A/N: So terribly sorry that this is late - uni has been brutal and my muse hid in a corner in a completely different fandom. Also, kudos to anyone who spots all the Doctor Who references...
to count for eternity
three.
...
He does a quick internet search, because he likes knowing, sometimes too much.
He tries not to think too hard when he reads that 'psychological dependence to opioids is not considered a normal consequence of their continued use for medical purposes and is thought to occur only in susceptible individuals.'
"Reid, are you doing anything tonight? I need the company to go through all the Doctor Who episodes that I missed."
He glances over curiously. "What about Garcia? And Hotch?"
"She's out with Kevin at the movies. And Hotch has yet to embrace the sheer brilliance and cheesiness of it. Also, he's over at Jessica's." She gives him a warm smile. "Are you in?"
"Yeah, okay," he acquiesces after a moment's deliberation. "Season six, though. There were a lot of issues with them."
.
And so he finds himself in her apartment, staring out the glass windows overlooking the Potomac. He doesn't hear her come up behind him, only knows she's there when she nudges him with the rim of the bowl holding endless amounts of popcorn.
"Hey," she says. "You still there?"
He turns and his eyes are bright and glassy, and she feels a deep deep tugging in her stomach.
"Reid, are you – ?"
"Yeah," he admits quietly.
"What do you need?" She asks after a moment.
He swallows. "I need to not be angry at you and Hotch and JJ." I need to not be angry at myself and Hankel and all the UNSUBs and the whole fucking world. "I need time, okay Emily? Just – Let's just watch this."
He brushes past her to the couch and she follows. He reaches for the remote with shaky hands and she gently covers them with her own.
"Hey. We're not going to leave you alone, okay? You have issues with us, you can come and vent and yell all you like, whenever you want but preferably not at work. But none of us are going to give up on you," she says quietly, fiercely.
They sit back and watch in silence, save for the crunching of popcorn and the shuffling of feet. Halfway through, she mutters, "Huh. Didn't see that one coming."
He gives her a half-smile. "Yeah, the internet kind of exploded when that happened."
"I mean, their daughter? What the hell were they thinking?"
"Don't worry, it gets better. Well, it makes more sense, at least."
"Yeah, it better. Such a waste of a character if it doesn't," she says.
They get through another four and a bit before she realises that he's fallen asleep next to her. Instantly turning her attention away from the screen, she checks his breathing and notes with a breath of relief that it's normal.
(She hates that she knows from past experience.)
She tucks a blanket around him and settles in for the finale; one eye on the screen and one on the prone form. Around midnight, the credits roll, and she reaches for the pen and pad of paper lying on the coffee table.
And she writes.
.
He disentangles himself from the couch just as the sun peeks through the windows. Stepping over her, he spies the note on the edge of the table and guiltily swipes it before heading out the door. It's not until he enters the safety of his car that he opens it.
Spencer –
You're right; it did get better. Absolutely ridiculous and heartwarming, but I guess that's science fiction. The ending, though – everybody lies. Sometimes it's justifiable, sometimes disgustingly so. And I don't think I've said it, but I'm really, truly sorry for that. The selfish part of me wants to just move on, and the other selfish part wishes that I hadn't come back at all. Please don't think that I don't know or don't care – there's stuff hidden behind my mirrors too.
Emily.
"Tell me about Kyle Lawrence."
"His mother abandoned him when he was eleven, father died of colon cancer four years later, spent the next three years in foster care. Wasn't an extraordinarily difficult kid, average grades, but met a girl who introduced him to the wrong type of people."
"Juvenile delinquents?"
Reid gives him an indecipherable look. "No, it was a cult."
"A cult?"
"Yeah. It wasn't hard to remove him from all of his family and friends anyway. Found spiritual enlightenment and acceptance and was becoming one of the trusted followers until he realised his mom was also living on the same compound."
"Must have been traumatic."
"It confused him," he says bluntly. "Monogamy wasn't high on their list of priorities."
He pauses to stare out the window. "I mean, he was abandoned, taken in by this cult, corrupted..."
"So there was nothing you could do for him?"
"That's not true," he says half-heartedly. "No one's beyond saving."
"And do you believe that, Doctor Reid?"
"Depends when you ask me. Five years ago, probably yes. Today, not really. Tomorrow?" He laughs darkly. "It doesn't matter. Everybody dies."
She came back.
She comes back, and this is an absolute truth.
She comes back, and she sees JJ's guilt and Garcia's fear and Rossi's pain and Hotch's distance and Ashley's absence and Morgan's anger and Reid's betrayal.
She comes back, and half the time she wishes she hadn't.
(She came back, but she doesn't tell them how much of her didn't.)
They play laser tag, all seven of them.
Despite Rossi's (good-natured) grumbling and Garcia's hesitance at the symbolism behind shooting at one another, they actually enjoy themselves.
(It ends up being Emily, Reid and himself, versus Rossi, Morgan, Garcia, and JJ. Rossi only wishes the hundred and forty dollars wasn't diluted amongst four people instead of three.)
He sees Reid struggling to remove the vest, and he leans over involuntarily to tug it free over his head. He freezes for a split second, before allowing his cool (professional) mask to slip back in place.
