Reid is tense, Hotch notices. He isn't in the office much, either; coming in a little later, taking longer lunch breaks, and leaving a little earlier. And when he's there, he avoids Hotch. Hotch doubts the other team members notice, because it's very subtle – Hotch only notices because he wants to make some casual-but-private conversation with Reid to find out if he's alright, and he can't find a moment to do this.
Then Hotch sees a note in his agenda. Of course¸ he thinks. Reid's gun qualification is coming up. Reid is probably spending time at the shooting range. That doesn't explain the avoidance, however.
So Hotch decides to go to said shooting range one morning when he suspects Reid is there.
Reid's shooting isn't bad, either. He hits his targets, although not always exactly where he wants to – he's off a few inches now and again. And he's amazingly tense. Still, it's more than enough to pass his qualifications.
Hotch leaves the shooting range before Reid can see him.
Later that day, Hotch calls Reid into his office.
"How is your shooting?" he asks when both are nursing cups of coffee. Hotch and Reid are usually very frank with one another. Both don't like to beat around the bush, and as such they don't usually do the social small-talk, except when it's important. But with them there are never the "How are you"'s and the "I'm fine"'s, except for when it matters. Both prefer silence to meaningless chatter, although meaningless chatter isn't always meaningless – sometimes, everything hidden within the "How are you" and everything left unsaid in the "I'm fine" is what is important, and Hotch and Reid do exchange those phrases, then. And Reid's long explanations and statistics are not meaningless, either, although Hotch is one of the few that don't think they are.
Reid swallows. Hotch wonders why he is nervous. "I'm doing alright. I should pass."
Hotch nods. "You're tense, though. Is it because of your upcoming exam, or is there something else?"
Reid makes a strangled sound, somewhere between sobbing and laughing. "Nothing you can help with, Hotch."
The way he says it gives Hotch the feeling that Hotch is, in fact, the problem.
Still, Hotch doesn't ask for elaboration, knowing Reid would not give it. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Reid has finished his coffee. He sets his mug down and pushes his chair back. "I should go back to work," he says.
That's another thing about conversations between Hotch and Reid – there is never the "Unless there is something else you wanted to discuss?" because both know that if they were going to discuss something else, it would already have been brought up. And sometimes, as it is now, there is something else to discuss, something else that should be discussed, but they won't discuss it anyway.
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Reid does not go back to his desk; instead, he goes back to the shooting range. Not that it will help, but he can try.
After a session that fails for the same reason as all the others have failed, Reid decides to talk to Elle.
"Want to get some real coffee?" he asks Elle when he's back in the bullpen. Elle looks at him, and Reid knows Elle is thinking about how Reid never invites anyone for coffee. He also knows that Elle is a profiler, and therefore she must have noticed how Reid is tense. So she simply nods and follows Reid out of the bullpen and out of the building, and to a coffee shop across the street.
Originally, they drink in silence, but Reid knows Elle is waiting for him to speak. After a few minutes, he does.
"How did you learn to shoot?" Reid asks with genuine curiosity. Elle is surprised by the question, but Reid can see her do the mental math and he knows she remembers it has been nearly six months since the ER in Illinois.
Elle considers that for a moment. "How do you mean?"
Reid doesn't really know how to explain, which is a first for him. "What did your instructors say? How did they explain the whole point – shoot thing?"
Reid doesn't know how to explain it, but he hopes that Elle understands.
Elle is quiet for a few seconds, and then speaks thoughtfully. "His major points were to focus correctly, to regulate the pressure on the trigger, and to catch the recoil, I think. Is that what you mean? I know others have different wordings – my instructor was somewhat of an oddball, I think."
Reid smiles a little. "That's what I meant, yes. Thanks, Elle."
Reid can see that Elle is confused by the situation, and that she doesn't really see how she helped. But as Reid had noted earlier, she's discrete and knows when not to press.
The conversation moves on to other topics, and that evening at the shooting range, Reid doesn't miss a single shot.
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Hotch is surprised when the results of Reid's requalification arrive. You need seventy per cent accuracy to pass, and Reid has ninety-six. That's nearly unheard of. Actually, Morgan only scored eighty-eight per cent at his last qualification. Morgan usually has near a hundred per cent for the kill shots, but he tends to shoot to kill sometimes when he should be aiming for non-fatal. Still, Morgan is a good shot, and in the field, he's reliable.
