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"There's just a few things coming my way this time around now. Thought I'd see you, thought I'd see you fire a rain now."- James Taylor "Fire and Rain"
The hotel's restaurant consisted of clusters of round tables with trim, white tablecloths; large, plush chairs; and a series of black and white photographs that showcased the town's history, which dated back to the 1700s.
"I'll bring you some waters and then I'll be back to take your order," the waiter explained after the three women were seated. JJ didn't realize how hungry she was until she was among the delicious aromas.
"Oh my God," exclaimed Prentiss with wild eyes. "I could eat everything on this menu." Across the table, Garcia mumbled something that sounded very distinctly like "skinny bitch." JJ chuckled and gave Garcia a sympathetic smile.
"We really ran around in circles today," Prentiss spoke while sipping the water that had just been placed on the table. JJ nodded in agreement, and Garcia sighed.
"I hope no one recognizes me from the press conference." As she spoke, JJ sunk lower in her chair, pulling her menu upwards to hide her face.
"That bad?" Prentiss asked.
"I honestly thought they were going to revolt. It's hard to explain to the general public that sometimes killers outwit us."
"We still have to get the DNA results back." Prentiss reminded.
"And you're saying you like not nailing a profile?" Garcia asked. Pretniss let her shoulders drop.
"No. That sucks, but sometimes we have no choice." Garcia took a large gulp of water before speaking.
"That unsub, whoever he is, has an amazing system. He keeps reroutting his IP address, and the minute I figure out-" The conversation was interrupted by the waiter and didn't continue until he left with their orders, placing a basket of bread and butter down before returning to the kitchen.
"You know," Prentiss began, watching the butter slide from the knife onto a piece of bread. "I don't think we've ever all had dinner together before." JJ thought for a moment before agreeing.
"Yeah, it's kind of nice having a girl's night."JJ agreed.
"Ladies," Garcia began. "A girl's night needs alcohol, the admittance of embarrassing secrets, and sappy romance movies." The two other two agents couldn't help but smile at Garcia's proposal.
"We should do that when we get back," Pretniss commented.
"I think," JJ began changing the flow of the conversation, "some other things should happen when we get home."
"Like what?" Garcia asked. JJ shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wishing she hadn't blurted out her true thoughts.
"I think someone needs to help Reid." JJ didn't say how or why she felt this way, but the other two women at the table nodded in agreement.
"It's a shame Reid didn't come. He looks like some food will be good for him." Prentiss suggested. Reid had begun to look alarmingly thin to her.
"Trust me, he is not the person you want to be around today." Prentiss met JJ's eyes before turning to face Garcia.
"What do you mean?" Garcia rolled her eyes and told the two agents about her day with Reid, about how sick he had been, and about his moods.
"Maybe we're all overreacting," JJ contemplated while playing with a coffee creamer. "He could just be sick."
"I dunno, JJ. Something is seriously off with him. He was late today. Spencer Reid was late for work." Prentiss emphasized. "He didn't look good today either." Across the table, JJ began fidgeting with her discarded straw wrapper as she spoke.
"I know Hotch is worried. He wouldn't have addressed the team otherwise."
"I'm kind of worried too." Garcia mentioned, grabbing for another piece of bread.
"And what happened on the plane today?" Prentiss asked the other two women. She didn't tell the others about her brief conversation with Reid earlier today.
"But this is Reid," JJ argued. "He would tell us, or someone, right?"
"I dunno, JJ..." Prentiss didn't know why, but the word habit came to mind.
"Have you even looked at the mess of his geographical profile today?" Garcia didn't mean to gossip or even speak badly about one of her coworkers, but something had gnawed at her since Reid's outburst. She sensed something wasn't right, and hadn't been for a long time. Hotch's words in the conference room earlier that morning and Morgan's request combined with her day with Reid made her intuition perk.
"That's true," JJ admitted "I don't think I've ever seen Reid so disorganized before."
"Or so jumpy and irritable." Prentiss added.
"Do you guys think…" Garcia shifted her weight in her chair. "that he might be in some kind of trouble? He's kind of been like this for a while now…" She didn't have to say since the Hankel case because Prentiss and JJ met eyes again. From their looks, Garcia could tell they knew.