(He could have been doing it for Jack.)
Reid glances over. "Thanks," he mumbles.
He allows the barest hint of a grin to show. "I could have taken a photo, but I didn't."
On Monday morning, Reid finds a picture of a giraffe on his desk. He wonders where the sense of humour came from.
"Hey, uh, Hotch?"
He shifts awkwardly on the spot as Hotch glances up.
"Reid, come in. What can I do for you?"
"I need to talk to Kyle Lawrence," he blurts out.
Hotch's face doesn't give anything away, but Reid swears he looks discreetly out to the bullpen where Emily and Morgan are.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Reid," he says carefully.
"Why?" He fires back. "Hotch, look, I'm perfectly fine and I've done all the paperwork and I've gone through victimology with JJ and Morgan. I just need to ask him about Tracy Donnelly and the high school."
"Reid, you know we don't have anything on him. At the moment, it's all circumstantial, so I don't want anyone stirring something up at that compound and letting all hell break loose." He sighs. "I covered for you five years ago, and I trust that you can sort it now as well, but I cannot let you talk to him if you're still under the influence of Dilaudid."
He pauses to take a breath. "What did you want to ask? It's not too far; I can head over there with Prentiss and ask for you."
His eyes shine brightly. "Yeah? Why would a girl like Tracy Donnelly – brought up with the cult's mentality, sweet and naïve, told not to talk to anyone on the outside – suddenly decide to befriend him? You work it out, Hotch," he finishes brusquely, slamming the door behind him.
He stalks back over to the desk, ignoring Morgan's question, and he pretends not to notice when Hotch gestures to Emily and they walk out the glass doors.
"Okay, kid, want to tell me what that was about?"
He shakes his head and stares at his sheet, willing his thoughts to organise.
Half an hour later, his head snaps up. "Guys, I think I've got it – it's his mother we should be looking at."
"Okay, what do you mean?"
He can feel the excitement building and bubbling over. "Tracy wouldn't just go and ask him. But his mom…" He trails off and quickly shoves his things in his bag. "Guys, I'm going to go over there now."
"Reid, just give Hotch a call – "
"No, it's faster if I just go."
"Reid – "
"I'll call you later," he tosses over his shoulder as he sprints out.
She sardonically thinks that one could play a drinking game with her career – one sip for every time she gets used as bait; a shot for every time she gets beat up; two for being hit with any vehicle; three for being held hostage; down the whole bottle if she gets shot and/or codes in an ambulance.
She'd be fairly well drunk.
So when Kyle Lawrence starts gesticulating wildly and manages to lunge and grab her, she mentally lets loose a string of curses in Italian, stands still with the gun pressed deep against her back, and hopes that Hotch and Reid can calm him down.
(Goddammit, she hopes it's just a single shot this time.)
"So you left the office and went to the compound, against Agent Hotchner's orders?"
"Yes."
Doctor Petersen sets his pen down and leans back, waiting.
"I knew it. I was right," he cracks. "I needed to prove it."
"Prove it to whom?"
"Emily. Hotch. Myself."
He can't stop the tears from leaking out.
In a valid experiment, only one variable can be changed. He is a scientist; he knows this.
(Pick one, Spencer – you, or Dilaudid?)
Wasn't he here years ago? No, stop. Think. Date – December 12, 2011. Time – 11:40am. Location – La Plata County, Colorado. Right?
His eyes are still too bright, and his head is this wonderful cloud of whizzing ideas and formulae and images and words and confidence.
And so he speaks.
"…Mr. Lawrence – Kyle – you don't have to do this, okay? We can sit down, have a chat inside. You don't have to see your mother again."
"Leave her out of this!"
"We know that she forced Tracy Donnelly to find you and bring you here. You were doing okay on your own, and they lured you in…"
She's staring straight at him, hope and trust and fear and warmth in her eyes, and all he can see is i can take it, and he doesn't understand, just repeats whywhywhywhywhywhywhy –
"…Kyle, I understand. They lied to you, she lied to you – "
" – They taught me! They found me!"
"No, Kyle, you were lost and Tracy saw that too and then they lied to you – "
" – Shut up! Just – just shut up! You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, okay?"
"Mr. Cyrus – no, Ben – no sorry, I mean Kyle – everyone lies and it hurts, and maybe you wish you could hurt them back for every time, but – "
.
Bang
.
– and falling twisting landing dancing like a marionette really is beautiful – it's too bright i can't see them where did they go – why is hotch's face so white – shit there's too much red – no, apply pressure here – hotch, help me, please please please – call 911 – come on emily – oh god he heard and watched this time – okay we can take off her coat (fuck, why did she have to wear a white one) – open your eyes look at hotch squeeze his hand – where's kyle – where's the fucking ambulance – listen to me please – NO please emily emily emily emilyemilyemilyemily –
such a lonely little boy. lonely then and lonelier now.
oh doctor, so lonely, so very very alone.
"And were you right?"
"Yes," he whispers. "But why the fuck does that matter? I'm an addict, I couldn't – didn't – think. I talked, and Emily's dead."
