XxXxX
Chapter 2: The Job
XxXxX
As a rule, Reid didn't have guests. His apartment was small, cluttered, and, he imagined, utterly boring to anyone without three PhDs. Books and papers were piled everywhere, eating up space on the furniture. While he owned a TV, it hadn't been turned on in months, and a thick film of dust gave the screen a misty crystal ball look. The few DVDs he owned were piled next to his coffee table. On top of the stack was The 40 Year Old Virgin, a prank birthday gift from Morgan a few years back (once he'd actually tried to sit through the whole movie, but between the crude humor and the, well, depressingness of it all...). When Gideon sauntered in that night, Reid cast a despairing glance around his abode. Any profiler could see that his social life was seriously lacking. This was not something he wanted Gideon to know.
Gideon was looking around too. "Nice place," he offered. Then he strolled into the kitchen.
Reid was flustered; he puttered around the small rooms turning on light switches, hoping to make the place look a little less dead. Then he moved to follow Gideon into the kitchen- only to turn back two seconds later. He snatched The 40 Year Old Virgin and stuffed it under a chair cushion. Having it out in the open was just...too much.
"Have you eaten?" the older man called.
"Ahh...no," he straightened up and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "I have leftovers...I think. You can have some..."
Gideon's scoff was muffled through the walls.
"When was the last time you had a real meal Spencer?"
"Yesterday," he lied.
He didn't buy it. "No wonder you're so skinny."
This statement was followed by the clanging of pots and pans. Reid yelped and rushed into the kitchen, where Gideon was raiding one of his cupboards.
"What are you doing?"
"Making you dinner, what does it look like?" He was frowning at two different size pans; he set the smaller one down and seemed satisfied. "In the mood for stir-fry?"
Reid opened his mouth to complain, to demand some answers, maybe even to chew his once-mentor out for just waltzing back into his life like this.
It took him a second to realize he was drooling.
A second later, his stomach let out a long, mournful growl.
"...Stir-fry sounds good." he conceded.
Gideon gave him an appreciative smirk -the kind he used to dole out whenever Reid pulled off a particularly complex chess move- and set to work.
It turned out Jason Gideon was just as at home in the kitchen as he was in the BAU. Reid settled himself onto a barstool he kept by the counter for washing dishes, and watched with awe. It seemed to take mere minutes for Gideon to puzzle out all the ingredients available in the Reid household, and even less time for him to figure out how to work all the appliances. Vegetables were chopped into uniform squares, and oils and spices were thrown in with a gusto Reid had never before associated with cooking. No recipe seemed to be needed. And it smelled delicious.
He crossed his arms across his stomach, hoping to stifle any rumblings.
"You'll like this; I'm an excellent cook," Gideon said, matter-of-fact.
Reid pressed his lips together, trying to remain impassive. But the thick heat rolling from the stove, along with the mouthwatering scent, was very, very hard to resist. How long had it been since he'd eaten a real meal...?
He had to distract himself, or he would get caught up in his hunger and forget all about the answers he wanted. Hell, knowing Gideon, that was probably the plan.
"Where have you been all this time?" he asked.
"Around."
"Could you be a little more specific?"
The lopsided smile returned. "Oh, I just felt like taking a drive."
Not very helpful.
"Why haven't you been answering your cell phone?"
"I threw it away before I left."
That hit him with surprising force. He was seized with the mental image of the battered old cell lying in a junkyard somewhere, ringing on and on, the name Spencer splayed across the screen. His feet became very interesting; they distracted him from his private humiliation.
"...You could have written."
To this, Gideon apparently had no answer. Good.
When the food was ready, a big heaping plate was pushed under his nose. He glanced up to see the older man spoon what was left onto a much smaller dish. He noticed him looking, and nodded his head with another small smirk.
"Bon appetite," he said.
Needing no further prompting, Reid snatched his fork and started shovelling. He was going to get a cramp from eating so fast, but it was hard to care; the older man hadn't lied, he was a good cook.
Someone's car alarm went off in the parking lot; the deaf neighbour was watching Grey's Anatomy, and they could hear every piece of melodramatic dialogue. It wasn't until Reid was starting to feel uncharacteristically full that Gideon spoke.
"How is the work?" he asked, folding his hands under his chin and fixing Reid with a thoughtful stare. "I've been wondering about the others...how are they doing?"
