AN: Back in 2011 there was a prompt I really liked in the Criminal Minds Kink Meme: Hotch/Reid or Rossi/Reid please. Or even a threesome, maybe with Emily? Ooh... or he could be bffs with Lila Archer.
I choose Rossi/Reid for my pairing and started writing a fill. And then wrote more. And more. And more. Thing is, the pairing wasn't happening. I couldn't find the right moment to bring it into the story, and I really wanted to. So instead I opened a new document, and the result was what would become another fic of mine, Life as a pretty boy. The thing is, Life is 2.4K words while the first fic was 10.6K the moment I abandoned it. I thought about using some of its scenes in other fics, but they didn't fit with the plots or the atmospheres. And eventually I wrote other fics in the Life universe, and then found a better way to develop what I feel is a more successful attempt of a Rossi/Reid (Of joint ventures and partnering, which I promise I will eventually continue), so there has never been much incentive to finish this.
This is why I'm giving myself WIP amnesty and posting it as an officially abandoned fic. There's too much written to just keep in my computer, and I think some of you might like it. But I'm not going to write more. I cannot reach the writing mind space needed to continue this particular story. It was fun to write and taught me much despite the failing-to-appear-pairing problems, but my headcanon model!Reid is the one from my Life universe, and I plan to write at least two more stories for it.
Anyway, here it is. I hope you'll find it entertaining.
"Since when does the BAU act like personal bodyguards?"
To say David Rossi is pissed off is a gross understatement. He doesn't like being bossed around by the likes of Erin Strauss, especially for the benefit of the famous and wealthy.
He is famous and wealthy, goddamit. He isn't supposed to be sacrificing his off-rotation time for some gossip-notorious simpleton.
Morgan, not looking happier than Dave feels after the crappiness that commercial flight is, pulls his carry-on with more fieriness than necessary. "Look, it was either you or Hotch, and somehow I think him spending time with Jack trumps over whatever plans you had."
Of course, none of them mentions still-too-green Ashley.
"Whatever," Dave huffs back. Because, well, battle lost or not, there is no way David Rossi wouldn't have the final word.
It turns out Morgan personally knows Lila Archer, which kind of explains why he rushes to take the this-close-to-private consultation and pull Dave with him, the bastard.
Not that Dave can't see the appeal, but then, the supposed victim (or victim-to-be, as nothing has yet happened, not that Dave believes anything is going to happen), is Lila Archer's boyfriend.
"Previous BAU case, she had a stalker," Morgan helpfully (not really) provides once they aboard the limousine Miss Archer sends to collect them. He says nothing more, so Dave pulls out his much-dreaded PDA and painfully slowly manages a Lila Archer's file - ASAP, please and thank you right in time before they stop.
The driver is opening his door when he pushes Send, and he leaves the vehicle pondering whether he should call Garcia. He still doesn't trust the technology much; it hasn't let him down yet, but it is only a matter of time.
"Miss Archer will see you now," a woman greets them at the mansion's main door - the housekeeper, Dave decides. Early fifties, Latina, probably illegal, as the rich slash famous slash young slash pretty usually lack the brains to think about checking backgrounds.
"We're actually looking for," and Dave pauses to take a glance at the file, "Mister Reid, if he's home."
The women smiles solicitous while leading them towards the back garden's crystal doors. "Oh, he's at a photo shoot at the moment. I'll make sure Johann informs Mr. Reid of your presence."
"Johann?" Morgan asks, but it is only a token question, as the Agent's mind is elsewhere, as is obvious by the not-so-hidden admiration he devotes to studying the young, pretty and female body of the person approaching them from the pool.
"Spencer's bodyguard," the woman, Lila Archer, says. "He's actually our personal trainer, but his background makes him adequate to oversee Spencer's security, if only temporally." She shrugs, accepting Morgan's help to get into a terrycloth bathrobe. "Spencer doesn't trust people easily, and the police officers have been … less than helpful."
"Whereas the FBI is nothing but," Dave cracks back, not bothering to hide his disgust behind a sweet and much fake smile.
"Miss Archer, this is Special Supervisory Agent David Rossi, one of the founders of the Behavior Analysis Unit," even if he doesn't act like it, Morgan's tone says. "And I'm Derek Morgan, we've met before."
"I do remember you, Agent Morgan," Miss Archer says, shaking his hand and smiling at him before sparing a wary glance in Dave's direction. "I was expecting Agent Gideon, though."
"Agent Gideon retired a few years ago," Morgan explains. He doesn't add, but Dave knows is on his mind, that the team has also lost JJ and Elle Greenway, and Prentiss, and a bit of Hotch's soul too, in the interim.