Hotch walks down to the bullpen. "Reid, congratulations," he says with a very sincere smile as he hands Reid the document. "Your score is nearly perfect."
Reid gives Hotch a smile that's a mix between shy, sad and something Hotch can't quite identify. "Thanks."
"What's up, pretty boy?" Morgan says from his own desk. "Got another three-hundred-and-twelve per cent on a test?"
Reid gives Morgan a smile that's sincere, but also thin and nearly bitter – for Reid, anyway. "Ninety-six per cent, actually."
Elle speaks up. "That thing we talked about earlier?" Reid nods, and Hotch is vaguely surprised Reid went to Elle for advice on his gun qualifications. But Elle's smile is wide and sincere as she pat's Reid on the back and says, "I know you could do it."
Hotch notices that Reid doesn't correct Morgan's assumption – that it was his firearm qualifications that Reid passed with flying colors, and not a written exam.
It will be two years before Hotch finds out why.
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After the situation with Owen Savage in Texas, Hotch vows to keep a closer eye on Reid. It's not much, but Hotch had never realized just how much Reid was still influenced – traumatized, his profiling brain supplies – by the bullying from his childhood.
So one day, he calls Reid into his office. He motions to the couch, so Reid knows the meeting isn't formal – or at least, not the disciplinary sort of formal. "Are you alright?" Hotch asks Reid, sincerely. "I know that last case was hard for you."
Reid looks at Hotch searchingly, and apparently finds what he's looking for, because he answers honestly. "I'm getting there."
Hotch acknowledges that through a nod. "You're avoiding me," he says then. Because Reid is. It's a little less subtle than it was two years ago, but it's definitely there. "You know I don't think less of you because you're meeting." That last sentence is grammatically incorrect, grammatically, but Reid knows what Hotch means.
Reid startles. "That's not it," he says, although he doesn't deny of confirm the statement. "I'm.." Reid sighs, and for what's probably the first time since Hotch has known him, he's lost for words.
"What's it, then?" Hotch pries gently.
Reid is silent for a long time, but Hotch just sits patiently.
"The ER in Illinois," he says finally. "Afterwards, I said I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire."
Hotch nods, not knowing what that has to do with everything.
"I never said I got your plan the minute you started to.." Reid trails of. After a long moment, he speaks again. "I'm a good actor, which is probably why you didn't realize I understood your plan before you were kicking. But at the beginning, I didn't have to act."
Hotch realizes the implications of what Reid is saying. Reid had been sincerely afraid at the beginning. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't realize." And really, what else can he say?
Reid's lips curl into a wry smile. "Because of that, I associate that ER with being bullied – betrayed – by someone you trust," Reid's breath hitched a few times during that statement, but he doesn't pause. "And you're sort of the trigger, I guess, because I also associate that ER with you," he finished softly. "Coupled with this last case which brought up its fair share of – similar memories.." Reid shrugs. "It's a bit much sometimes."
Hotch nods and wonders whether or not he should pry further. "Two years ago, you were also avoiding me," he notes. It's not a question and Reid doesn't have to clarify if he doesn't want to.
Reid acknowledges that. "I was," he admits. "The curse of an eidetic brain is that I am invariably reminded of being kicked nowadays whenever I hear front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. And my brain is replaying those words whenever I'm at the shooting range."
It's silent for a long while after that.
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Nowadays, Hotch knows to give Reid space when Reid is avoiding him. It only happened four more times over the years, and Hotch reacts to Reid's avoidance by avoiding being alone with Reid. Hotch will bring coffee to Reid's desk, though, when it happens, and a "period" always ends by Reid bringing coffee to Hotch's office when Hotch is in there, alone.
Hotch will thank Reid for the coffee, and Reid will say "Thank you" with an emphasis on you, and both will know they are being thanked for more than coffee. Hotch will have thanked Reid for the trust placed in him, and Reid will have thanked Hotch for the space.
Perhaps it will always be this way. Perhaps the cycle will just die one day. Perhaps it will be mourned.