Anger, Excuses, and Cowards

They all accepted his reason—his excuse—but Reid saw through it, saw him for what he really was. A coward.

Everybody on the team knew about what happened in Vegas, it was captured on camera after all, and they were satisfied. Satisfied that Reid had finally had "closure", satisfied that Reid's past wasn't quite as fucked up as the rest of them, that Reid could finally let go of his anger and have the "family" that none of ever really got. Just like everybody else on this shitty world, even though they were the best profilers on the Earth and supposed to understand the human mind, they only saw what they wanted to.

They all accepted William's story. That it wasn't him that made him abandon his eight year old son and his paranoid, schizophrenic wife to fend for themselves but the secret that had finally made him run away. To protect them he said. That it was the secret that tore him apart. The team believed him because they couldn't—wouldn't—imagine that Reid's family was anything other than happy, happy, happy.

What bullshit.

They might have believed him but Spencer didn't.

And finally, after all the guilt had settled and passed—guilt that was practically forced on to him by his mother, his father, his old neighbors, his teammates, and the precinct captain, everyone—he learned it was still there.

The anger, the raw, unbridled rage, was still there.

But it had taken on another form. Before, when he allowed himself to touch on the subject, the anger—and hurt—was explosive and sometimes it scared him with how volatile it was. Now though, the anger was always there and, unlike before, it was never hidden deep, just boiling beneath the surface (there was no more hurt, just anger, the hurt was consumed and burned away by the rage). This one he could feel without having to think about it, this form of anger was always lurking in the back of his mind. This rage didn't scare him, not as much as it terrified him by how unaffected he was by it, like it was a random thread on his sweater he never bothered taking care of.

So a week later when his team asked him how he was, he just gave them his strange, quick quirk of the lips smile and said yes.

He was lying through his teeth.

They believed him.

And why wouldn't they? They wanted so badly for him to trust them, to confide in them, to go back to being their life-sized super computer with no secrets and the drama-free life, that they were willing to break the pact they made long ago (the one where they promised not to profile each other).

That pissed him off too.

After all, Morgan was the one who couldn't trust, Hotch was the one that retreated into himself the one most, JJ was the one that tried the hardest to separate herself into two different people the most, Garcia was the one that tried the hardest to distance herself from it all, Emily was the one that tried to work without emotions, and Rossi was the one that tried to face his work head on and have no personal life. What Rossi forgot (but was slowly relearning) was that the BAU was like taking shots, that at first it was like you were being burned but then you get that sort of adrenaline rush and a wonderful numb, floating feeling but the aftermath made you look like hell and feel even worse. And, just like taking shots, you always came back for more. It was hard to give up and you were never quite sure that you could even if you wanted too.

All these people with so many deep, dark secrets and private lives they'd rather kept secret. And yet they wanted to know everything there was to know about him.

They were hypocrites.

All of them.

But that was okay because he was too.

So when he's working on a case, one that includes bullying or abandonment, the anger keeps his head clear and instincts sharp. And the way his teammates glance at him—with worrying looks, like he's going to fall apart at the slightest tremor—it just adds fuel to the flame. Because who the fuck did they think he was? He wasn't some fucking piece of china. He wasn't going to break so easily—if he did break so easily, he never would've been able to join the FBI and would probably be in a psychiatric ward by the time he was 10. He wasn't so damn fragile! All the things he told them—which if you asked anyone, he never told them much, never went into any real detail, never elaborated—it wasn't even half of what he had been through as a kid.

So let them make their little jokes, let them think he's more naïve and innocent then he actually is. Let them fuss over him. Let them pretend—ignore—how strong he really is.

And let his father—not that Reid could ever call him that—think he got away. Let his father think he deceived his son, who had an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory, two doctorates, 3 BA's—and working on a fourth—and one of the best fucking profilers in the country on of the best profiler team on the eastern seaboard.

Let them think what they will about Reid but he knew the truth. His father was—is—a deserter, a coward. Who ran away because he couldn't deal with the fact—handle the truth—that his family wasn't "normal". That his wife was crazy. That his son, who by the age of 8, was smarter than he ever was—or will be.

Because Reid knew his father would've left them sooner or later, the secret just gave him an excuse to leave with no guilt—and an excuse in case anyone asked why—sooner rather than later.

William Reid was a coward.

And Spencer? Spencer was still angry.

Angsty huh? I love writing angry Reid because there really isn't enough of him, I mean how can anybody be that easy going? I loved the episodes where he was angry was Emily and JJ.

REIVEW!