"That was a hard case for everyone," JJ averted meeting both pairs of eyes. If Reid's in trouble, her thoughts taunted. It's your fault.
"I still have nightmares about..." Garcia stopped when goose bumps prickled at her arms. "About how he died and then, you know..." she finished lamely. Prentiss reached across the table and grabbed her hand in a small squeeze.
"I have nightmares about that case too." She met Garcia's wide eyes. Garcia knew the Prentiss rarely admitted the emotional repercussions of cases. To Garcia, Prentiss was a rock that she both admired and feared.
"Did you guys talk to Hotch about Reid too?" Prentiss remembered how she had pulled Hotch aside and mentioned briefly that she was concerned by Reid's jumpiness. She wasn't surprise when both Garcia and JJ nodded, confirming they had too.
"So if we did," JJ gestured at the three women, "then I'm guessing Morgan and Gideon didn't?"
"Morgan did." Garcia explained. "He told me."
"Gideon did too." Prentiss admitted. They sat in silence, pondering the idea that every team member had expressed worry over Reid's behavior.
"I think we should do what Hotch asked this morning." JJ spoke to her empty place setting. "You know, watch Reid closely." Garcia shifted her weight, but couldn't take the pressure anymore.
"Morgan's following him." Garcia blurted out before she could stop herself. "He told me today before you guys all left. I didn't want to say anything because it didn't seem like he wanted anyone else to know. He told Hotch he was going to keep an eye on him." JJ felt somewhat better knowing Morgan was watching over Reid.
"Morgan will figure out how to help him." Prentiss confirmed. She didn't say how relieved she felt when Garcia divulged this information.
"Yeah, you're right," JJ agreed. "If anyone can help him, Morgan can. I think Reid looks to him like an older brother."
"It's a good thing he's not my older brother," Garcia began, changing the conversation. "Because what I would do to him would be sinful." Prentiss nearly spit her water across the table in surprise.
"You know," she said once she had regained composure. "Sometimes, you disturb me on whole new levels."
"My pleasure," Garcia winked and shot Pretniss a wicked grin. JJ found that, in spite of the knots in her stomach, she was, genuinely having a good time. Morgan's helping Reid, she reminded herself, ignoring the immediate thought that followed: You were there, though. You're responsible. You should be helping him too.
"Oh come on," Garcia's playful voice brought JJ back to the dinner table. "You haven't had one indecent thought about Morgan or anyone else on the team?"
"Actually," Prentiss admitted. "I have, but not about Morgan..." She trailed off, clearly embarrassed. Across the table, Garcia seized the opportunity.
"Oh my God, it's his eyes right? Because I've had a dream where he just undressed me with them..."
"Who?" JJ asked, completely unsure of who Garcia was referring to now.
"Hotch." Garcia explained. "Don't you ever wonder what powers those eyes have? I mean, who knows what he's thinking behind those things. He could be undressing us all!" JJ used all her strength not to spit out her water. Reluctantly, Prentiss mumbled an inaudible no. It took a moment for her two dinner companions to understand.
"Oh. My. God." Garcia was shocked. "He could be like your dad's age!" Prentiss felt her face turn a shade of red she previously only associated with burning fires.
"It was just a dream I had once..." she admitted.
"Eww Gideon?" JJ burst into a fit of giggles. She had to admit, she was having fun. It felt good to not be so serious and to laugh. It felt absolutely needed, actually, and JJ welcomed this newfound giddiness into her life. Tomorrow, she'd go back to the case, its atrocities, and the tasks required of her. But, for now, she ignored the guilt she felt concerning Reid and the Hankel case. Morgan will help, she reminded herself, turning her attention towards her coworkers, happy for the distraction.
The sound of typing and the buzzing hum of computer monitors filled the air, and Gideon felt his stomach lurch. He hadn't meant to come here before talking to Hotch, but he had to know if his inkling from earlier was correct. Never mind that after he had said the word "habit," the familiar cold feeling surged through his body. This feeling was usually in connection to a case when his mind put the pieces together and when things finally fell into place. This wasn't how things were supposed to go with anyone in the team, especially Reid. He wanted to be absolutely sure. He thought back to his conversation with Hotch in the hotel lobby:
"Did you still want to talk to me, Jason?" Gideon met the man's dark, stone eyes.
