A.N. Post-ep 12X15 Alpha Male
Three-Sixty
Reid looked out the window of the bus, doing his best to follow the instructions of his attorney, Fiona Duncan.
'Don't engage. Don't get involved with anyone. These men are not your friends. They're not headed to federal prison for shoplifting. They're dangerous. And some of them are probably mentally ill.'
Reid hadn't really needed to be told any of those things. He'd known the danger, viscerally. When he'd been told he was to be transferred, he'd had an immediate adrenalin rush. His heart had begun pounding, and his limbs had begun shaking, because his sympathetic nervous system knew exactly what federal prison was like. He'd been in any number of them, interviewing prisoners, searching for evidence. But, each of those other times, he'd been able to leave of his own accord. Not so, this time. If he hadn't been trembling so much, he would have described the fear as paralyzing.
He'd last seen anyone from the BAU as he'd been led out of the courtroom. He'd been in some degree of shock, to hear that he would be held over for trial, and not granted bail. His attorney had been so assuring, and he'd fallen into the trap of assuming he would have some control of his immediate future. A chance to see his mother, to comfort her, to explain. And to plan for her future, whether or not he was free to be a part of it.
He'd understood he couldn't be assured of an acquittal, but he'd been hoping he wouldn't need one. He'd been hoping his team would find Scratch, and prove the man's connection to the murder in Mexico, and that he himself could look forward to a full reinstatement.
But with the pronouncement of the judge, much of Reid's hope had dissolved. He wouldn't have time. He wouldn't be able to console his mother, let alone to implement a plan to care for her. He would have to rely on JJ for that.
The thought of his best friend brought to mind his last image of her. The look of shocked horror on her face, as he'd been led away in handcuffs. And he regretted the look he must have left her with. He'd been shaken, unable to get his thoughts in order. It hadn't been a look of farewell he'd thrown over his shoulder. It had been a look of pleading, and desperation.
Now, on the bus, he found it impossible to follow his attorney's advice. The prisoner seated in front of him, was banging his head on the window, and crying, begging for help. Reid simply could not cast his gaze back out the window, ignoring a person in obvious distress. It wasn't in him. Perhaps ignoring a person in need was a learned behavior. He dreaded the day he might come to learn it.
He leaned forward and, in the softest voice he could muster, advised his fellow prisoner.
"If you keep banging your head like that, you'll give yourself a concussion."
Which, it turned out, was more palatable to the prisoner than whatever he expected to be done to him in prison.
Reid was no stranger to the stories. He'd been terrified at having been told he was being moved, and then more relieved than he'd been willing to admit, to hear that he would be put into protective custody. He couldn't help but feel sorry for his fellow traveler, Luis, who also proclaimed himself to be among the innocent. Because Luis would not be among the prison elite. Luis would not be in protective custody.
As the bus continued toward its destination, Reid's thoughts were jumbled. All of the responsibilities he'd had to leave behind…..most importantly, the care of his mother…..competed with a very real fear of the unknown, for prominence in his mind. The announcement of his transfer to prison had been abrupt, and he hadn't even been able to see his lawyer, let alone anyone from the team.
He'd expected to be able to see JJ and make plans for Diana, even though he had no idea what those plans should be. He just knew he couldn't leave her as a burden for someone else, for an extended period of time. Not even JJ.
She's got her own family to worry about. I can't ask her to become a daughter to my mother.
He'd thought he would be able to speak with Emily, to find out what the team was doing about Scratch, to make a plan as to how he could help them.
He'd thought he would learn from his lawyer about next steps, and what to expect.
Expect the unexpected, I guess I've learned that lesson already.
The bus pulled into the prison yard, and the occupants were ordered out.
And then the next unexpected thing happened.
He'd gotten no sleep. None. It had taken the entire night for his heart rate to return to normal.
That's what abject terror does to you.
He knew he should have expected it. He'd read about prison life, and he'd had his moments of exposure to it. He'd anticipated the humiliation of his second …..maybe third, but he had little memory of Mexico… strip search in less than a week. He'd not been quite as expectant of the freezing cold de-lousing shower. Still, he'd had an inkling of what it might be like. Or so he'd thought.
