What a horrible day. Emily twirled the stirrer around her coffee, leaning against the counter. She was tired and just wanted to call it day. If the others wanted to stop for a drink, she'd tag along just to seem sociable, but otherwise she just wanted to go home.
Morgan interrupted her silent quietude, coming into the break room. He moved to pour himself a cup. His eyes glanced at the woman, distracted by her own thoughts. "Prentiss," he asked, pulling her attention. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I'm… great."
"Great?" he asked. "Most people just say fine, not great. Which indicates that you're not really doing great."
Emily shook her head in disbelief. "I spend way too much time with you people."
With coffee now in hand, Morgan moved standing next to her. "So tell me, what's going on?"
"Nothing, really," she replied. "I… was seeing this guy. We had gone on a date about a month ago and… it went really well. I rarely ever have a good first date. We had plans for another one, but I've been so busy lately I had to keep rescheduling and…"
"He blew you off?" Morgan asked.
"Yeah," she replied, finally letting her anger hit the surface. "Men suck."
Morgan nodded. "I apologize on behalf of my gender."
He made her laugh. She nudged him in the ribs as she giggled. Morgan was pleased he had been successful. He moved closer and put his arm around her, giving her a half hug. "This shouldn't need to be said, Prentiss, but it's his loss. I know that doesn't make it any better, but it's the truth."
Emily smiled. Maybe she did spend too much time with them, but what would she do without these people? Careful not to spill her coffee, Emily reached and wrapped her arms around him. "It does," she replied. "Thank you."
It was a surprise. Morgan's arms went around her as well. His embrace was warm and strong. Emily took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet subtle hint of his cologne. Her body exhaled a contented sigh. Once she realized she did it, she opened her eyes self-conscious, wondering if he noticed.
Thankfully, he hadn't. Morgan pulled away. "Don't worry about him. The right guy will wait for you."
"I know," she said smiling. Emily gave him a playful tap on his shoulder as he headed back to his desk, coffee in hand. She watched him, taking in his form until he sat in the bull pen, getting back to work. "I know," she muttered to herself, leaning back on the counter, staring into the swirls.
…
Reid finished his paperwork by the early afternoon. He sat at his desk holding a few of the letters in his hand. His father had left them and Reid had been looking over them in his free time.
He began to wonder if what Riley had deduced was accurate. It was plausible. Reid wasn't blind to the fact that he could have enemies out there, intent on revenge. Going after his parents, though, didn't seem like the most effective way to go after him. He was close to his mother, but he didn't see her often. And his father, he hadn't spoken to him in over two years. Wouldn't it make more sense to go after those he was closest to? Like Morgan or JJ… or Riley.
Reid set the letter aside and let that sink in. He wasn't sure if he could go through that again. Twice had been too much, and each lunatic had not only kidnapped and attempted to kill her, but had nearly taken Reid's life, too.
That wasn't what bothered him. Reid would have given his life for her both those times and would gladly do it again. He just didn't want to have to. That was another thing he wanted from getting married. Reid and Riley had been through enough in the last two years. He wanted them to leave this bad history behind. They would start their lives and only think about that horrible part as stories for their grandchildren.
Something about Riley turned him into a hopeless, cheesy romantic. And, as was one of the many great things about being in love, he didn't care.
He grabbed the closest letter and read it over again. He didn't need to look at the words, obviously. His eyes lingered on them, as if some obvious clue was going to jump out.
While he was working, his phone rang. Grateful for the distraction, he grabbed the receiver. "Reid," he said.
"Hey," Riley's voice sounded on the other end. "Sorry I missed your call before, I was in a session."
A year ago, Riley had applied for a transfer back to Quantico. Even with Garcia and JJ's help, a transfer wasn't possible. There were no immediate openings for FBI psychiatrists in the Quantico or D.C. police departments nor the neighboring cities. Her only choices were to wait in Seattle until one became available, which she did not want to do, or she could take back her position at her previous job. It was a risky decision. Their relationship had to be disclosed to the FBI. If any meddlesome person were to research their history, the obvious record of Reid previously being in Riley's medical care would certainly send up a red flag. Were anyone with higher authority to find out, especially Chief Strauss, they could be pulled in for questioning. Since Reid hadn't been her patient in a long time, the absolute worst she could do is fire them. It was the risk they took in order to be together.
"It's alright," Reid said, leaning back in his chair. "I just wanted to let you know I got the time off for the week. We're set to leave in the morning."
"Great," Riley replied. He was surprised, she
sounded enthusiastic. "You know, I think I'm starting to look forward to this trip."
"Oh yeah?" Reid replied. As she had been talking, his hand slipped into his pocket. His fingers wrapped around the red box, hidden from view.
