Title: Thinking Outside The Box
Author: The Color Grey
Summary: Looooong oneshot. Ethan shows up at the BAU with some unexpected news for Reid. Maybe good things happen to good people after all.
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or any of the characters nor am I making a profit. Although, the idea of them tied down to my bed is a very pretty picture.
A/N: I re-watched "Jones" the other day and couldn't help but notice Ethan seemed kind of... regretful he dropped out of FBI training. But then again, I might've imagined it. Nonetheless, this was born and I think it turned out pretty well.I may or may not continue this to more than a oneshot, I can see so many ways this can go on from here but for right now, it's just a very long oneshot.
A/N2: Ethan didn't get very much on-screen time so I basically had to develope his character from scratch. Sorry if he's not how you imagined him, but this his how I want him to be. This also means I gave Ethan a potty mouth so right now I'm warning you for some pretty strong language.
A/N3: This isn't Beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy and possibly leave a review if you can :)
"Even if you fall on your face, you're still moving forward."
- Victor Kiam
Shit.
Ethan DeRapps thinks that that pretty much sums up everything perfectly. He's sitting in this shitty reception office, drinking shitty coffee, reading some shitty magazine, while waiting on his shitty friend to get back into this shitty state. Yep, shit is a nice word. He sighs and finished the last of his coffee, crumpling the cup and tossing it into the trash can across from him. It was a good shot. What he wouldn't give for a good glass of Jack Daniels right about now. But no, apparently Jack Daniels wasn't a "recommended stress reliever" for a recovering alcoholic. He sighed again; he was in one of those moods where anything and everything pissed him off. The logical part of his brain told him that he was just nervous about the news he was here to share.
With a flick of the wrist, he looked at his watch. 4:27 P.M. Another sigh. The women—some receptionist, maybe?—had told him that BAU Team 1 was scheduled to be back in Quantico by 4'o clock. Thank you, idiotic bitch, but you timing is a little off. He reached up a scrubbed his eyebrows tiredly. Was it really this hard to just talk to Reid? He should have given him a cool nickname or something… like 'Captain Smart Guy' or 'That One Guy Who Just So Happens to Disappear Every Time Ethan Needs to Talk to Him'. Yeah, he likes the second one the best.
"Um, sir?" an uncertain voice brought him from his thoughts. Ethan looked up from his clasped hands in his lap to the woman who was addressing him. To say she was colorful would be an understatement. The woman wasn't that old—late thirties, tops—and was clad in a hot pink dress, lime green shawl with matching green high heels. A large, lime green bow wound in her blonde hair complete the eccentric outfit. Ethan raised his brows questioningly at the colorful blonde woman, "Ma'am?"
"Oh, I was told that you wanted to see Team 1 when they arrived back from their case in Ohio and lucky for you, sweet cheeks, they just came in a couple of minutes ago," Miss Colorful Woman said. Sweet cheeks? Hm… well, he's been called worse.
Ethan put on his best smile, "That would be wonderful, ma'am, but I only need to see a Dr. Spencer Reid, not the whole team."
A look a surprise crossed Miss Colorful Woman's face at the mention of Reid's name, followed by a gleeful smile. "Oh!" she exclaimed happily, "Reid doesn't get many people visiting him here. Actually, I don't think anyone has ever come here asking for him specifically…" she trailed off, scrunching her nose. Ethan blinked a few times, wondering what the hell job the FBI would have her doing around here.
Miss Colorful Woman physically shook herself and continued to grin at him, "The names Penelope Garcia, by the way. But you could call me Garcia… or Penny. You know what? Just call me whatever you want, hot stuff. Now, I usually don't do this type of thing unless I know my partners name…" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Ethan couldn't help but laugh at her flirtation, this woman was insane! The Spencer he knew wouldn't be caught dead within miles of a woman of this sort. Ethan gave her a sly side smile, "Well, Penny, my name is Ethan. Ethan DeRapps." Ethan stood to his feet, holding out his hand for her to shake. A pink blush stained Penny's cheeks and she shook his hand bashfully.
