And the plot thickens...
"Yes, it's all disappearing, and we should all just go along. And all would be so easy if I could say 'let it be,' but that's not me." –Third Eye Blind "Sharp Knife"
Gideon walked the perimeter of the small, brick police station. In the distance, blue mountains surrounded the town, forming a visible barrier from it and the outside world. Through the lot scattered with police cruisers and other vehicles, Gideon spotted patches of green at the edges of the cement. He saw a red picnic table stationed under a large tree and he headed towards it with no real purpose in mind. The air was kissed with summer, the sky was cloudless, and Gideon could not figure out why he felt so uneasy. Granted, the case was becoming a series of dead ends, and a crazy woman had thrown sharp, breakable objects at him, but those events were minimal in comparison to the anxiety his job usually created and caused.
He sat on the wooden table, noticing it was on uneven ground and tipped to the side with the most weight. The tree next to him was old, that much was obvious to Gideon, and he when he leaned in for a closer look at its unique markings, he realized officers had carved their initials and years of service into its bark. Out of habit, he ran his fingertips over the lines and wondered about what he was seeing. T.K '35-'40. Gideon figured World War II had taken that officer away forever. His heart began to race, and he turned his attention away from the tree.
A black ashtray was in the middle of the table, and, judging from the half full contents, he figured the cops smoked here, furthest away from the doors so their secondhand smoke would not bother anyone else. When he heard a noise in the distance, Gideon turned his head in the direction of the police station and watched as the familiar silhouette approached him.
"Hey," The table shifted again when Prentiss sat on its opposite side. Gideon noticed that her usually dark hair looked lighter in the sunlight.
"It's nice out here." Gideon thought his "I'm going for a walk" hadn't been an open invitation, but he found that he didn't mind her company.
"The officers carve their names into this tree," he commented. Gideon watched as Prentiss's eyes scanned the bark, reading the initials and years, but not too closely. For a moment, Gideon thought Prentiss wanted to say something, but she remained quiet. She wants to tell me something, he rationalized. But she's afraid. Knowing she'd speak soon, Gideon waited. I have all day, Prentiss, he smiled to himself. I can out-silence anyone. Well, except for Hotch. As if she was aware of the older agent's thoughts, Prentiss felt as though she couldn't take the stillness anymore, even with the chirping birds and distant sound of the highway.
"Reid looks like crap." Gideon had not expected this, and he wondered if his face had shown any surprise. She noticed too, he realized.
"You think he's sick?" Gideon remembered her words in the car. If he's sick, he's sick. He had thought then that she could possibly be right, but the kid looked drained when he returned with Hotch and Morgan. On his face he wore an expression Gideon understood, but couldn't place.
"I think," Prentiss flicked some of nail polish off her thumb, "he may be dealing with something else."
"What do you think's bothering him?" He asked, figuring her guess was as good as his. He knew it was the Hankel case, but he also felt there was something else. Something much larger was surfacing, peeking its way out after a long period of secrecy.
"Besides the Hankel case?" She asked, eying her superior for a moment to see if he thought the same. She waited to speak until she saw his eyes flash with recognition.
"I'm not sure. I thought you would know." Prentiss admitted, feeling her cheeks warm. As a profiler, it felt inadequate that she could not pinpoint Reid's problem. However, Reid knew how to hide things from his team. They all did. Gideon shrugged, spinning the ashtray absentmindedly.
"I wish I did," he acknowledged defeat too. Overhead, the tree branches swayed. Prentiss watched a leaf flutter downward, shifting side to side before it landed on the table between she and Gideon.
"Hey guys!" A faint yelling startled both agents, and Gideon and Prentiss towards their attention towards the police station. At the lot's edge, the agents saw Morgan's waving to them from the side of the SUV.
"We should get going," Prentiss remarked. Hotch was making his way towards the driver's side.
"You smoke?" She asked Gideon as they walked towards the car.
"What?" He asked somewhat confused as to the sudden change in conversation.
"The ashtray?" She pointed out. She could see from the way his face broke that he understood.
"Not for a long time." They were almost at the SUV. Morgan was already in the backseat, saving the passenger's seat for Gideon. Prentiss smiled at the thought of Hotch insisting Gideon sit in the front with him.