He'd been trying to recall the last time he'd had food this good. When the other man's words reached his ears, it hit him; the last time he'd eaten out at a restaurant was when Prentiss caught him trying to live off coffee again, and took him out for lunch as 'punishment.' She called it that, anyway. That was so long ago. She still had the bruises from Cyrus that day, only just beginning to yellow with age. He stopped chewing; all at once the delicious food seemed to be seasoned with guilt.
"Spencer?"
"They...Em...Prentiss was shot today." He didn't like saying it. It made him feel sick, and Gideon would probably be offended if he threw up...
"It happens." Gideon said, sounding unconcerned. "Is she alive?"
"Yes...but..." he swallowed; was he really going to start bouncing his insecurities off Gideon again? Like he used to when he was still practically a kid?
Yes, his mouth seemed to decide, yes he was: "It's my fault. I wasn't supposed to be there...I antagonized the unsub without meaning to. She was too unstable to be dealt with verbally. Prent- Emily put herself in harms way to protect me. And this isn't the first time she's done that." he added, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
The older man regarded him for a moment. Then: "Bull."
At first he was surprised; then, that odd brand of anger swept through him again. Why wasn't anybody angry at him? He knew being a profiler meant having a handle on your emotions, but weren't they allowed some leeway when a team-mate -a friend- was shot? It happens, says Gideon. You'll deal, says Rossi. When did everybody get so cold?
He remembered Prentiss, bruised but grinning at him over lunch. Again he fought off nausea.
"I think I'm done," he said, pushing away his plate. All his hunger was gone.
"Spencer, it wasn't your fault," Gideon said, not moving. "In the field things sometimes just get of hand-"
"No offense, but you'd know a lot about that, wouldn't you?" he snapped.
The older man fell silent, looking at him lips parted. For once in his life, he looked genuinely wounded. Reid decided to feel bad about it later.
"I'm going to bed," he muttered. Then he hesitated. "You can stay if you want. I can have the couch." Okay, so maybe he was already feeling bad.
Gideon was smirking again; it didn't take much for him to bounce back. "Much obliged. I think I'll turn in as well. Give me your plate...may as well save this for lunch tomorrow."
Fifteen minutes later Reid had brushed his teeth, changed into the ratty sweats and t-shirt he wore to bed, and shoved all the books off his couch. The old loveseat was sagging at the one end, but otherwise it was perfectly comfortable. As long as he curled up a bit. Okay, so maybe it was a bit cramped, but this was his first time playing host, and he was pretty sure banishing your guest to sleep on a lumpy couch was bad manners. Gideon disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door behind him, and it wasn't 'til after Reid was nestled under his spare blanket that he realized Gideon probably didn't bring any pajamas. For a moment he wondered what the older man would be wearing to bed...and then the genius part of him decided it would be best not to consider it if he ever planned on sleeping in his own room again.
The deaf neighbor was finally going to bed -the TV was shut off and she was shouting goodnight to her bird, Thatcher. Thatcher answered with the first of a series of squawks that would last all through the night. Routine as usual.
Except not exactly. Why was Gideon back now, years later? Why was Reid, who had been so angry, letting him back inside so soon? Maybe he really was weak. He thought of how easily he had 'forgiven' William when he abandoned him...for a reason that didn't truly make any sense. Truth be told he just didn't like being angry...was that weak? Morgan might say so...Rossi wouldn't...Hotch would probably just scowl.
With a groan, he rolled over and mused on more important things.
Prentiss.
It occurred to him she wouldn't blame him either. It wasn't in her nature to lay blame. At most she'd just wisecrack about it. Possibly declare he owed her, and never expect that debt to be paid. It would just be a joke. Haha, nudge nudge, remember that time I took a bullet for you? Good times.
He grimaced.
XxXxX
Reid awoke the next morning with a crick in his neck, his legs tangled in blanket, and the sun in his eyes. Not the best way to start the day. For a few seconds he couldn't remember exactly why he was sleeping on the couch, but the sound of a running shower reminded him.
'I never said he could use my shower.' he mused. If Gideon had asked, he would have let him. Not because the older man was welcome but because it just wasn't worth it to refuse him. And because (he admitted to himself), he thought maybe if he was nice to him, he might actually learn something about this man he'd once considered a father. But he doubted it.
He'd slept well enough -except the meal from the night before hadn't sat all that well, and his stomach felt sore and raw (he really shouldn't have eaten so much so late). His legs were a bit cramped, just like his neck, and he felt that normal just-woke-up feeling of uncleanness that he could do nothing about because his bathroom had been invaded by a rogue FBI agent. What a morning.