"Well, Mr. DeRapps, I'll walk you up to where the good doctor is. And maybe later we can get together after," Penny said with a flirty wink and a wicked smirk. With that, she turned on her heel and started walking towards the elevator. The FBI has really downed it's professionalism since… well, since he last saw an FBI crime show on TV. Ethan gave a quiet laugh under his breath and quickly caught up the Penny, who was already waiting for him in the elevator.
Penny pushed the button for the ninth floor and Ethan discretely wiped the sweat off his palms on his jeans. He wasn't nervous; no, Ethan DeRapps does not get nervous. He was cool, calm, and collected. Hell, who was he kidding? God, he's totally going to need a beer after this. Shit, two cases of beer. Bring out the alcohol!
He was baffled at how nervous he was to see Reid. Like, when was he ever nervous to do anything? Sure, he hasn't seen Reid in years but the last time he saw him, he wasn't nearly this nervous. Granted, Reid wasn't exactly in the utmost mental state at that time but it was still Reid. And Reid was Reid, end of story.
He had told Reid back in New Orleans that even though he wasn't changing lives, his music made him happy; and that was truth… mostly. His music did make him happy, most so than he ever was in FBI training (although he only went for one day) and that was enough to set him for life. But after that visit with Reid, his mind had begun to wander with the 'what ifs?'
Oh, yes, Ethan DeRapps did catch the dreaded 'what ifs?' Like, what if he had stayed in training? Would there have been one more person left to live? Would there have been one more woman that came home to hug her child? Kiss her husband? Would another child have lived to see their next birthday?
And those dreadful 'what ifs?' are what powered him to walk onto that three o' clock flight from New Orleans to D.C. and give the cabbie directions to the FBI building. And Ethan hoped with all of who he was that he wasn't making the wrong decision.
"You okay, hot stuff?" Penny asked, "You keep sighing and stuff."
Ethan gave her a side-ways look, was he being that obvious? Jeez, he needed to work on his 'cool, calm, and collected' look. He licked his lips and offered her a charming smile, "Yeah, I'm fine." Ethan glanced up at the dial above the door—they were at the seventh floor. Damn. Well, FBI elevators were going on his list of shitty things; right under shitty coffee and shitty magazines.
Penny didn't look convinced. "You're not… you're not some type of serial killer sick-o coming here to shoot-out the place, right?" she asked skeptically. Ethan laughed once at the pestering look on her face. "No, no, nothing like that," he assured her, "the people downstairs already checked me out before they even let me inside."
Before Penny could reply, the doors to the elevator dinged open and Ethan stepped out of the shitty elevator. The BAU floor was much bigger than he expected; with a large glass doors leading to an expansive open-desk bullpen. Enclosed offices circled around the floor with narrow ramps leading up to their doors. Huh, maybe the FBI wasn't as shitty as he originally thought. Good thing, too.
Penny came up behind him and laid a hand on his elbow "If you'll just wait here, I'll bring him right out to you."
"That would be great, thank you," Ethan told her. Penny nodded and proceeded to walk towards the bullpen, eventually disappearing around a corner. Ethan shook his head unconsciously; still having no clue what the hell the FBI would do with an employee like that. Maybe the chief of FBI land is an odd bastard who takes pleasure in hiring the misfits who can't get a job anywhere else. Huh, maybe he really did belong here.
"Ethan?" a familiar voice questioned from behind him.
Show time.
"Doctor three-times-over Spencer Reid in the motherfucking flesh," he greeted happily as he turned around, arm spread wide like an invitation. Reid looked different, no doubt about that. His hair was shorter since the last time he saw him, granted that was five years ago but now it barely brushed past his ears. The last time he had seen him with hair that short was when they were teenagers and Ethan managed to talk him into chopping off a few inches with the kitchen scissors. The end product had Ethan hysterical for weeks.
But this cut actually looked rather attractive on him, not that he would ever say that to his face. He's put on some weight too, but in a healthy way. His sense of style was still relatively the same, except a little more updated and he was now wearing a sleek pair of Converse instead of his outdated sneakers. He looked healthier… happier.