"Yeah, I've never been to Vegas. Now, remember, I'm doing this evaluation for you. Okay? I'm trying to help you out here, Dr. Reid. I expect to be shown a good time."
Reid smiled, gripping the box tighter. An idea suddenly occurred to him. He'd have to do without talking to Hotch this way, but he doubted there would be a better time. "Well, you don't have to worry about that."
"Oh, is that so?" She asked, suspicious. "Does that mean you already have something planned?"
"Possibly," he replied. "You'll just have to wait and see."
"Oh, come on, give me a hint!" She whined.
"Nope," he answered. "But you'll like it. At least I hope so."
"Hmm," she muttered. "Well, I trust you, so I'm sure I will. I hate to cut you off, but I've got a lot of other sessions today in order to clear up my week, but I'll see you tonight?"
"Yes, in fact I'll probably make it home before you. Want me to pick up dinner?"
"No, I'm going to cook." She exclaimed.
"You're going to cook?" Reid asked skeptical. "Sweetheart, I love you… but I don't think tonight is the best time to practice your… special culinary expertise."
"Special culinary expertise. That is such a sweet way of saying your girlfriend's a shitty cook. And when I say I'm going to cook tonight… I meant more defrost. But we'll pretend I cooked it."
Reid laughed quietly. "Okay, that sounds like a good idea."
"Don't worry; I'll get this cooking thing down one of these days."
"I believe you. I'll see you tonight?"
"I'll see you then. I love you,"
"I love you, too." He answered, listening until the line disconnected. He set the receiver down. He was going to propose; this weekend in Vegas, he was going to propose… it would be perfect.
…
Ethan wasn't sure if he'd be able to perform tonight. That letter had greatly unnerved him. It was probably just a joke or incomplete chain letter, but something about it sent a chill down his spine.
He couldn't let it get to him, though. It wasn't anything he needed to worry about. There couldn't possibly be anything in his past that someone would consider "a devastating sin" as the wording had put it. Ethan wasn't perfect, no one was. Demons had plagued him, as they do almost everyone, and had sent him into a bottle for many years. Now he spent his time with the thing he loved, his music. It was much better. Who knows how messed up his life would have become had he stayed in the FBI. Imagine the lives that would have been lost.
It was getting late. He needed to be at the club soon. Still, he had time for another drink. Maybe it would help him push aside the thoughts and fears those chilling words had sparked in him.
The bar tender placed another glass in front of him. Ethan picked it up gently, taking a sip. The smells of liquor and smoke mixed with the gentle talk and hint of laughter hung around him; the earliest of the evening's crowds already filtering the bar. The atmosphere turned into white noise as his mind remained hopelessly focused on the mysterious letter. He wasn't sure why, maybe it was because the whole thing was utterly ridiculous, nothing short of something you'd find in a clichéd mystery novel, but as he continued to think of it, the more he was reminded of his friend, Spencer Reid.
He hadn't seen Reid in years. Not since he came to New Orleans for a case. They had met up, went for a drink, and had a revealing and meaningful discussion. Ethan admitted to Reid exactly why he'd quit the FBI academy after only one day of training.
It was also during that conversation that Reid revealed to Ethan the pain and internal torment he was going through. After listening to Ethan's advice, he thought the situation over carefully. Reid had decided his place was still within the Bureau.
After the case was solved, Reid returned to Quantico with his team. Ethan hadn't heard from him since. He wasn't sure if his friend was doing any better; if Reid had managed to move on and improve his life. Ethan sometimes thought about Reid. It wasn't often, but on the occasions he did, Ethan believed Reid had found the peace he longed for.
Someday he would talk to him again. People like that always manage to show up at odd and interesting times in life, often with a piece of wisdom or message one didn't even know he needed. Ethan looked forward to that day, the next encounter with his former rival.
Giving the letter one final thought, maybe it wouldn't hurt to give Reid a call and consult him about it. He was probably just overacting, but it wouldn't hurt to have an expert opinion on it. It was decided then; he'd call the Bureau in the morning and get Reid's contact information. Just settling his mind on this eased his anxiety a great deal.
With a long swig, Ethan finished his glass. He set a bill on the counter and stood up. Off to work, he moved through the thickening crowd. Within the hour, he'd be playing to a stream of steady people, too wrapped up in their lives to notice the soft music wafting around them. That was the way Ethan liked it. Music made him happy; that was all that mattered to him.
Reid was in fact happy and healthy, but Ethan didn't know that. He didn't know Reid was clean, he didn't know about Riley, and he didn't know the difficulty that was awaiting Reid just around corner. The most devastating weeks he and his team had seen to date.
Most importantly, Ethan didn't know why the letter and its disturbing words reminded him of Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, he never would.
After this night, he would never know anything again.