Morning...He looked quickly at the clock, afraid he had slept in too late. But it was only quarter to seven. If he hurried, he could sneak in a visit to Prentiss before work.
He stumbled across the apartment to his bedroom -and very carefully checked that the bathroom door was closed before he went inside. He tried to change quickly, afraid that Gideon would suddenly emerge in nothing but a towel, and then things would just be too weird. His life had gotten weird enough lately, thanks.
Once he had his work clothes on, he was a bit torn. Should he knock on the bathroom door, let him know he was going...? Or should he just leave? He stood in his bedroom, looking from one door to the next like a cartoon character. Eventually he settled on leaving a (rather frosty, if he did say so himself) note behind. Then he crumpled that note and penned a much more polite one. Maybe he didn't really want Gideon around right now, but it wasn't like he wanted him to leave either.
'I wish there was statistics for this sort of thing,' he thought gloomily. In the bathroom, Gideon had apparently stepped out of the shower, and had begun to sing while towelling himself off.
Reid took that as his cue to leave.
XxXxX
When he got to the Hospital, he found he wasn't the only agent sneaking in before work hours.
"Boy wonder!" Garcia cried, throwing her arms around his neck- or trying to, at least. The height difference had her slumped against his chest. He backed up a little, both stunned and embarrassed. His co-workers didn't usually hug him unless he was recently in peril.
Oh wait. He guessed he kinda was.
"I'm so glad you came. I know what getting shot is like, and I was going to kick some ass if we weren't all here to support her. Sans JJ the baby-ridden, of course." The stout woman was saying. "Look! Morgan got her flowers."
Reid looked over Garcia's multi-coloured head to see Agent Morgan with a small bouquet of button-mums in his hand. The beefy man was standing as if he didn't know what to do with himself.
"Sick girls need flowers," he said, by way of explanation. "How you doin', man?"
"I've been better."
"Yeah...I know."
"Where's Kevin?" he asked Garcia quickly, hoping to change the subject.
"You mean my adorably rotund lover? Honey, please. He's dead to the world 'til noon. Chocolate Thunder over here is standing in for him." Reid supposed that meant Morgan.
"I see the gangs all here," Rossi said, coming up behind them. He too carried flowers. All of a sudden Reid felt really cheap. Did he even pass a flower shop on the way here..? "Shall we go in and frighten all the medical staff?"
"Yes, lets." Garcia said, and in they went, leaving the morning sunshine behind.
When they got to Prentiss' room, they saw two things. One, that Prentiss herself was awake, and two, that Hotch was not. Their superior agent was sitting bolt upright with his arms crossed, looking exactly the same as ever...except that his eyes happened to be shut. His shoulders rose and fell ever so slightly.
"Poor sweetheart!" Garcia said, bustling forward to get a closer look. "He must have been awake all night."
"Babygirl, don't call Hotch 'sweetheart.' It's just not right."
"Derek, don't be jealous. It's not attractive."
"How are you feeling?" Reid asked Prentiss.
"Oh I'm fine," she said, looking at Hotch with all the others. "It's so weird...he was that way when I woke up. You think he sleeps like that at home?"
"You think he goes home?" Rossi raised a brow.
"Should we wake him up?" Garcia asked.
"Let him sleep," Prentiss leaned back into her pillows, letting exhaustion show on her face for just a second- and in the next, it was gone, replaced by her usual sardonic grin. Reid noticed the blip. "I gotta say though, people don't lie when they talk about hospital food. Any of you willing to smuggle in some scotch?"
"I'll see what I can do," Rossi chuckled. Then both men presented her with their flowers. Reid stood with his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. As usual, in the social situation, all he could think of to say was statistics. Hey guys, did you know that in the past decade 1500 Americans have died annually from unintentional gunshot wounds? No.
So he let them exchange their pleasantries, content to keep to the sidelines. But then something strange happened. Prentiss looked at Rossi, and Rossi looked at Morgan, and both men nodded. They started to leave the room, dragging a protesting Garcia with them. It all happened so quickly that it took Reid a few moments to realize they were now (save for sleeping Hotch) alone.
She was looking at him. No longer smiling. "Sit." she said, patting the side of her bed.
He hesitated, then sat. She took one of his hands. For once he didn't flinch away from physical contact...it didn't seem quite so repellent when it was her hands, for some reason. It had been that way after what Cyrus did, too, and he'd never really thought about why. Now he acknowledged it, and dismissed it just as quickly. Maybe he was just getting better with people. Er, bit by bit.
