Chapter 3 A/N: This long awaited chapter is, well, long awaited due to the holiday season. Happy Belated Thanksgiving, everyone! Black Friday shopping is my favorite time of the year xx Hope you all did well. Enjoy, feedback appreciated.
A knock on Reid's door came bright and early Wednesday morning. He'd been ready, waiting for it, though for the past five hours. He hadn't even tried to sleep after the tearful farewell with his coworkers at a bar down the street. Well, it was only really tearful on the behalf of Garcia.
"C'mon, Reid, the CIA is downstairs waiting." Morgan's familiar voice calls. His tone is nothing short of a reluctant sigh, which worries Spencer. He shows that much as he swings his door open and stares at his friend.
"You can still back out, Morgan."
"It's not that I don't want to do this," Derek says, trying his best to explain as his friend locks up his apartment, "I, just, I'm worried we're not going to be as helpful as the CIA expects us to be."
"As long as we do our job, they have no room to be disappointed," Spencer says, convincing himself as well as Morgan as he starts down the steps to where his future awaits, "It's us going in there- not them."
Their journey to the SUV is one of silence after that. Neither have a thing of identification with them- their guns and badges had been left with Hotch and nothing can go with them into the prison. Reid feels somewhat exposed without his messenger bag at his side or his steaming cup of coffee at hand.
"Agents," Caldwell greets them as they slide into the back. The CIA vehicles look exactly like those assigned to the BAU and every other federal agency. "To the court house we go."
Oddly enough, the radio is turned on to a classical music station. Reid had no idea classical music had it's own station in this day and age. Morgan looked about ready to punch the speakers out of the car due to his lack of musical appreciation when Caldwell turns the volume down real low and begins to spew orders.
"When you guys talk over the case, remember how close you are and how easy over hearing conversations are. Look after each other- I can't protect your asses at every opportunity without red flags being raised. Guards usually look the other way when things go down, especially in maximum security prisons. People's actions that earned them their place there doesn't result in protection, it warrants brutality and punishment. Not the way most people view the law- but that's just how it is."
Neither passenger in the car speaks up, so Caldwell continues.
"If someone over hears you guys, or has even the slightest suspicion of rats in the prison, they're gunna start talking. Talking means two things- the talkers gain power and the people they're talking about gain beatings. The first few days are going to be the hardest because you have to learn your place and make a reputation for yourselves. If anyone asks how you two know each other so well, you were held in the same county prison, got it?"
"You know, undercover wasn't in our everyday job description for the bureau." Morgan points out.
"Oh, I know. But you little profilers think your experts in everything dealing with shady behavior. If there's one place you'd excel in then, it'd be prison. So think of this as a walk in the park."
Morgan snorts his disapproval and Reid shrinks in his seat, tracing the seam of the leather seats with his fingers subconsciously. The courthouse is just minutes away and the nerves have really started to arise. Just looking at someone wrong in prison could get him killed- in what world is this a walk in the park?
His feelings towards Caldwell are clouded with mistrust. The man doesn't seem to fully respect profiling- odd considering his friendship with Hotch. Maybe it's just the marine exterior the man carries or his superiority, but Reid just can't believe his life will literally be protected by only himself, Caldwell, and Morgan. A small shudder runs down his spine.
"Here we are, ladies." Caldwell sighs, pulling into the parking lot. "We're making good time."
The group get out of the car and go in through the back- where usually only a judge or security uses for entry. Their designated changing room is where a con usually gets formal for a trial, and laid on the table are two sets of orange jumpsuits as well as a cups next to a brewing coffee pot.
"I'll go grab my stuff a few rooms down- you've got fifteen minutes to wake yourselves up and get into con mode." Caldwell means it as a joke, but both profilers know he'll probably be back in exactly fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds.
Reid's immature first thought is how bad he hates changing in front of anyone else- including Morgan. Even after all the hotel rooms they shared on cases or locker room dress downs when their own bloody clothes are evidence to an UnSub's takedown. Morgan must've felt the genius's tension because he turns his back to his friend and pulls his own shirt over his head.