But the vast majority of his prior excursions to penal institutions had been for the purpose of visiting convicted serial killers, many of them in segregation, or even on death row. He'd never been in the general holding area, never even given thought to the acclimation process that each inmate had to go through. Not until he'd been one of them. And not until the snafu that had kept him out of protective custody.
He'd been afraid to close his eyes, or to let down his guard. He'd done so for a minute, early in the day, and his things had disappeared in that space of time. He'd been assertive, but not aggressive, in claiming them back. But there had been a price to pay.
He could still remember the taste of that filthy cloth in his mouth, the one that was supposed to stifle his screams as they cut him. He could remember the gleam of the knife, sliding in closer and closer to his left eye, and…
Not my eye! Please, not my eye!
He startled, wondering if he'd actually shouted those words aloud, just now. He'd fallen right back into that moment of terror, in the process of recalling it. He hadn't been afraid of the pain. He'd lived through pain before. Lived with pain, for that matter. Physical, psychic, emotional. No, it hadn't been the pain. It had been the threat of losing an eye.
He lived his life through his eyes. They'd been his windows into the world, and into human behavior, from the time of his earliest memory. He read with his eyes. He took in beauty with his eyes. He spoke with his eyes. With the knife inching closer to his eye, he'd been terrified of losing his means of being, his way of existing in the world.
And then….a savior. As frightened as he'd been, Reid's mind had moved quickly enough for him to evaluate the situation even as he'd escaped it. And he hadn't quite yet reached an assessment of what it meant.
Despite Luis' fears, it had been Reid who'd seemed to have been singled out among the new inmates. It had been his things stolen, he who'd been threatened in the yard, and he who'd been singled out for attack, in the dark of night. All of this despite the assurance of the guard that he hadn't told the other inmates that Reid was a fed…..yet.
But it had been a known fed, one living out in the open as a former federal agent, who'd commanded enough respect….or fear…..to abort the attack on Reid. And the BAU agent didn't quite know what to make of that. Nor did he know what to make of the fact that Calvin Shaw had virtually invited him in for coffee, and then, seemingly, gotten him safely removed from the rest of the population, and placed into a cell. The one next to his own.
Shaw's explanation of his prison status had seemed logical, in a criminal sort of way. He'd lived safely, and with some degree of respect, because his victim had been an informant. And criminals didn't like informants.
But they also don't like those of us who put criminals away. And, if I recall correctly, Calvin Shaw did plenty of that before he committed that murder.
Shaw claimed he'd killed his informant in order to protect his fellow undercover agents. According to him, she'd threatened to give their names to the Russian mob, making them targets.
But what if that wasn't it? What if he'd been turned? The goon with a knife to my eye could have been speaking with a Russian accent. Could Shaw have clout because he's got prestige in the Russian mob? Could it be that he killed his informant because she was about to blow the whistle on him?
With so many unanswered questions, Reid knew he would have to be wary, even of a presumed ally. He couldn't trust Shaw, not yet, anyway. And he couldn't trust the prison guard. Nor any of his fellow inmates. There was only one person he was going to be able to rely upon in prison…..the one he was permitted to look at in the mirror, only once a day.
So, when Shaw proposed a verbal game of chess, Reid agreed….partly for the distraction, and partly for another reason. As the game progressed, Reid memorized every chess move Calvin Shaw made, analyzed his strategy, passed judgment on his motivation. He profiled Calvin Shaw through his chess game.
Just in case it might come in handy, one day.
Isn't this ironic?
For the first time in a very long time, Reid wished he could primp in front of a mirror. The last time he could remember being this concerned about his appearance was the night of his aborted dinner with Maeve.
He had visitors. The two women waiting for him in a visitation room were two of his dearest friends in the world. In the end, they might prove his salvation. But, right now, their hands were as tied as his had been during his assault last night. There was nothing they could do to improve his situation, and he didn't want them carrying the burden of it. So he didn't want them to see what it was doing to him…. had done to him, already.