"Reid," she said, tone serious. "What happened yesterday was not yo-"
"What's it gonna take for it to be my fault? Do I have to push you in front of a truck myself, or...?"
"I'm serious. These things just come with the job."
"With your job in particular, it seems."
"And yours," she added. Her eyes flickered down to his sleeve, and he stiffened. She didn't seriously think he still...?
"But you manage to move past them just fine," she finished, putting his suspicions to rest.
"...I'm still sorry," he mumbled, after a beat.
"Don't worry about it," she said. Her voice told him that was all that was going to be said on the matter. He wished he was actually capable of winning an argument with his co-workers.
"I- we have to go now. Duty calls," he struggled to smile at her. "We'll probably be back tomorrow morning, if you don't mind."
"I'd love some company. Make sure Rossi makes good on the scotch."
"I'll bring some flowers too." He wasn't sure why he needed to say that, but he felt she might think less of him if he didn't.
To his surprise, her face fell. "Oh...look, don't tell Morgan and Rossi this, but I'm not actually all that wild about flowers. They make me sneeze." She seemed almost embarrassed, though he couldn't see why. He himself was allergic to latex, which was no cause for embarrassment.
"I'll just have to think of a different gift then," he said. "See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she agreed.
Thirty paces away from the hospital, he suddenly recalled a conversation he and Prentiss had a long time ago.
He made a mental note to pick up some chocolate on the way home from work.
XxXxX
"Hotch!" he said, bringing his computer-chair spin to a halt. "You're back. Finally woke up?"
Aaron Hotchner had just lurched into the BAU, his expression grave and his eyes fixed on Reid. He brushed past all the other agents, ignoring a taunt about catnapping from Morgan, and stopped short at Reid's desk.
He suddenly had a very bad feeling.
"Hotch..? What's the matter..?"
"Listen, Reid, whatever she says is out of my hands. I did my best to defend you-"
"Woah woah, what's all the drama for?" Morgan cut in, leaping up from his own desk. "Hotch, what who says?"
The older seemed very weary all of a sudden, and before he could answer, a droll, female voice sounded out over the room.
"Agent Spencer Reid?" Erin Strauss called. "A moment in my office, please." And then she disappeared down the hallway. Reid's throat locked.
"Hotch..."
"She's completely biased, I'm going to file a complaint against her for this." Hotch was saying, while Morgan just seemed to be repeating 'oh shit.' "It's best you don't keep her waiting. I'm sorry Reid, I'll try and negate this as soon as possible."
He felt himself nodding, and then he was walking towards the office. He caught Agent Anderson looking at him with deep sympathy, and hurried on with his head down.
The inside of the office was brightly lit -not at all the gothic cave one could almost expect. Strauss herself was behind her desk, her hands folded under her chin...rather like Gideon. It didn't make him feel any better.
"Agent Reid," she said. "Sit."
He sat.
"So," she began. "Emily Prentiss was shot yesterday."
"Yes ma'am..."
"That girl is reckless. I have no doubt part of this unfortunate incident was of her own doing. But your involvement is just that much more...unfortunate." She gave him a hard look. He swallowed.
"Ma'am, none of this was Agent Prentiss' fault-"
"I have no time for chivalry, Agent Reid," she snapped. "Not that you exactly have a record for such. Let me see...this is the second time Prentiss in particular has been injured in the field due to your...emotiveness...and only the latest in a long trend of you putting yourself and others in danger. And why do you do this?"
"If you could let me explain-"
"Attachment to the unsub. Such as your defense of that school shooter, or your bizarre decision to save that perverted teenager," her eyes glinted. "I hope you know this bureau is not designed to coddle the scum of the Earth, Agent Reid."
He gaped at her; how could she be so unfair? "With...with all due respect, isn't it our standard to always resolve situations peacefully if possible?"
"Yes, but not when it's impossible." she seemed to be enjoying herself. "I have no use for an Agent who doesn't know the difference."
"But-!"
"You are hereby suspended." he could see all her pearly white teeth now; but he could barely hear her words. "For a month, at least. Hand over your credentials. I expect your desk to be cleaned out within the hour."
XxXxX
A/N: Oh snap! That Strauss is always up to no good.
Just because I know some people will be wondering, Hotch called his sister-in-law and asked her to watch Jack overnight while he stayed with Prentiss. He's always willing to take one for the team…even at his family's expense, sometimes. As proven by last night's episode.
Reviews make my days, so please leave one if you read. See you next Thursday!