Ethan grinned, "You do still only have three PhD's, right? Or are we a four-times-over doctor now?"
Reid's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, but he didn't look angry at him for coming. In fact, much to Ethan's surprise, he looked pleased. "What… what are you doing here?" Reid asked him, taking three long strides towards him, ignoring Ethan's question.
Ethan shrugged casually, "What? A guy can't come visit his old friend?"
"Well, it's kind of different when the last time you seen that friend was five years ago. Very briefly, if I may add to that," Reid's words glinted with humor but then he turned serious. "But, seriously, why are you here? Are you in some sort of trouble?"
Ethan gave him a look of mock hurt, "It's the first time you've seen me in forever and the first thing you assume is I'm in some kind of trouble?"
"Because you always are," he replied flatly. Hm, maybe Reid really does remember him. Well no shit, Sherlock, he has an eidetic memory, he mentally slapped himself. Maybe he should update Reid's nickname to 'Memory Man'. Oh, that one has a nice ring to it.
Ethan rolled his eyes, "Buy you a drink and we can talk?"
"It's not even five yet. Plus, I'm working"
Ethan gave an exasperated sigh; Reid really hasn't changed much at all. "C'mon, stiff, I'm sure Mr. Boss Man can let you out early one day. I'm almost certain he'll say yes. And besides, I have something pretty interesting to tell you," Ethan urged.
"You don't even know my boss," Reid argued, stuffing his hand into the pockets of his slacks, although his eyes lit up with child-like curiosity.
Ethan sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Look, Reid, I just spent the last two hours sitting in the receptionist office with some idiot of a receptionist and I'm seriously starting to think my ass is permanently going to stay asleep. So I would really appreciate it if you just humor me right now."
Reid's lips slowly twitched up into a smile, "You really haven't changed at all."
"So is that a yes?" Ethan asked hopefully.
"I'll see what I can do."
Spencer Reid was never a man very big on social interactions, hence his awkward waves as oppose to handshakes and his lack of friend outside the BAU. Added onto the fact that he practically works seven days a week, it's safe to say that he doesn't really get out much. Much less with a friend.
But this was different. This was Ethan. The same Ethan that talked to him when no-one else would, the one who chased away the school yard bullies with their tails tucked between their legs, the same one who could get the truth out of Reid when he wouldn't tell anyone else.
"So what brings you to D.C., Ethan?" Reid began the conversation casually. Ethan picked up the menu on the table in front of him and shrugged. Reid had managed to talk him out of going to a bar and found a nice little diner just down the street from the FBI offices. Like Ethan had guessed, Hotch had no problem giving Reid an early day once he explained that Ethan had come in town and Reid guessed that he needed his help with something.
"Come on, DeRapps." Reid hedged and nudged him gently in the shin with his shoe under the table.
"Persistent Pain-In-The-Ass Man!" Ethan exclaimed suddenly, snapping his fingers as if he just discovered all the secrets to the Universe, eyes lighting up.
"What?" Reid raised an eyebrow.
"Hm? Oh, I was just thinking of a nickname for you," he said almost off-handedly, skimming the open menu in his hands. Reid shook his head in disbelief. Ethan was always a little strange, if not inappropriate at times. But that was a big part of who he was. He's gotten Reid in trouble on more than one occasion- like the time he, honest to God, manage to smuggle pirated videos into Reid's closet, nearly getting them both arrested.
"I was thinking of getting the shrimp basket," Ethan spoke up.
"I hate shrimp," Reid dismissed the idea, "Now stop adverting talking about what's bothering you."
Ethan looked up from the menu, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I keep forgetting you're a profiler. I used to be the master at throwing you around with my words"
"Did you come here to tell me something important or tease me?"
Ethan closed his menu and set it down on the table. He took a sip of his coke and then set the can on the table gently, almost as if buying himself time to think of something to say. "Specious argument, false dichotomy," Ethan said. "Telling you something important by teasing you. You gotta think outside the box, man."
