Proud of You
It had been eight years.
Eight long years, filled with pain and death and loss and heartache for the young and bright Dr. Spencer Reid, since he had last seen the greatest man he had ever known: Jason Gideon.
There were happy moments too, of course - but compared to the effects his job in the BAU had on him, they seemed to fade mutely into the background of his fast-paced, day-to-day life.
As he thought about it, the young doctor noticed a pattern in his life. It simply seemed to be one loss after another, beginning from the very moment he was born. His life was a tragedy, a sorrowful tale. Almost like one of Shakespeare's works, he mused sometimes, in that the pain was constant and ever present.
He lost friends as a child, as they were too embarrassed to be seen with him.
He lost his mother to her own mind.
He lost his father because he was a coward who couldn't deal with an unusual family.
He lost Elle.
He lost Emily, or so he thought - then she left.
He lost Maeve.
But still, the loss of Gideon had the worst effect on him.
Gideon was the man he aspired to be like, the man he admired, the ideal role model, the father figure in his life, a steady source of insight and wit and kindness. He was a pillar of strength for Spencer. And what happens when you lose something like that?
You fall.
You fall hard.
And yes, eight years ago when he had read that letter addressed solely to him explaining that he couldn't take their job anymore, that he was leaving, he had fallen. He had cried and was not ashamed to admit it. Gideon was a father to him, and now he'd lost another. He blamed himself for a long time and even seriously considered taking dilaudid to cope with the pain.
Spencer got through it, eventually, but the memory of Gideon stuck with him. Most prominently was what he'd said to him after their L.D.S.K case, when he confided in Gideon that he wasn't sure how to feel after having shot and killed the unsub.
"Just remember - I'm proud of you."
Those words rang through his mind every time he unholstered his gun, every time he pointed it or pulled the trigger. He took comfort knowing that to at least one person, he was doing the right thing - it was a constant reminder that he was doing the world a favor, that this job wasn't just destroying the minds of those who dared to do it.
I'm proud of you.
Reid liked to believe that Gideon kept tabs on him while he was away, that he kept track of his achievements - he had never said it but he knew that he was like the man's second son. Whenever he'd had a particularly rough day, he wrote it down in the form of a letter to Gideon. It helped soothe him, calm his mind, and the words would wash over him again.
I'm proud of you.
I'm proud of you.
I'm proud of you.
Now the young doctor stood there, repeating the words over and over in his mind like a mantra as he looked down in horror at the covered body of the greatest man he'd ever known. Eight years after he disappeared, here he was.
Dead.
Jason Gideon was dead.
His mind was a hair away from shutting down, from stopping completely - the only thing keeping him in his feet was those words, over and over and over...
...proud of you...
He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He was frozen, stuck to the spot he was in. The room seemed to be closing in on him, everything getting dark, hazy.
He felt a hand clap on his shoulder firmly, and suddenly he could move. He turned his head as Morgan stepped into view, trying to comfort him. He couldn't hear his words exactly but nodded dumbly before taking one final lingering look at the body, then around the room, and walking outside. He sat down.
I'm proud of you.
Everything around him was dim and that was all he could hear.
Jason Gideon, the man who was more of a father to him than his own, the man who held more faith in him than anyone he'd seen, was dead.
But he'd been proud of Spencer.
And that alone brought peace to the young doctor's mind.