"I used to too," she admitted. "But I stopped. It's a gross habit." While Prentiss opened the car door and climbed in, Gideon froze. Although the air was warm, he felt his whole body become cold.
"Habit…" he mumbled to himself, and, then, it was as if the pieces finally came together in series of flashing images: Reid running into the BAU because he was late for work; Reid jumping when JJ touched his arm; Reid's pale features and shaking hands; Reid not paying attention to Hotch's instructions ten minutes prior; Reid on the video camera, crying as Hankel raised the wood slab overhead; Reid on the plane, his face contorted with memories and nightmares.
"Habit…" Gideon said, but this time everyone heard. Prentiss and Morgan exchanged confused looks in the backseat. From his position behind the steering wheel, Hotch saw Gideon's face melt into a form he knew too well. He's figured something out, he realized. But it's not about the case. If it was, he'd be jumping in here, talking so fast we'd have to tell him to slow down so we could understand. Gideon remained standing outside the car. It's something he thinks he should have figured out a long time ago, Hotch recognized.
Oh God, Reid. Not-but Gideon's thoughts were interrupted by Hotch.
"Are you alright?" He looked at Hotch and silently screamed Reid's addicted to drugs! The thought turned his stomach. Hotch made no expression signaling he understood.
"Are you coming?" Morgan asked, unsure of what, exactly, was going on. Gideon was looking at Hotch, who was staring back, as if they were having some private conversation with their eyes. The passenger side door was still open, and Gideon was making no attempt to move into his seat.
"Jason-"Hotch began, but he was interrupted when Gideon jumped to life as if shocked by some unforeseen electrical current.
"Yeah, sorry about that." Gideon climbed into the car, avoiding Hotch's eyes.
Hotch intuitively knew that Gideon had become aware of something. Behind the man's eyes, a shift had taken form, but Hotch saw that whatever it was, Gideon feared it. As he drove, Hotch attempted to decode the message he knew Gideon had been trying to tell him, but he realized that it could be anything about anyone, although he knew it was probably about Reid. The man saw Reid as his protégé, and it was only natural that he was worried about his sickly appearance and erratic behavior. I'm concerned too, Hotch thought, wishing he could say the words aloud to the car's occupants.
"What was that all about?" Morgan whispered to Prentiss as he shifted his eyes towards Hotch and Gideon and then back towards the backseat. She shrugged.
"No idea. We were talking about how we both used to smoke cigarettes and then he just did that…"
"You smoked?" Morgan asked.
"I was a bit of a rebellious teenager," she explained with a grin. Morgan leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery pass by.
Morgan also knew the look that had lined Gideon's face. It was the same look he had when he cracked a case or a profile, but, this time, he wasn't spewing incomprehensible theories to the car's occupants. Morgan looked at Gideon, who was looking out the window in a way that suggested to Morgan that his mind was elsewhere and the window was an outward distraction. Reid, he thought as the car turned onto the unsub's street. I need to figure out what's up with the kid, Morgan vowed, glancing at his phone to see if Garcia had texted him any updates. They had only been gone twenty minutes, so he was not surprised when his screen did not have a flashing text message alert.
"Alright, everyone know the plan?" Hotch asked as they unloaded onto the driveway. The team didn't respond, so Hotch took that as a collective "yes" and they began to walk up the brick path leading to the front door that had been sealed with familiar yellow evidence tape.
"Why do I feel like it's going to be messy?" Prentiss asked no one in particular. The three men shrugged. When the door opened, they saw that she was correct: the floor was littered with empty soda cans, clothes, and papers from various books and magazines. The hallway leading to the kitchen had a number of mismatched boots and shoes and, from their vantage point at the front door, the team could make out a sink full of what they presumed to be dirty, moldy dishes.
"I hate when I'm right," she mumbled, stepping over a construction hat and two half-eaten burritos.
"Ugh, and it smells too!" They heard her whine from the inside. Morgan sent a pleading look towards Hotch.
"If she has to go in there, we all do." He responded. Sighing, Morgan stepped inside to join his coworker. Just as Hotch was going to follow, he felt a pull on his arm.
"Later," Gideon grabbed Hotch's suit sleeve. "I need to talk to you."
"Alright. Right now-" Hotch began.
"We have a case." The men locked eyes for a moment before heading inside.
Do your job, Gideon told himself. Right now, you have to wait. For now, it will have to wait.
