298 Days
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He finds that with enough focus he can create a copy of the conference room's whiteboard in the library, showing the details of his case. He spends so much time stepping from between the two identical boards to make sure that his is perfect that even Maeve's patience is tested.
"You can't spend the rest of eternity obsessing over this," she pleads of him, seated at one of the tables in the library and watching him pace restlessly in front of the board.
He can hear the worry in her tone and something in him rebels at the thought that he's once again causing her pain, but every moment he spends not working on his case tears at him. He hears her sigh as he ignores her again and then silence as she steps away to wherever she goes without him.
He thinks that maybe he should show more of an interest in her, make the most of this chance they've gotten to be happy, but he can't. There's one detail that chases itself endlessly around his head, mocking him.
His killer made it personal. He wanted a reaction.
Did he get the reaction he wanted?
Or would he try again?
Harold Williams is a ghost. They find plenty on him up until two years ago, then nothing until the time just before Reid disappeared.
Hotch looks in the mirror these days and sees Gideon staring back out at him.
Gideon after Boston, with the lost look of a man who had seen far too many people close to him die before their time.
He looks at his team properly for the first time in months and sees the toll this has taken on them. He sees the new lines on JJ's face as she ages beyond her years, Prentiss' bloody fingernails, and the fact that Rossi's hair is greyer than black these days.
Most worryingly, he sees the raw anger that has still to fade from Morgan's eyes.
He makes the call.
"No!" Morgan is furious, betrayed.
Rossi stands with the team for once, faced against Hotch. His expression is unreadable but they're all profilers. They know that if he wanted to side with Hotch on this, he wouldn't be standing next to JJ.
Hotch squares his shoulders and turns his face into a mask. Strauss is by his side, breathing slightly too quickly for the calm she's trying to resonate with. "I'm sorry, everyone. But it's been almost seven months, the trail is cold. Williams is a ghost, and it's time we move on to more pressing cases. We can't have our attention split anymore."
"Hotch," JJ cuts in, and he heads her off before she can voice the words that will derail this meeting.
"My word is final. Reid's case is closed. He's dead and unless we have more information, it's over."
Prentiss is the only one who looks resigned, the only one who'll meet his eyes. Hotch tries to catch Rossi's gaze but the other man looks away and studies a file on a desk. Practised evasion. Morgan walks out, his fist slamming into the wall.
Hotch wonders if he'll come back.
He wouldn't blame him if he doesn't.
Reid feels anger and pain through the threads connecting him to his team, steps through, and finds himself standing shoulder to shoulder with Morgan in the freezing rain.
He shivers, an automatic response from a body that no longer feels the cold and looks about. They're nowhere in particular, a park near the living agent's house. Nothing to point to why his friend is standing in the rain in the middle of a park, watching the trees sway in the wind.
He doesn't have to be a profiler to see how much his friend is hurting. There's no tears, no screams or anguished shouts. He can see the pain in the slumped set of his friend's shoulders, the slight downturn of his mouth.
"They can't see us," Maeve says softly, stepping out behind him. "But they seem to know we're still around. My parents were the same. They won't move on while we're still here."
Spencer tries to catch a raindrop and watches the rain fall through his hand as though it isn't there at all. He doesn't remember what it's like to feel rain on his skin, just a vague memory of the sensation of cold. "Did you watch me after you died?"
Morgan finally walks away slowly, as though his grief is a visible weight he carries. Reid feels his tenuous connection weaken as the profiler moves further away, pulling them back towards the library. Maeve takes his hand, squeezing slightly. "Once. Only once. I couldn't bear it."
They step back together. "Ok," Reid whispers, turning his back on the whiteboard. He's not doing his friends any favours by haunting them. "Ok."
It's time.
The pathetic agent is a fading memory. He's been patient, endlessly patient, and still the remaining team have failed to find him. They failed to want revenge enough to find him.
He knew he should have gone for the boss of the team, or one of the women.
The boss would have lasted longer, not given up like a weakling.
The women's screams would have given him so much more pleasure, just like his girls did.
He intends them to carry the scars of his actions for the rest of their lives.
He intends to try again until they get the message.
Morgan comes back.
They get a new team member, and he's not as smart as Reid (who is?) but he's a good fit. He works well with the team.
JJ laughs again.
It's been nine months and they're healing.
Garcia stops glancing around her room every time she turns the light on, looking for something she's not quite sure was real in the first place.
They don't move on, not quite yet, and Maeve tells him to be patient, it will happen when it's ready. He doesn't follow the threads of his team again, and eventually they fade enough that he stops noticing them.
Time passes pleasantly enough.
On the two hundredth and ninety-seventh day, 10am comes and goes and JJ's desk remains empty.
Rossi looks at Hotch and in the unit chief's expression he sees a nightmare that they've never truly escaped.