"I do, but later. I need to figure something out first." If Hotch was confused, he didn't show it.
"Alright, I'll be in my room." Gideon nodded and watched Hotch walk away. When he was sure he was out of sight, he headed towards the internet cafe connected to the hotel's lobby.
The mess of the geographical profile and Reid's sickly coloring had only added to this desire to know, so he had come here searching for answers. But now, he didn't like what he saw on the computer screen. Not Reid. Not anyone on his team, but especially not Reid. Reid was his protégé. His mentee. How could he have failed him so badly?
The Hankel case. He thought bitterly. The hopelessness Gideon felt returned and he let his mind drift back to the case and the feelings that had overcome him that night. He remembered being afraid that Reid, even before it was over, would blame himself. Gideon's own words came back to him: Reid, if you're watching, you are not responsible for this. You understand me? He's perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you. He had been so sure then that Reid had understood. He had, hadn't he? Shaking his head at the screen's words, Gideon realized he was the one who actually didn't understand.
Signs and Symptoms of Narcotic Abuse.
Gideon hit print, wishing things had not been this way. I failed you Reid, he thought. I failed you miserably.
Hotch wasn't sleeping when he heard three soft knocks on his hotel room door. He had turned on ESPN, zoning out in front of the baseball highlights in the the same way his father had when he was a child. He muted the television show and headed towards the door. I was resting my eyes, he explained to the accusing empty room.
"I need to talk to you." Gideon barreled in, growling his request. In his left hand, he gripped a sheet of paper. Hotch barely had the door closed when Gideon shoved the paper at him.
"Read this." He scanned the sheet that detailed the signs and symptoms of narcotic abuse. This is why he was mumbling about a habit today, Hotch thought back to the scene in the police station's parking lot.
"Is this about the case?" he asked. "The victim didn't have signs of drug abuse." Gideon shook his head before speaking in a tone so flat it made the hair on Hotch's uncovered arms prickle.
"Reid." Hotch turned his eyes towards the paper once more. Irritability, anxiousness, excessive sweating, insomnia, weight loss, poor decision making, confusion, stomach pains…"
"You think Reid's addicted to narcotics?" Already, his mind was flashing to the night of the Hankel case. It was followed by scenes from the plane ride, Reid's graveyard flashback, and his chaotically mapped geographical profile.
"I know he is." Hotch sighed at Gideon's resoluteness, running his hand through his hair.
"It makes sense..." He agreed. It makes too much sense, his mind taunted.
"I think that the Hankel case did it to him. It set him off." Gideon couldn't stand still. The weight of the discovery felt too heavy to carry, and he paced the room as he spoke. "We have to do something."
"I agree, but now's not the time."
"When's the right time then?" Gideon argued. "Because it sure as hell seems like too much time has already passed. You and I both know this is going to get worse if we let it go." Hotch sighed, thinking for a moment about how to explain his reasoning.
"We have to finish the case, but Morgan's watching him for now." Seeing Gideon's look of disagreement, Hotch sighed. "We have a case" From a professional standpoint, he was right; however, Hotch disagreed. There's always a case, he thought bitterly. We should have done something sooner.
"Jason, we know Reid is smart." Gideon rolled his eyes. "He's too smart. Yes, he's been hiding this from us, but he probably doesn't realize that his composure's crumbling right now." Gideon could tell Hotch was correct by the way his stomach tightened.
"So you're saying, if I understand you right, to let him fall apart?" He asked.
"That's exactly what I mean. You saw him today," Hotch explained. "He's on the edge, he knows it, and he knows we're all worried." Gideon nodded, beginning to understand Hotch's point.
"He knows, whether consciously or subconsciously, we'll intervene."
"Exactly, and, although Reid trusts you and everyone on the team, he confides in Morgan. He always has." Gideon nodded again, realizing the reality of the situation.
"We have to trust Morgan to get through to him, Jason." Hotch spoke softly, allowing his own concern to line the edges of his words. He rarely let his emotions show, but he had to make Jason understand that he was worried too, but he also had faith in the connection the team had with one another. The two men stood in silence as the TV's images flickered low lights off the hotel's white walls.
