Disclaimer: I do not own the team. Title and quotes from Tennyson's In Memoriam.
Summary: Mourning is never linear. Gideon's death, viewed through an ongoing series of drabbles.
Our Father's Dust
7
"Seraphic intellect and force/ To seize and throw the doubts of man;/
Impassion'd logic, which outran/ The hearer in its fiery course;"
*
"I feel like I should try to make myself believe it was murder," Reid muses quietly. He's standing at the map, pushpins in his hand. Prentiss blinks.
"These are murders."
"No. Gideon," Reid clarifies. "I feel like I should try to disprove the coroner's report. Find phony clues that he was actually killed. It'd be something to do."
"Lemme get this straight: you wish you were deeper in denial?"
"Yeah, I guess." Reid sighs, returns to the map.
Prentiss stares at the back of his head. "Do you wanna hug, or something?"
"No, that's alright."
So she leaves him alone.
