and let him go.

He could, vaguely, remember seeing in Reid's file that he had a brother—but he had never mentioned Matthew before, had he? But perhaps it made sense. He had only ever brought his mother up during the case with the Fisher King, after all. And Matthew had never been involved in any cases. Matthew had never been in danger.

And really, Hotch could understand not wanting everyone to know if you were related to that.

From the bullpen, he could barely hear Reid as he tried to make amends on his brother's behalf –

"Hey Prentiss, I'm sor—OW! What was that for?"

A/N:

The end.

Lol.