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A/n here's a short one tag to "Keeper." Please enjoy.
He let his car glide to a stop at the bend in the narrow path through Shady Brook Memorial Gardens. He looked around before shutting off the engine and getting out of his vehicle. He disliked new cemeteries like Shady Brook. Someone obviously thought that calling it a "memorial garden," instead of a cemetery would lull visitors into a true sense of calm and peace. Perhaps that same person thought that families and friends of the dead would think this a lovely park instead of what it was, a graveyard.
He plucked his messenger bag and picnic blanket from the seat and got out into the windy and cloudy, gray day. Someone still watered the grass because it retained an emerald green shade under a blanket of golden leaves. His feet crunched as he walked in a diagonal line around headstones that lay flush with the grass so you couldn't see them and be reminded of the true nature of this place. He knew it was all practical; that maintenance had to be easier with all the grave markers flat to the ground, but he didn't like it.
He found Gideon's headstone near a fountain they'd turned off for the winter. He spread out his blanket and sat. "Hey, Gideon. Um, I'm sorry I missed you last month. It's been crazy at work and –"
He realized he was squeaking as he talked and that his eyes were stinging with tears. He swallowed hard and began again. "That's not true. I didn't want to come here. I'm sorry."
He sat for a long time and stared at the dates under Gideon's name. It didn't seem possible that it had been over two years since his death. He wiped tears from under his eyes and looked up at the gray sky that threatened rain. "I know you're not here," he said in a whisper. "I don't know if I believe that you're in a place called heaven, but –"
He stopped and reached out to touch the nameplate. It was hard and cold. He snatched his hand back, and more tears fell to stain the marble under the brass engraving. "You see, I have to believe you're near because there's too much change right now. Morgan is gone, Hotch is on TDY, Emily is back. Can you believe it? My mom has early onset Alzheimer's, and there's no one I can talk to."
He swallowed hard and turned to his messenger bag. "I thought we'd play the game we never got to finish on the plane to Guantanamo Bay. Emily said you would have beat me in three, but I don't remember it that way."
He pulled the chess set from his bag and began to set it up on the red, yellow, green, and black checked blanket. He made the first move and sat back to stare at the board.
"I went to Houston a week ago," he said. "Rossi told me I should go see my mom, but I have to do everything I can to make her better again."
He reached out and duplicated Gideon's first move of that long-ago game on the jet. "He said it was better for me to spend time with her. He doesn't understand that I'm not ready to lose her. If I don't do everything I can to help her, then one day, she'll be gone. Her body might be here, but her mind will be completely gone. I can't deal with that!"
He made a second move and then looked at the headstone again as a blast of cold air ruffled his hair. "I know if you were here that you'd understand." His voice cracked, and tears crawled down his face. "They all say they understand, that they're here for me, but –"
He tucked his legs under his chin and put his face down on his knees. "Why does everyone leave me?"
He sat for a long time until the wind began to die and the sun peeked through the clouds. He lifted his head and looked at the game. He smiled and shook his head. "You knew from the first move I made that you'd win. How did you always know and I never saw it coming? Well, except for one time."
He reached out and picked up a fallen leaf the wind had blown onto his blanket and studied it. "I know that everything must die, but – I have to try and help my mom."
"I know what you're thinking," he said after going back to studying the chess board. "I know what you'd say if you were here. You'd say I'm overcompensating for committing my mother to an institution when I was eighteen. Maybe I am. I know she was diagnosed before I was born, but I should have tried harder to find some way to help her. I should have been in a research lab instead of chasing psychos for the FBI."
His voice broke again. "I don't know what I'm doing here, playing chess with a dead man."
He reached out and touched the white knight on the left of the board as more tears ran down his face, then he laughed harshly, and the sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard. "I lied when I said I don't know what I'm trying to do. I suppose that searching everywhere for a solution is like whistling past a graveyard. Remember ten years ago around Halloween, and I was so excited for the Roger Corman film festival at the Globe. You told me that story of when you were a kid and the time you and two friends took a short cut through the cemetery after dark. You said you couldn't stop laughing even though you were in the middle of a graveyard."
He moved the white knight and took one of the black pawns. "I didn't know why you told me that story until about three days ago. That's what whistling past a graveyard means, correct? Acting cheerful when your problems and fears seem overwhelming. Is that what I'm doing, trying to distract from the fact that I have no control over my mother's condition and all the changes in my life?"
He swept the chessmen off the board, then tucked his legs under his chin and rocked like a child alone in a dark and terrible place. The sound of a child's innocent laughter had him rubbing at his tear-filled eyes. He looked up to see a mother and father, with a small child about seven running ahead of them.
"Timothy," cried the mother. "What did I say?"
"To stay with you, mommy."
The child reluctantly backtracked to his parents, who were coming closer. Reid grabbed his chess board and with the pieces dumped it into his bag. He stood, and gathered up his blanket, just as they drew near to a headstone that sat directly opposite him.
"Hello," said the mother and he nodded in greeting.
"Hey mister, is this yours?"
He looked around to see that the child clutched the white king from his set. "Yes."
"What is it?"
"Timothy, don't bother the nice man," said the father and then said to Reid. "I'm sorry about that."
Reid took the chess piece from Timothy. "It's the king from a game called chess."
"Oh," said the child who ran off toward the fountain. "Timothy, get back here," called his mother as she hurried after him.
"I'm sorry if we disturbed you. I don't think my son grasps the meaning of this place yet," said the man.
"It's alright. I was just going."
"It's my daughter's birthday," the man gestured to the headstone. "She loved Halloween."
Reid saw that he carried a bouquet of pink rosebuds in his hands. "I love it too," he said inanely. "Um, I'll just let you…"
He didn't know what else to say, so he hurried back to his car. He looked out the window at the little family that gathered around a headstone that should mark the grave of someone that had lived a long and full life. A chill washed over him, and he thought how terrible it must be to lose a child.
Is it any worse to lose a parent?
He closed his eyes and started the car. Maybe he was blind or fooling himself that he could make a difference for his mother, but he had to try. As he drove away, the sunshine broke through the clouds and burst upon the cemetery. He stopped the car at the exit and looked back through the rearview mirror. A solitary ray illuminated the statue of an angel in the fountain and made her wings sparkle. He didn't know if it were a sign, or if he believed in signs. It didn't matter because he'd never give up.