The best he could manage was to rub at his eyes and run his hands through his hair, as he followed a guard down the hallway. As he passed by them, he could see that each of the visitation rooms was stark, containing only a table and a few chairs, all of which were bolted into the ground. Each had a large glass window that allowed the guard to monitor for any illicit activity, or displays of anger, or 'inappropriate touching'.
He'd been told he'd be granted an embrace at the beginning and end of each meeting. Calvin had added that most of the guards would tolerate hand-holding, as long as it didn't progress. But hand-holding wasn't in the rule book and Reid didn't feel like he could afford to break the rules. Not just now.
Stopping at the end of the hallway, the guard used his key, and the steel door opened, and suddenly, Reid was in the room with them. And no sight had ever been as sweet.
Emily and JJ stood across the room, side by side, profiling him, while trying not to look like they were profiling him. He stood, trying not to look like he knew he was being profiled.. Finally, he broke the ice.
"Hi."
It was as though they'd been waiting to hear his voice, to hear the quality of it, the tone. Waiting to know if he would sound like Reid, and not like a prisoner. Without realizing, he'd been waiting for it as well. And, with that one word….and with the unavoidable evidence of the circumstance in which it had been spoken….they all knew. He was both.
Each of the women moved to him, taking turns with an all-too-short embrace. The two younger team members followed Emily's example and took their seats at the table.
"How are you doing?" asked the unit chief.
"I'm okay." Answered too quickly, and without eye contact.
"Spence…" JJ started, but he cut her off.
"I'm okay. It's just…I'm not in protective custody."
"What?!" In stereo.
"I think there was some kind of mix up. When I first got here, a guard called three names from the list. Mine was one of them. But then another guard moved me back into the original group. I tried to explain, but he didn't do anything about it."
Except to threaten to let them all know I'm a fed.
Perversely, he couldn't tell them that. It was the thing that would most threaten his life and limb, the knowledge that he was a federal agent. But he couldn't lay that on them.
What if they can't do anything about it? What purpose would it serve for them to know, except to scare them?
Too. It would scare them, too. Because last night had been last night and tonight was tonight and he couldn't stay awake forever and besides they'd almost maimed him with his eyes wide open and what if...
Reid blinked himself back into the conversation, and then hoped they hadn't noticed. But he could tell by the look on her face that one of them had.
Emily was speaking. "I'll make sure Fiona gets on that. There's no way you shouldn't be in protective custody. You haven't been convicted of anything. You haven't even had a trial yet!"
"How...how long do you think that will take?"
Emily side-eyed him as she answered. "I don't know. But I'll do my damnedest to make sure it's today."
Reid could only nod. "Thanks."
Emily added, "Listen, I can't stay long, because I'm meeting with Matt Cruz, and we're going to try taking it up the line. He's given me permission to have Garcia run some background for now, but we're going to see if we can get official permission to reopen the Scratch case, based on the murder in Mexico. If we can link him, it means his profile is still developing, and that will make it a BAU case."
JJ added, "And that will mean we can visit you, every day, if we need to, as part of the investigation. Until the day we get you out of here, permanently."
Reid nodded, and tried to smile at the encouragement. They could visit him every day. All he had to do was survive the nights.
Emily gave a few more details about his drug testing, and the fingerprints, and then rose from her chair.
"I need to go. But you take care of yourself. I'll call Fiona the moment I'm outside. And I'll get word to you about Scratch."
Reid stood as she came around the table to hug him once again, and then she was gone.
As the door closed behind her, Reid closed his eyes. He was alone with JJ, who could read him like a book. He wouldn't be able to hide it all from her.
There was no way he was leaving this encounter undiscovered.
Yesterday morning, she'd been ready to strangle Garcia. Penelope. One of her oldest friends.
As she'd arrived to the BAU, her newest teammates had been gathered at Tara's desk, involved in a discussion about….what else….Reid. They'd tried to bring her into it, which was both comforting and infuriating. It was clear they knew how personal it was for her, and how painful, and they were trying to be solicitous. For that, she was grateful. But it was also infuriating, because…..