"If Morgan doesn't get somewhere, Hotch, I will." Hotch met Gideon's eyes and knew there was no way to persuade him otherwise. He could tell that the older man blamed himself, but, in a sense, he understood why Gideon was doing so. Hotch felt the guilty too, and, currently, he was concentrating on making it untraceable so Gideon would not explode to pieces in front of him.
"We'll deal with that when and if the times comes," he reassured him. "But I trust Morgan. If anyone can get through to Reid, it's him." He repeated his belief. Gideon sighed, glancing at the paper Hotch had placed on the bed. Neither man spoke for a few minutes.
"Alright." Gideon consented. "I hope Morgan knows what he's up against."
"He's smart, Jason." Hotch hoped his next words were true. "Morgan will figure it out."
When Gideon left after a mumbled goodbye, Hotch sat on the bed, surveying the two double beds, nightstand, and the TV sports show, which had now changed to the prospects for the upcoming football season. He imagined what would happen if Morgan couldn't help. He'd be the one telling Reid he had been written up and explaining the suspicions both he and the whole team harbored. He knew that his next words after this declaration of mutual concern would mention "rehab", "PTSD", and "time off." In the white walls, Hotch saw Reid's look of horror, anger, and shame. No, he thought. It will not happen that way. Then Hotch let his mind wander back to what he wished he could not remember:
"Alright, everybody, right now, what's my worst quality?" He was met with silence. "Okay, I'll start. I have no sense of humor..."
"You're a bully." JJ added.
"I'm a bully." He agreed
"You can be a drill sergeant sometimes." Morgan offered casually.
"You don't trust women as much as men." Prentiss mentioned. He nodded, agreeing with all of them.
"Okay, good. I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team because I don't. Ever."
Hotch remembered how they had rushed to the graveyard, the shot, the dread, and the relief of seeing Reid alive. He had felt the boy's shaking when he grabbed him, spurting words incomprehensibly, but Hotch had understood his insinuated thanks. I knew you'd understand. The scene dissipated as Reid's voice rang in his ears, and, when he spoke to the room, he hoped Reid could hear.
"I understood, Reid. I do now too."
Morgan turned towards the gym, but didn't head towards the locker room. Instead, he stationed himself behind a large potted plant in the central hallway and waited for Reid to walk past. Morgan knew Reid would reject the invite to dinner. He heard the girls say their goodbyes, and he watched Reid speed right past him and down the hall. He kept his distance, ducking unnecessarily into door frames and behind more potted plants. Reid seemed to be on a mission of some sorts, but, whatever it was, he suddenly stopped when he saw the bar. From his vantage point in an adjacent doorway, Morgan saw Reid contemplate going to the bar: he took a step forward, one back to his original position, and then, with a quick glance around that made Morgan flatten himself against the walls, Reid headed inside. You can't drink on a case, kid. Morgan told Reid in his mind. When he made his way to the entrance and peered in, he saw Reid sitting at a stool at the bar. He greeted the burly bartender, and waited as he examined his ID. Morgan took this moment of distraction to find a darkened booth in a corner where he could still see Reid.
The dimly lit bar was decorated in dark greens that only accented the fact that the carpet had some mind-bending pattern that would dizzy even a sober person. The decor reminded Morgan of some 1970s movie that was both outdated and tacky. When the bartender left Reid, who thankfully showed no interest in where he was going, Morgan was surprised when he walked over to his table, asking him if he needed anything. In a bind, Morgan ordered a Coke, and the bartender returned quickly with the sugary drink. Morgan sipped it, feeling the carbonation burn his taste buds. He was a fourth of the way done, and Reid had downed three shots and two drinks. When Morgan was half done, Reid was up to four drinks. As he crunched on ice, Reid had reached an indefinite number. He watched Reid from underneath a swaying yellow lap, and with each shot he took and each drink he ordered, Morgan felt something like dread rise in him. When, exactly, could Reid drink this well? After a while, Reid began tipping in his seat and although Morgan could not hear the discussion Reid was having with the bartender, he saw that his drink orders were slowing down. Either Reid was drunk enough or the bartender had decided to stop serving him. Show time, Morgan thought as he leaned back against the plastic-covered cushion and waited for the right time to intervene.