Reid mumbles a thanks and hurries out of his familiar clothes and into his designated foreign ones. Morgan's already pouring coffee before Reid's done, but the fellow agent manages to keep his back turned until he hears the timid permission to look.
Morgan whistles, attempting to lighten the mood. "Orange is your color, Pretty Boy."
"Wish I could tell you the same." Reid jokes, taking a cup of coffee when offered and downing it quickly. The material of the uniforms is rough against their skins. Reid tries to recall how quickly human touch can accustom to such material, but he's pre occupied by the footsteps coming towards their cell.
"Alright, ladies." Caldwell says, stepping in the room with a box of doughnuts in hand. "Someone bought a box just for us, figured the polite thing to do would be for me to share."
Each profiler forces a laugh and munchies on a doughnut, understanding that it's the last taste of good food and coffee they'd have in a while. Caldwell's uniform looks to be not nearly as uncomfortable as their own- a tucked in gray dress shirt, black pants, and a belt securing a taser, cuffs, keys, and a baton.
Caldwell reminds them of their check ins, goes over their daily schedule, gives a brief reminder of who Yates and Blackburn are, as well as wishes them luck before they're having cuffs slapped onto their wrists and led outside. A van is waiting where three other prisoners already are stationed. A long chain is brought out and linked through all their cuffs before they're all ordered by a big black man to sit on the left side of the van. Reid is squished between Morgan and a lanky gangster type with tattoos covering every inch of his body.
The one prominent tattoo that Spencer picks out is of a naked mermaid, hair sticking up straight, the tips consisting of snake heads. It's like a drug addicted tattoo artist's version of Medusa.
Soon enough four more prisoners are put on the opposite bench in the back of the van.
"No noise. You keep your asses where they are now unless you want a special introduction to my taser." The black guard says before slamming the door to the van shut and hopping in the driver's seat. Caldwell is upfront in the passenger seat. Spencer can see them both through the metal wire separating the cons from guards.
From where Spencer's sitting, everything reeks of illegal substances, sweat, and high tempers. The guy next to Spencer keeps giving him long glances, and so the genius keeps his head down, eyes glued to the floor. That was his escape all through high school, but it doesn't seem to work now. Just as the guards drive past through the prison security gate, the man scoots closer. As they get out of the vehicle to haul their prisoners inside, the man speaks.
"Hey, man, I 'ure hope you'll be sleepin' with me at night." The tattooed man's accent tells Spencer he's from some kind of Spanish decent. The words register as crude, and Reid can't hold back the grimace that comes to his face as the guards open the van's doors.
As the prisoner's connecting chains are being undone, the gangster lunges for Reid, swinging his cuffed hands and managing to land a hit to his eye. Morgan snarls and jumps in between his friend and his assailant, but Caldwell already has the man by the collar, waving his baton.
"What's your issue with Montgomery?" Caldwell asks the gangster, who keeps his jaw locked. Eventually he shoves the small man away. Reid had long since got to his feet, trying to ignore the deepening pain in his face and the stares all the fellow inmates are giving him. His eyes find the ground once more.
Once inside the facility, their shoes are taken and they're each given a bin consisting of an extra jumpsuit, blanket, and pillow. Reid found this interesting- he'd thought blankets weren't allowed due to the rate of inmate suicides that occur, especially in high security prisons.
Guards split everyone up and lead them to their cells. Just Reid's luck- the gangster is right across from himself and Morgan. Once they're locked inside the rustic smelling cage, Morgan turns to him and grins.
"A black eye already? You didn't even set a foot in the prison yet." Morgan chuckles and shakes his head, throwing his pillow and blanket on the top bunk, folding his jumpsuit and laying it on the floor. Reid follows his example and tries to find some sense of ownership to his own bunk.
"You'd have been lucky to have me, Montgomery." The gangster yells from his cell. His hand is making an obscene gesture and Reid doesn't realize he's being called out until he recalls that here his name isn't Reid but Montgomery.
Reid turns his back to the man, who continues the onslaught of colorful painted phrases to frown at Morgan. His friend just grins and crawls up onto his bunk to sit.
"Home sweet home."