Because the last thing Spence should be is the subject of office gossip! I know they mean well, and I know they're not really gossiping. They're trying to help solve a problem. But I just can't! I can't just talk about him with people who don't really know him. He's not just some guy who's in trouble. He's someone I love. He's Spence.
And then, to learn that he'd been moved to federal prison! And to have Garcia's reaction to it be the creation of that ridiculously floral visitation schedule.
I will visit him when I damn well please! And I please to do it the minute he's allowed!
She'd fled both the discussion and the chart….and the temptation to choke its creator…..and followed Emily to her office.
"Em.." she said, as she knocked on the doorjamb. "You got a minute?"
"Of course. What do you need?"
JJ entered and took the seat across the desk from her old friend.
"I just….I don't know how we can work cases the way we are. I mean….why aren't we working his case?"
Emily put down her pen, completely understanding JJ's frustration, because she shared it.
"I'm trying to make it official, working through channels. There are people in the Bureau who weren't all that happy that Hotch had a say in naming his successor. And they'll point to Reid as evidence of the unit's mismanagement. I can't operate too far outside the lines, or I'll be gone. If that happens, there are no guarantees."
JJ could only shake her head, wishing she could rail against Emily, wishing she didn't understand. But she did.
"He's not made for prison, Em."
"Who is?"
"You know what I mean. He'll be eaten alive in there, and he knows it. He's got to be terrified!" As she was, for him.
The BAU chief pushed back her chair and walked around her desk, to perch on the corner of it nearest JJ.
"I know that. That's why I pushed for visitation to start early. We've got an appointment slot for tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?"
JJ was taken aback. She'd said, just the other day, that she didn't think she could take seeing Spence behind bars. But that was when she'd expected him to be home within the day. Now…..
"Yes!"
"All right. But, listen, JJ…..if you don't feel like you can concentrate…if you need to take time, I'll approve it."
JJ shook her head. "I can do my job. I just want my job to be 'freeing Spence'."
Emily nodded, and smiled. "Well, that's kind of what I was thinking. Matt and I will meet with the higher ups tomorrow. In the meantime, I've got Garcia running a few scans on her computer. If you felt like you needed some leave.….."
She watched as JJ caught her meaning.
I could help her. I could work Spence's case! She nodded her understanding.
"Okay. Let's go see Spence tomorrow. And then, if things don't go the way you and Matt want them to…..I might need some leave."
Now, with Emily gone, and seated across from him, JJ dispensed with looking at the rest of her best friend, and settled her laser gaze on his eyes. She knew he couldn't hide anything from her there. Especially not when her own eyes always acted as such a magnet for his.
Reid wanted to look away. He didn't want to be found out. Didn't want her to know of his mortal terror, nor what had already been done to him. But that deep blue drew him like a black hole.
JJ's experience with prison had been much like Reid's. She'd dealt with prisoners before the fact, and after the fact, but not during the fact. So, in spite of her most genuine wish not to be able to picture it happening to Spence, she'd asked her husband about the process of prison entry. And then she'd gone off by herself, and cried.
Reid was such a private person, so reserved. Almost medievally chivalrous at times. The thought of him being forced to strip, being subjected to a search of his body cavities, and then being hosed into submission with a delouser, was too much to bear. The thought of it. And yet, Reid had had to bear the actuality of it.
She looked for the effects of that actuality now. And, to her deep sadness, she found them. Spence's eyes were as shaded as he could make them in her presence. But he was unable to hide his shame, his embarrassment, his fear, his isolation. He'd always been a sucker for her eyes, which, at the moment, were drawing out from him every bit of what he'd wanted to keep from her.
She'd come in here determined to be strong for him. To be something he could hold on to. An anchor. But the look in his eyes had undone that determination, almost completely. JJ felt her own face starting to crumble, and she fought it with everything she had. She'd come here to be leaned on, not to lean.
Not trusting her voice, and oblivious to the rules, she reached across the table and grabbed Reid's hands. Her touch would have to convey all that she wanted him to know.
I'm not going to abandon you to this. I'm going to go at this with everything I have. You are not alone.
Except that he was. Every day. In a sea of men who would delight in hurting him. The thought of it, the knowledge of it, further crumbled her resolve, and her features.
