A/N: Some change from all the Rossi. :)
"Why?" Reid brow was furrowed as he looked at Gideon questioningly. The older man gave him a bland look in return.
"Because I say so."
"But it doesn't make any sense!"
And it really didn't.
He was sitting at Gideon's kitchen table with a pile of paper in front of him and a pen lying next to it, put there by the older man. And he had just been ordered to write out 'I will eat three meals a day unless circumstances really don't allow for it' two hundred times.
It was one of the rules Gideon had given him and apparently the man thought he had broken it. Which, if Reid was honest with himself, was probably a justified belief; he had sort of skipped a few meals over the last few days, too immersed in his reading to break for food and since history didn't seem to classify as an exception to Gideon's rule, here he was: being made to write out lines.
"It doesn't have to make sense to you," Gideon told him calmly, not even looking up from his newspaper. "As long as you do it."
Reid's frown deepened and he pressed his lips together. He wasn't sure what he felt about this development. It wasn't a form of punishment Gideon had used before, and not one Reid had expected. The senior profiler had spanked him, grounded him, made him stand in the corner and he had threatened to wash his mouth out with soap.
But this, he had never as much as hinted at.
It was, he supposed, better than a spanking, but it was also… ridiculous. Still, he had no intention of disobeying Gideon – especially when he was already in trouble – so with a deep sigh he picked up the pen and began his task.
He hadn't even written the sentence twenty times when he began to fidget. What did Gideon hope to accomplish by making him do this? It wasn't as if he could think that it would make Reid remember the rule any better, and Reid knew the older man didn't believe in subconscious suggestion.
"This is boring," he announced, looking up from his task to frown at Gideon. The man looked back evenly.
"It's not supposed to be fun," he said, "Get back to work."
Reid frowned at him for another moment, before he pursed his lips and did as he was told. I – will – eat – three – meals…
"Mind your handwriting," Gideon spoke up, "If it's unreadable you have to write it again."
To demonstrate how much he disliked that instruction, Reid sighed deeply. If he had to write neatly enough to meet Gideon's standards it would take a lot longer. And since the older man so unfair and unreasonable, he'd probably take the slightest as an excuse to make Reid write it again.
Ten minutes later, he looked up again, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "This is stupid."
Gideon looked up at him from over the top of his reading glasses, raising his eyebrows in silent questions.
"What could I possibly learn from this?" Reid spread his hands to show at the papers in front of him.
Gideon's expression didn't change. "What have I said happens when you break a rule?" he asked calmly.
Reid frowned. "You'll punish me, but…"
Without batting an eye, Gideon continued evenly. "And did you break a rule?"
"Yeees," Reid replied, "but…"
"Is it up to you to choose your punishment?"
"No," Reid conceded, and with a sigh decided that he wouldn't manage to even begin this argument with Gideon, let alone win it.
"Well then," Gideon said, returning his eyes to the newspaper and turning the page. Reid glared at him for a while longer, hoping that if he imitated Hotch well enough Gideon would feel the glare and look up. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do if he succeeded, though; it had already been proven that he couldn't win the argument.
So with another sigh he picked up the pen again and went back to writing.
This time he made it to fifty lines before he became too restless to continue. He looked up again, opening his mouth.
"Spencer," Gideon broke him off evenly, "One word and I'll put you over my knee."
"But…"
"One word," Gideon repeated inexorably. Reid snapped his mouth shut, pressing his lips together. He would have been tempted to argue despite the threat if he thought he stood any chance of convincing Gideon this was a stupid punishment, but since the arguing would almost certainly lead to nothing but him finishing the lines with a sore butt, he refrained.
It really was unfair. All this for skipping a few meals? It wasn't as if Reid didn't know how to stop for food; it was just boring. But if Gideon was going to be this unreasonable about it, of course he'd do it in the future.
I – will – eat – three – meals – a day – unless…
Reid sighed. "Giiideon… I've done a hundred and fifty lines. Isn't that enough?"
Reid was for some reason vaguely annoyed that the look Gideon gave him was still completely unfazed, just mildly curious as he peered at Reid from over his newspaper. "Do you have an eidetic memory, Spencer?"
"Yeees…"
"So you remember how many lines I said you would write?"
Frowning, Reid glared at Gideon for a while. "Two hundred…" he mumbled sullenly, "But…"
"That was a lot more than one word," Gideon pointed out, "You want to reconsider continuing?"
With a deep sigh, Reid reconsidered. He could do fifty more lines, without pointing out how silly this was.
"I'm done!" he announced an eternity later, putting down the pen with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, "Two hundred lines." He defeated the impulse to add a defiant 'hah!' opting instead to just glare – maybe a little defiantly – at Gideon.
The older man wasn't the slightest bit affected by the glare though; he folded up his newspaper and held out a hand. "Good. Let me see."
Reid hesitated. "It's all readable," he said.
"I'm sure it is. So let me see it."
Sighing, Reid handed him the papers, twitching nervously as Gideon leafed through them, expression unchanging. "Well, it's all… mostly readable. Let's say it's done." He gave Reid a small smile and handed back the papers. "Are you going to be skipping meals again?"
"No. But you could have just told me not to."
Gideon raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't making a rule about it qualify as telling you?"
"Well… I guess," Reid conceded reluctantly, "But after I didn't, you could have just told me not to do it again."
"This is telling you. Just with some added reinforcement. And if I have to tell you again, I'll do it while you're over my knee."
Deciding not to comment on that, Reid snatched the papers back from Gideon. "Can I throw these away now? And make some coffee?"
Smiling, Gideon nodded. "Sure. And make yourself a sandwich."
Reid nodded, quickly bouncing up from the chair and heading over to investigate the contents of Gideon's fridge. The older man normally didn't have anything Reid particularly liked – such as peanut butter or chocolate spread – but there might be something he could enjoy.
After finding nothing, he turned back to Gideon with his best pleading look. "Can't you make me pancakes?"
"In the middle of the afternoon?" Gideon sounded skeptical, looking at Reid with raised eyebrows.
"Please?"
"No. But you can make them yourself if you like."
"I'm not sure I can, actually."
"You'll never know if you don't try. There's a book of recipes over on the counter," Gideon said, nodding toward it. After a moment's hesitation, Reid fetched it. "Look in the index at the end. The recipe should tell you everything you need to know."
Reid quickly looked up, giving the older man an uncertain look. "But you'll stay here, right?"
"Of course," Gideon said, reaching for the culture section of the paper, "I wouldn't want you to burn down my kitchen. Now, start with getting all the ingredients out…"
