"Its not the vodka martini. He actually prefers whiskey."
Garcia rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, Reid. He says that line in every single movie."
"That's not true. It hadn't been said until 1956 in Diamonds Are Forever, and even then it wasn't by Bond. Now, the first time he did say it was in Dr. No, 1959. And it was only Sean Connery that made it famous six years later in Goldfinger."
She made an exasperated noise. "I am so glad you're back to normal, Reid."
He smiled, missing the sarcasm. "Me too, Garcia. Now, most people avoid shaking a gin martini because it causes excess oxidation, whereas shaking the vodka martini actually improves the flavor, making it sharper and colder."
"I'll try to remember that."
Hotch stepped inside. "I need to see you in my office, Reid," he said, stiffly.
Garcia shot Reid a fearful glance. "Oh no, he doesn't look happy."
"Its fine," he told her, although he wasn't so sure himself.
"What the hell is this," Hotch said, hardly giving Reid time to get inside the room. He held a file open and was looking through it. "Patient is extremely traumatized by his experiences."
"That's not true-," Reid started to protest, bristling with anger.
Hotch silenced him with a look. "Becomes agitated when pushed on the subject, to the point of open hostility. Increasingly frustrated by the lingering effects of the incident, but avoids all association regarding the event. Do you have any idea what Strauss would do with this information if it came across her desk instead of mine?"
"None of what she is saying is true. Ask Garcia, we were just..." Hotch gave him that look again. Reid sighed and looked away.
"Tell me why I shouldn't suspend you right now?"
Reid remained silent, having no response for that. He continued to avoid Hotch's gaze.
"Yes, I agree, this time you are maintaining the image of control better than you have in the past. But I can look at you and see that is all it is. An image. But that isn't what matters. What matters is your cooperation with this woman. Otherwise, I won't even wait for Strauss, I'll relieve you of your badge and gun myself." Hotch sighed, his anger waning. "Look, Reid, you're a brilliant man, and no one is about to contest that you've been through hell. I need you on this team but what I don't need is a ticking time bomb. Start humoring her, tell what she wants to hear."
Reid rubbed the spot above his eye, feeling the now familiar twinge of pain.
"Go home, Reid."
"Hotch, no. I'm fine."
"That's not what I meant. Take the rest of the day off and get some rest. You're appointment is at 7 p.m. You will be there and when she asks you a question, you answer it."
Garcia stood on the otherside of the door, holding some files in her arms. Reid stopped when he saw her standing there. "How much did you hear?"
"Oh, I wasn't eavesdropping," she said, in a small voice.
"Why are you looking like that then?"
"Some things can through. It's awful," she said. He put his hand on her shoulder. She gave him a little smile.
"Reid, aren't you supposed to be leaving," Hotch said.
"Yeah, I was just talking to Garcia. Going now."
Hotch held the door for Garcia and closing in behind her.
"Sir, can I ask-"
"Sometimes its necessary for me to do what is best for my agents even if they don't like it," he told her. "Now what is that."
"He can't know about this. That girl, the actress that he dated a few times. They found her dead in the back of an abandoned van. Her neck had been broken."
"This is the third person with a connection to Reid that's been murdered in the past two weeks."
Garcia nodded. "First Owen Savage, than Parker Dunley. And now Lila Archer."
"Her neck was broken. A quick death. Not prolonged as the others. There are either multiple unsubs or her death is unrelated to the others."
"It gets weird though. The van was inside of a two care garage, the ignition left on. You know, like if someone wanted to end it all in a relatively painless manner. But something had apparantly clawed its way out of the front seat. Whatever it was left traces of blood, skin and hair. Dna results refer to an unknown species of canine."
Hotch frowned at her. "That's not relevant, Garcia."
"Am I the only one who hears the twilight zone theme?"
"Yes, it's strange but as I already said, not relevant."
Will slowly returned to consciousness. He sat up and heard something skitter away. He looked up to see a lone coyote, staring at him from less than five feet away. He jumped up and it ran off but only a few more feet.
"Where the hell is this," he said to himself, looking around more. Desert and a lonely stretch of road. Nevada, Arizona? Maybe California. Nowhere near his home in New Orleans.
He found a disposable cell phone in his pocket, as well as a full canteen. He looked at the cell phone. Of course, there was no signal. He shot a wary glance at the lingering coyote, just before starting to walk north.