Déjà Vu
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.
Ok so another gift fic, this one for Nebula 2, who helped me out with my story Misty Eyed for the CCOAC Challenge 13.
Nebula2 gave me the pair Hotch and Reid and the prompts: flood, missing item, handgun requalification. This is set at the end of Series 6.
Hope you like it.
. . .
"So, this is where you are hiding?" Morgan smirked.
"I wouldn't exactly call it hiding," Reid looked up from the file in his hand.
"Then what would you call it?" Morgan asked, looking around the dusty records room.
"Research," Reid replied flatly.
"Right, so this is the source of your constant reel of random case knowledge, there was I thinking you snuck of for secret rendezvous with some FBI hottie when you disappeared for hours on end," Morgan mocked.
Reid shot him a look, deciding not to bother dignifying his comment with a reply.
Morgan perched himself on the edge of the desk Reid was studying at. He looked down at his younger colleague. He knew he had had it rough, they all had. Losing Prentiss had hit them all, but Reid seemed to be struggling to move on. Morgan also knew about the headaches. Reid rarely spoke of them, but Morgan had got pretty good at spotting them. He half wondered if he had one now, the record room was a lot darker then the florescent lit bullpen.
"Did you want anything in particular? Or are you just here to annoy me?"
"Well, sor . . .ry," Morgan drew out the word. "Actually I'm part of the search party Hotch sent out for you."
Reid looked up at Morgan, disappointment evident on his face. Before he spoke Morgan noticed that little nervous twitch, in the corner of his mouth, the one he has when awkwardness threatens to consume him.
"He . . . urm . . . he's . . . looking for me," Reid said, pulling a face. "Did he . . . Did he say why?"
Morgan shrugged.
"I'll be right up," Reid swallowed.
. . .
As he replaced the file, Reid knew what his superior wanted. He was in no rush to discuss the matter, but now realised it could be postponed no longer.
Reid trudged along the corridor to the elevator, he let his feet drag, trying to bide as much time as humanly possible before facing the inevitable.
Leaning back against the cool steel, he took a deep breath, trying not to let the constant throbbing in his head overcome his ability to think clearly. He wasn't one to hide behind excuses, he had leant a long time ago that excuses didn't work. It was black or white, you deserved to pass or you deserved to fail. It was the way it had been in high school; the FBI wasn't that different, just the kids in the playground were bigger and, luckily for him, friendlier.
In no time he was hovering outside the door of his Unit Chief's temporary home. Facing what he knew as the office of Section Chief Strauss, somehow made the 'chat' he was about to have worse.
As he sat, waiting for whoever was in there to come out, his feet begun to tap out a nervous rhythm, trying to distract himself from the building tension in his forehead. Reid was more than aware of the signs and symptoms of his headaches now and this one was textbook. It started with the dull ache, building to a crescendo of pain, only to subside after an hour of agony. This pattern could repeat its self for days or be a one shot.
He looked up as the door opened, noting Rossi exit. Reid stood; ready to take his turn in the plush office.
"Been a naughty boy, have we? Called to the Headmaster's office," Rossi smiled at his own joke.
"No . . . I . . . urm . . . Hotch wanted to see me about something," he finally managed, as he turned away from the older agent.
"Hey Kid," Rossi called, as Reid placed his hands on the door, "you missing something?"
"No, no, I don't think so," Reid looked puzzled.
Rossi raised an eyebrow, "Your gun!"
Reid looked down at the vacant space on his belt, as if noticing for the first time it was missing. He shoved his hands into his pocket, desperately trying to find an explanation, other than the truth.
"Wasn't it your requalification this morning?" Rossi questioned, starting to put two and two together and hoping he wasn't making four.
Reid's head dropped, knowing this was the beginning of people finding out.
. . .
Sat opposite Hotch, his side arm taunting him as it lay on Hotch's desk, Reid didn't know where to look. He was immensely uncomfortable. Hotch continued to finish the task he had started, not putting down his pen until happy that he had finished.
Placing his pen down with slow deliberation, he snuck a look at the young agent before raising his head fully.
Though he had deliberately put the gun in view, to gauge a reaction, now Hotch moved the hand gun from the desk, putting it into his top drawer. He watched how Reid's eyes traced its path.
Hotch didn't know where to start, he had coached Reid through his handgun requalification twice a year, every year, since Reid had joined the team. This time had been no different. Initially it had been a close thing as to whether he would pass or not, but he had only failed once, previously. Hotch had seen Reid's scores increase consistently over the years and was surprised by today's fail.
"You are aware you can retest in two weeks," Hotch begun.
Reid nodded, that didn't save him the embarrassment of facing the team without his gun, and at a time when they were short too. Yes JJ had returned, but since she had come back Seaver had left, so they were still one agent down.
"Reid," Hotch continued, "you are a good agent, your input is invaluable to the team; you have proven time and time again that you are more than capable of making appropriate use of a weapon in the field, equally you have proved Gideon right in the fact that 'you don't have to carry a gun to kill someone'."
Reid looked up at his boss, biting his lip, he wanted so hard to say something, but words failed him.
"I haven't told anyone yet, Rossi included," Hotch nodded at the door, aware that Reid had seen him leave the office.
"It's ok, he knows," Reid managed.
Hotch briefly looked surprised, he hadn't expected him to share the news just yet.
Seeing the fleeting look, Reid explained:
"He noticed on the way out."
"Oh," Hotch accepted. "It is not necessary for a profiler to carry a weapon. The team will understand; we're all struggling to adjust to the changes that have happen recently. It was unfortunate that this coincided with your assessment."
Reid nodded again.
"How do you want to deal with this, shall I talk to the team for you?"
Reid shook his head furiously. He would not hide behind someone else.
"That's fine," Hotch reassured, aware he had insulted his pride, "Reid if you want to talk, I'm here, you know that."
Reid nodded, still unable to trust his voice fully.
"Hotch, I . . .," he started, "I'll talk to everyone, individually, thank you."
Reid stood, finding the office increasingly claustrophobic, he wanted to leave.
"Reid," Hotch said with some force, "I mean it. In the meantime extra practice starts tomorrow morning, early."
"Thank you sir," Reid added before leaving.
Outside of the office, Reid made his way quickly to the nearest bathroom. Once behind closed doors, he steadied himself on a sink, his head pounding. This was the last thing he needed. Splashing his face with the cool water, he tried to prepare himself for facing the team, and letting them down.
. . .
I hope Rossi noticing Reid's gun missing can count as a missing item – please.