Jason's absence, though, appears to be something Lila Archer has problems dealing with, as proves her confused "Oh," and the way she looks at them again, as if expecting one or the other to pull the man out of their pocket. "I fear that changes things a bit," she says, and before any of them has the chance to speak, she continues, signaling at the housekeeper. "Mrs. Suez will show you to your rooms. We'll have dinner in an hour. Anything you need, just ask."
"Some answers would be good," Dave grumbles at her retreating back, and Morgan's hmmm seems to mirror the sentiment. They don't get any from Mrs. Suez, though, just a pleasant smile.
"Hey, Baby Girl," he hears Morgan speak into his cell phone while Dave bedroom's door closes. "Do you think you can dig the Lila Archer file for me?" As expected, a knock follows almost immediately. "Garcia wants to know if you've checked your inbox," Morgan says as soon as Dave opens the door, and then "He hasn't, my red-haired tech Queen" before Dave opens his mouth.
Not that Morgan isn't right.
"Ask her if she sent Gideon's notes."
"I don't think-" Morgan starts to retort, just to interrupt himself by paying attention to something Garcia says into his ear. "Well, thanks, babe. In fact I do. Gideon's notes. On the case, yes. I don't know. Maybe on the archive downstairs? Yes, I guess might know, but let's not bother him, okay? I'll tell you if we have no other choice. Okay, bye, sweetness. Not, you are."
Dave closes the door on Morgan's face, rolling his eyes at the blatant flirting. He managed to catch a glimpse of a luxury shower before being interrupted, and although he's not new to trendy and expensively customized bathroom appliances and has his own at home, thank you very much, after the torture of flying tourist class, damn you overbooked airlines, he really needs the pampering.
The sound of something breaking takes Dave out of his bedroom, where he barely manages being run over by a recently showered, gun raised, shirtless Derek Morgan.
He can almost imagine the headlines: Soap Opera Drama comes true!
Actually, that isn't as biting as needed. He is slipping.
"- didn't know he wasn't in the FBI anymore," he hears Miss Archer say, oddly calm.
"I could have told you," a male voice answers, and Dave enters the dining room just in time to see the owner, a young, thin and tall man, turn around and take a step back as he and Morgan arrive.
"And how exactly would you have known that?" Dave asks, genuinely curious, looking around for signs of fight and distress. There is none except on the man: a long gash on his left cheek, blood on his clothes and hair, a torn sleeve.
"Look, Agent Rossi, Agent Morgan," he says placatingly, "I'm sorry you came for nothing. Why don't we relocate you to a nice hotel for the rest of the weekend? Our treat, of course."
"For nothing," Morgan snorts incredulously, circling the room to make sure nobody is hiding behind the curtains or something. "Man, I don't know if you've seen yourself in a mirror, but it is kind of obvious your day hasn't been exactly uneventful."
"It was a car accident," the man says, as he reaches to take the hand of Miss Archer. "I'm fine, I swear."
It smells of lie to Dave, although he doesn't know why, as there are none of the markers that his interrogator side relates to liars.
"Mister Reid?" a wobbly voice intervenes, the housekeeper. Her eyes are red-rimmed and she's carrying a coat and a handbag. "I am ready. I mean, if you …"
She breaks down before ending the phrase, then a notch more when the young man pulls her into a full embrace.
"He's going to be fine, Anna, I give you my word," he whispers, his voice thick but loud enough for them all to hear.
Dave shifts in place, uncomfortable at the lack of explanation, giving them just a moment before starting to ask for answers.
Miss Archer beats him, though. "I, I," she hesitates, waits until everybody's attention is on her, blushes but continues resolutely. "I don't think you should leave the house, Spencer."
It is the cue they've been waiting for, and Morgan takes it swiftly, with the ease that brings years of interrogations and witnesses' interviewing. "I'm assuming you weren't alone on this, this car accident," he stresses. "Johann?" he adds with a softer tone, looking at Mrs. Suez and waiting for her nod before continuing. "If Miss Archer is right and your life is in danger, then you're endangering those around you."
He lefts the next hang in the air, unsaid. This is your fault.
They all wait in silence while the man, Reid, thinks it over, his left arm still around Mrs. Suez's shoulders. He twirls the keychain Dave's just noticed he's been keeping in his hand this whole time, then seems to reach a decision.
"You better take Lila's BMW," he instructs Morgan, looking at his girlfriend for approval.
Miss Archer nods, hugs the other woman and says something to her too soft for Dave to hear. "The keys are by the door," she says to Morgan.
They exchange a look, Morgan and Dave, meaningful in their we-have-known-each-other-for-years way. Nothing needs to be said, they both know what to do. They both trust the other to do what's needed.