"Oh, good, you're awake," said Maria, one of the nurses.
She was from Patagonia, and had been delighted when Reid had dazedly rattled off some of the facts he knew about the Chubut Valley, and the Welsh settlement there. She was twenty-nine years old and had two children – both boys, both rambunctious, both the twin lights of her life. Reid liked Maria – she asked him a lot of questions, very rarely about his injuries or his job at the BAU, and she made fun of his accent when he tried to speak Spanish.
"Your dad brought some books in for you," she said, nodding to the end table.
"My dad?" Reid repeated, and he turned his head to look at the pile there, his lips shifting into a slight smile. There were all pretty heavy texts, and most of them looked like they were about philosophy – he'd read a few of them already, but that didn't matter.
"He's been waiting for you to wake up, you know. Your boyfriend's at the police department, sorting out paperwork."
"Okay," Reid said, too tired to really be embarrassed. "Thanks."
"Good morning, Doctor Reid," said Doctor Fallon, coming to have a look at his chart. "Feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Reid murmured. "Just feeling a little out of it."
"We've got you on a pretty heavy cocktail, Doc," she murmured as she looked at the monitors beside him. "You seen your dad yet? He's been here since late last night. Says he's gonna bring you in something home-cooked, because he figures you're only eating jello."
"He went to pick him up some breakfast," Maria said, and she crossed he arms over her chest, looking at Reid amusedly. "He's a real card, your papi. Keeps flirting with all the nurses, offering to whisk us away."
"Really?" Fallon asked. "I saw Gabriela try to talk to him for a second, and he walked past like she wasn't even there."
"Pretty handsome guy," Maria said.
"I guess," Fallon said. "If you're into that sort of thing. But he was sat with you all night, ever since his flight came in."
"His flight? He's been here days."
Reid's smile was on his face not entirely with his permission, and he asked, slightly hoarsely, "And, um, remind me, is he Jewish, or Italian?"
"Jewish."
"Italian."
Maria and Doctor Fallon looked at each other over Reid's bed, both confused, and Reid leaned his head back against the pillows, watching as Rossi and Gideon came into his room.
Rossi had a bouquet of flowers, which he set on the dresser, and then he leaned down, kissing Reid on both his cheeks, cupping his jaw. Rossi's hands were warm, and Reid could smell his cologne and feel the other man's stubble brush against his skin. "You ever do that again, I'll kill you myself," he said, barely an inch away from Reid's face, his index finger jabbing Reid lightly in the chest. "You got that?"
"Got it," Reid mumbled, and he raised his hands as Gideon put the tray over the front of his bed, letting Maria move past to help Reid sit up. "Doctor Fallon, Maria, this is Dave Rossi, and Jason Gideon."
"We'll leave you to it," Fallon said. "How's the pain?"
"My shoulder aches a little, but it's mostly my leg. Maybe a six or a seven."
"Let me know if I can get you anything heavier," Fallon murmured, putting his chart back, and Reid looked down at his plate, feeling a little sick.
"No jello?"
"I told you," Rossi said. "I told you he'd ask."
"I told you I knew he'd ask," Gideon replied, dropping down into one of the chairs. "You need to eat something with protein. Eat your eggs."
"Yes, sir," Reid murmured, grinning to himself, picking up the fork a little awkwardly with his right hand, not used to it. "Hotch said Cummings made a full confession."
"We're still gonna be here a few more days at least," Rossi murmured. "There's more women in Lake Shasta, apparently – a lot of tourists. He just started escalating when his mom died, killing locals."
Reid nodded, chewing slowly on the rubbery eggs from the hospital canteen. "Which one of you brought the books?"
"Those ones, I picked up from the thrift store around the corner," Rossi said, pointing to the books on Reid's bedside table. "The ones in the bag, Jason brought with him."
Reid tried to lean forward to look, then regretted it, falling heavily back against the pillows, so Gideon leaned forward and picked up the bag, putting it onto the bed so Reid could pick through it. They were wildlife field guides – he'd memorised several between Massachusetts and Virginia, but these were field guides for Nevada, Florida, Texas, California…
"Thanks," he murmured, and Gideon reached out, very gently ruffling his hair without touching the bandages at the back of his head.
"How you feeling?" Rossi asked, pulling up another chair and sinking down into it.
"Not great," Reid said. "Is everyone else on the team okay?"
"Oh, you know, everybody's worried sick about you," Rossi said softly. "They'll all come and see how you're doing in the afternoon."
"Morgan and JJ?"
"They're…" Rossi trailed off, and then he said, "JJ's okay. Morgan's being a little frosty with Hotch."
"I was going to tell him after we finished this case," Reid mumbled, staring at the egg he had speared on his fork.
"Eat it, don't just look at it," Gideon said: he had his reading glasses on and one of the books Rossi had brought for Reid in his lap, and Reid did as he said, chewing slowly. "Let me know when you're ready to call your mom."
"We're gonna need to take a report from you," Rossi said. "What happened with Cummings."
"Now?"
"No, not now," Rossi said. "Tomorrow or the next day."
"I don't remember all of it," Reid mumbled.
"That'll be the concussion," Rossi said softly. "But you can worry about it later." He glanced at Gideon, evidently waiting for him to say something, but when Gideon didn't, remaining concentrated on his book, he exhaled, leaning forward and looking at Reid seriously.
"You don't have to stay," Reid said. "I'm okay."
"No, we're taking it in shifts," Rossi murmured. "Garcia wanted to fly out but got told no, so she settled for getting Gideon on the first flight she could find and trying to organise for a local rescue centre to bring some kittens in to visit you. In the meantime, I got the short straw."
Reid laughed, even though it made him ache, and he brought a piece of the cold toast to his mouth, chewing it slowly and trying to imagine it didn't taste like cardboard – but because of the cocktail of drugs he was on, he didn't have the greatest sense of taste at the moment anyway.
"So, make your choice, kid, 'cause I'm here for the next hour. You want war stories, a crash course in Italian, or stories of my carefree youth in Little Italy?"
"People with carefree youths don't become profilers," Reid said. "And you're from Long Island, not Manhattan."
"Anyone ever tell you no one likes a smartass?"
"You," Reid said. "You're normally smiling when you say it, though. Five times out of seven."
Rossi smiled at him. "Dealer's choice?"
Reid nodded, chewing bacon that tasted like salt had been dragged out into cheap taffy, and listened to Rossi talk.