"Well maybe I like thinking inside the box," Reid muttered, picked up his own glass of water and taking a sip. "Why's it seem like whenever you want me to start think outside the box it's so I can do something illegal, or immoral, or—"
Ethan waved a hand. "Questions of motivation to get into psychology, and that's tricky stuff. I try to stay away from the mushy science."
Rolling his eyes, Reid took another sip of his water. "Don't let any of the members on my team hear you calling psychology a mushy science."
"Ah, yes, you and your merry band of crime fighting heroes," Ethan mused, "You meet a lot of chicks out there? You know how they feel about a man in uniform."
Reid rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. "You already know the answer to that question."
"Eh, but I just like rubbing it in," Ethan teased.
Reid sighed almost happily, practically marveling at the ability to easily fall back into old patterns with Ethan. Growing up, they were practically jointed at the hip. They had met when Reid was seven and Ethan was ten. Ethan had immediately projected a 'protective big brother' feeling over young Spencer. Like Reid, Ethan had above-average intelligence, so he was skipped ahead a few grades, graduating at the age of fifteen. Not quite meeting Reid's outstanding achievement at twelve, but sure as hell impressing his teachers.
"So how's life working out for you?" Ethan asked, seemingly genuine interested in how Reid was going to answer. He knew he didn't have to lie to Ethan like he had needed to with his team members, and even if he wanted to, Ethan would see right through him. Because that was Ethan.
"It's been eventful;" Reid answered carefully, "a lot has been going on lately."
Ethan simply raised an eyebrow in response. A waitress came by with a pen and notepad to take their orders and then swiftly left to the kitchen.
"You gonna explain or are you gonna leave me in suspense?" Ethan asked, brows still raised in anticipation, already knowing that Reid was going to give into him, his lips quirked up—although not quite a smile.
"Well… we just lost a member of our team," Reid began slowly.
Ethan immediately dropped his teasing expression and guilt flicked across his face and his brows drew together. "Aw, shit, man, I'm sorry. Did they get fired or did they…" Die, hung in the air between them.
"Oh, no, no, no," Reid hurriedly began to explain, "She left willingly. You know, she wanted a job change. They offered her a high-up position in Interpol and I think she might be going in that direction but I still… I mean, you know…" Reid floundered helplessly, an embarrassed heat spread across his cheeks.
Ethan nodded, his facial expression calmer now that he knew someone didn't die but it was still sympathetic. "I know, man. People leave and it hurts like a fuck, but that's life and, well… It's either you learn to live with it or let it eat you alive."
Reid frowned, the words bringing up unexpected memories of his days with his run with Dilaudid. It's either you learn to live with it or let it eat you alive. Story of their lives right there.
"Any… happy news?" Ethan asked hesitantly.
"My friend JJ just got married," Reid told him smiling. "I'm her son Henry's godfather."
Ethan let out a low whistle and grinned, "See, now that's what I'm talking about! I'm happy for you, man. What about you? Any girlfriends? New doctorates? If I'm not mistaken, you hit the big three-oh a couple months ago, eh? Any mid-life crisis I need to know about? You goin' grey yet? "
Reid smiled down bashfully into his cup of water. He racked his brain for any huge event that took place in his life since he had last seen Ethan and the main thing he came up with was the birth of Henry. Any other big thing didn't seem so happy—Benjamin Cyrus, getting shot, contracting Anthrax (not like he could tell Ethan about that anyway), Owen Savage, but there was…
"I talked to my dad."
The surprise shown on Ethan's face, whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. "Oh."
A short bark of laughter escaped Reid's throat, "Oh?"
"When did you do that?" Ethan wanted to know.
"About four years ago," Reid shrugged. Ethan raised a brow at Reid's vague answer but said nothing about it.
"How'd it go? 'Cause I know if I ever saw the bastard again I would probably kick his ass."
Reid stifled a smile. Ethan's feelings about William Reid were no secret to him. When he had first left Reid when he was ten, Ethan hadn't been too happy about it.
