Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds in any way, shape or form (unfortunately); nor do I own any rights to Matthew Gray Gubler's character Spencer Reid.
Rated T because ... I don't know, that just what I rate most of my fics because I like to err on the side of caution when it comes to ratings. Probably is more like K+, but I'm not sure.
A/N: My first foray into writing fanfiction for Criminal Minds! I'm both excited and nervous; I'd really appreciate any feedback on how you think I did! This is a tag for Season 3 Episode 12 '3rd Life', written in third person from Reid's point of view. Hope you enjoy!
Spencer Reid has questioned a lot of things since he joined the BAU at the age of twenty-two. And he's had good reason to.
He's questioned, oftentimes subconsciously, almost every decision he has ever made in situations of crisis; questioned his mental capability, questioned the profile he's come up with, questioned whether or not their best efforts were going to be enough to save somebody's life that day. (Sometimes it has been, and sometimes it hasn't; but it's part of the job, and if he's sure of anything it's that what they do is important).
He's never been a fan of making decisions; not out in the field, when there's a gun to somebody's head – literally or metaphorically – and he knows that the decision is going to impact whether or not somebody gets to live. It's a kind of pressure he doesn't think anyone can ever get used to; and that if they do they don't belong in the job anymore. You accept it the way it is and deal with it, but the moment it starts becoming commonplace and unimportant is the moment you should have to hand in your badge. (Things don't work that way, though … nothing's ever that easy or straightforward. Sometimes people who are unfit for the job stay in it, and that's when bad decisions are made with death as the consequence. Nothing, especially not one's career, should ever be worth that.)
He's never been a fan of making them, but he does. He internalizes the pressure and tries to make it work for him, and it does work enough of the time to reassure him that he's not a screw-up who has no clue what he's doing. Sometimes things go wrong, but only when every means has been exhausted and there's nothing more anyone can do.
He's questioned himself. Not his decisions, or his actions, or his thoughts (though he's questioned all of those too), just … himself. He's questioned his experiences and whether or not he's fit for duty. He's doubted his own willpower, and he's succumbed to an addiction. He's questioned whether or not he could fix himself. And just when he thought he couldn't, he somehow did. (Not to say it was done all of his own accord; he's had help. It's more that he's questioned whether or not he could be fixed at all. Is anyone ever really fixed, anyway?)
He's questioned the human race every single day since his first case. It's all well and good to read about serial killers and tactics and profiling, and all the horrors that have been committed. But until you have to see it first hand, make up a profile, and find the sick sons of bitches who are capable of those things you only ever hear about – until you watch or perform an interrogation on one of them and have to listen to their justifications and beliefs … you can't possibly begin to fathom what people are capable of.
And even then, when you've done those things and begun to fathom it, you can't possible understand the lengths of insanity it stretches across. You can't possibly reconcile it with any misconceptions you'd had before your last vestiges of innocence were torn away, and you can't even try to understand it all without driving yourself crazy. He knows; he's gone almost too far and come back again more times than he can count. (That, of course, is merely an exaggeration; he has counted them, every single one.)
He's questioned his gut instinct, even though it's yet to be wrong to any extent that could cause grievous harm. He's questioned whether or not they're going to figure everything out before the timer strikes zero and it's too late. A lot of the time – enough to justify their specific line of work, and the sacrifices they all make to accomplish it – they do. They save the most recent victim from death, and for a moment it's almost easy to let the victims that weren't nearly as lucky slip from their minds; (almost).
But as Morgan is always so quick to point out, especially to Reid, they can't save everyone.
They want to and they try their hardest, but they just can't.
Spencer Reid has questioned a lot of things. He has often questioned the moral and ethical boundaries – those that dictate 'right' and 'wrong' in their society; the black and white, and the shades of grey.
But he's never questioned it quite so hard before.
In his mind, he can imagine all the horrible things that the mob has done in America. All the people they've killed; all the innocents, all of the people who dared to stand up to them in a courtroom only be eternally silenced before they got the chance. He can see in his mind's eye the numerous articles he's scanned; statistics of how many people died in what year, and he can roughly estimate how many of those were linked to the mob.
He knows that the entire organization deserves to go down, and therefore any witnesses they can keep alive need to be preserved.
In his mind, he understands that. He does outside of it, as well. If he forces himself to think really hard about it, and weigh out the right and the wrong, he can logically comprehend what's happened today. A valuable witness, who just happened to shoot a man in cold-blooded revenge, is being let off because of the testimony only he can give. That kind of thing happens every day, he knows.
Because the world isn't black and white; he and his teammates know this better than most people due to the kinds of criminals they fight against every day. He knows all about those pesky shades of grey.
But a large part of his mind doesn't want to be rational. He doesn't want to nod, accept it, and walk away. Because even through horrible cases, and being held hostage, and being kidnapped and beaten and drugged, and having to choose one of his colleagues and friends to theoretically die, and finding that sometimes he relates a hell of a lot more to the unsubs than to the victims … he still holds on to those shreds of himself that believe in the black and white.
And those parts of him don't see the red tape, and the exceptions, and the blatant ignoring of justice.
Those parts of him are still standing in that mostly-abandoned school bathroom, pleading with a man to put his weapon down; trying to negotiate and save a young girl from having to witness more death. Those parts of him are still flinching away as the shot rings out and gaping as he watches that man put a bullet from a shotgun through another man's head, three feet away from him. Those parts of him are floundering around in everything he believes about morals and ethics, causing those parts of his brain to shout, "The guy murdered someone in front of you! Arrest him and send him to jail!"
We can't save everyone, you hear Morgan saying from a couple of months ago. And you know that. It's not your job to save everyone, but that's a physical impossibility. But your job is to get justice for the people whom you can't save; for the people who do die. And no matter what you logically know about the situation, this doesn't feel like justice; this isn't right, it's wrong.
This doesn't feel like justice at all.
Hope you enjoyed! Please review!