Reid saw, and begged her. "Don't."
Don't cry for me. Don't take on a battle you can't fight. I'll make it, or I won't. But it's not yours to own.
In her struggle for control, JJ had translated her emotion into the strength of her grip. Her fingers were tight around his, her hands shaking. He felt her trembling, and squeezed an assurance he didn't feel, the two of them clinging to one another, afraid to let go, afraid of what was next, afraid that maybe there would be no 'next'. And then…
Abruptly, the door opened and a guard partially entered the room.
"You two.." Using his head to gesture toward their hands, "…..that's as far as it goes. You get my drift?"
The pair looked from him, to one another, and back. Reid spoke up. "Yes, sir."
Once the guard had left, JJ managed a weak smile. "Why do I feel like I'm in middle school?"
Relieved to see her grin, Reid rejoined, "I wouldn't know. I was eight when I was in middle school. I don't remember any girls wanting to hold hands with me."
She chuckled, but didn't let go. "Well, this girl does. Spence, I don't want you to lose hope in here. We'll find a way to prove your innocence."
He shook his head. "He'll get away with it, JJ."
She leaned in to him, and made sure she had his eyes. "We're not going to let him."
Refusing to sit back until he'd acknowledged the statement.
"All right. Yes." Anything to please her.
"And Fiona is going to make sure you're moved to protective custody."
He nodded again, although they both knew it to be a superficial gesture. Fiona might be able to right that particular wrong, but it was unlikely to happen today. Which meant he had to survive another twenty-four hours, and he felt anything but assured of that.
Before he had to iie to his best friend again, Reid changed the subject.
"How's my mom?"
"She's okay. She and I had a nice long talk the other night. She even showed me her memory book."
Not mentioning that she'd slept over with Diana. Although it had been her choice, she knew he would feel like he'd burdened her yet again. Which was why she also chose not to mention her husband's reaction to the sleepover, nor to anything else related to her caretaking of Diana.
"She did?" A small smile blossoming at the thought of his mother having a lucid period.
"Yep. She was a beautiful young woman, wasn't she?"
Full smile now. "Yes, she was."
"And I even saw a photo of a budding little circus performer."
His brows went up. "The tightrope?"
She nodded. And they were right back there.
"You know how to do this, Spence. Just hang on, and put one foot in front of the other, until they both lead you out the door."
It was his turn to squeeze her fingers.
"I'll try my best."
A knock at the window brought their attention back to the guard, who gave them a signal to wind things up.
For a long moment, they sat in silence, each pouring the contents of their hearts into the depths of the other's eyes, the intermittent tightening of their fingers the only physical measure of their emotional states. And then, they rose, and came around the table, and wrapped their arms around one another. Each could feel the other trembling.
JJ found her voice long enough to whisper into his ear, "I love you. And I can't wait for the day when you come home."
As he released her, Reid smiled. "Me, too."
He stood there, the smile glued to his face, until the door had closed behind her. And then he sat and waited for the guard to take him back to his fate.
She'd held it together, thank God. Just barely, but she'd done it. Now she just had to hold it a little longer, just until she could make it back to the car.
But the look in his eyes. The artificiality of his smile. The trembling of his body, as she'd wrapped her arms around him. The knowledge of what he'd been through, and the fear of what he hadn't told her. For she was certain that there were things he hadn't told her.
It broke over her like a wave. The shock, the worry, the fear, the pain in her heart, the sleeplessness, the hopelessness. Just steps from the parking lot, JJ bent over in grief. Powerless to hold it back a moment longer, she covered her face, and wept.
Minutes later, a middle-aged woman emerged from the visitor lot, and approached the young blonde collapsed in sorrow on the walkway. Laying a comforting hand on JJ's back, she spoke words of encouragement.
"Your man inside, honey? Don't you worry. My man has been in for eight years. It's done him a world of good. They got programs in there, you know? Help them fix their problems. My man, he's done a 360. He's nothin' like he was when he went in. You'll see. They'll change your man, too. He'll be so different when he comes out, you won't even know him. Three-sixty."