"Not too bad," Reid said carefully.
"But not too good either," Ethan finished for him and Reid's lips quirked up into an awkward smile.
"So what about you? You never did tell me why you're really here," Reid changed the subject, eager to get the attention off of him. But then he hastily added, "Not that I don't like that you're here, it's just I didn't expect to ever see you… here."
Ethan nodded and said, "And I didn't expect to ever see me here either."
"What do you mean?" Reid frowned.
"You like your job, right?" he suddenly asked. Reid blinked, his fast-moving mind trying to latch onto the turn in the conversation.
"Well, yes," he answered. "I mean, yeah, I have days where I really hate my job and I have other days where I wouldn't change it for anything in the world. I go through my job staring at bodies, getting inside the minds of serial killers, risking my life and hopefully in the end, I save a life and get a killer off the street. And you'd be surprised what kind of power that feeling gives, knowing you brought one more person home. It's-it's… yes, I do enjoy my job. Yes."
The whole time Reid was talking, Ethan was staring at him with calculating eyes, nodding slowly. Reid felt as if those eyes were drinking in every word he said, evaluating them and sorting them out. Reid had meant his words, every single one, but Ethan still felt as if he had to double-check to see if Reid was lying.
Ethan nodded, obviously satisfied with what he found. "That's good," he said. "Well then you might understand what I'm about to tell you."
"Okay?"
Ethan sighed and continued, "I'm going back to FBI training."
Reid's jaw dropped in surprise.
"I know, I know," Ethan said, "Surprising. But since you came to see me all of those years ago, I couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if I had gone through with it all. And… Well, I'm tired of wondering and I want to just go for it."
Reid's jaw worked, not cooperating with what his brain was telling it to do.
"The age limit is thirty-seven to start training," Ethan continued, "and since I'm already thirty-three, I figured I'd better do it now. I meet all of the physical requirements and I have a bachelor's degree in criminology so I'm good there. And I already passed the background check and I have an appointment later this month with some guy at the FBI to go through an interview or something. Then if that guy thinks I'm up for it, he'll send me off to another interview, possibly a psyche evaluation and if I somehow make it that far, I'll be assigned to a career path. I'm personally hoping for criminal investigations but who knows? Maybe I'll end up counterterrorism. Anyway, then I'll be sent to the twenty-week training program here in Quantico so it's… it's gonna be a while before I can do anything, but you went through all of this yourself so you already know…"
Reid had finally managed to collect himself from his surprise and muster out a, "Oh… oh, wow! I-I can't even… I… wow."
A teasing smile pulled at Ethan's lips, "Wow, huh? So I'm guessing you approve?"
"Approve? Ethan, I'm… I'm thrilled! I mean, I don't- I can't… wow," he ended lamely again with that word, the speech part of his brain still seemed to be at a shock.
Ethan laughed, as full and as joyful as Reid has ever heard it. An involuntary grin pulled at the edge of his lips at the sight of his friend so happy. "Nice to see you don't have a snappy response for something I say for once," Ethan said grinning.
"I still can't even wrap my head around it," Reid admitted. "But seriously, I'm happy for you, Ethan."
"Yeah, well…" Ethan looked down at his coke can, "Nothing's set in stone. For all we know, I might not even get accepted. The guys up there might think I'm too… odd for their tastes. You know, only so many people get picked to be agents."
"I've seen the numbers," Reid said with a grim nod. Thousands of people apply every year and only a select few get chosen to become agents.
Ethan gave him an incredulous look, "Yes, I think I already knew you've seen the stats."
"But I have a feeling you'll be great," Reid continued.
"How do you suppose that?" Ethan asked.
"Call it a genius' intuition."
At that moment, their waitress returned with their food and gave them seconds of their drinks. Reid picked up his water and smiled at Ethan over the glass. Hopefully, things worked out for his friend. After all, good things were supposed to happen to good people. But then again… when has that ever the case?
"If you don't design your own life plan, you'll fall into someone else's plan. And guess what they have planned for you? Not much."
- Alfred A. Montapert