Purchase, New York.
2002 - Age 18.
Sitting in the lecture hall felt unbelievable to me.
The whole experience was surreal in ways I had never felt before.
I could only remember that night twelve years ago, the night I sobbed myself to sleep as a child, when the realization hit me that all of this was real. Everything I had done since then was to prepare for the future that I was determined to put in place, which led me to this lecture hall.
I was sitting in the second row of seats, which I felt was comfortably close enough to absorb as much knowledge as I could, without being too close that it felt like I was being creepy or outwardly a "pick-me try-hard". I wanted to show that I had initiative without being a suck-up. On the chalkboard before me was the title of the guest lecture: Profiling 101.
The lecturer? None other than FBI Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon.
Seeing him on the platform, sort of a small stage, almost, just a few feet from me was incredible and terrifying. His gaze scanned over the crowd of students filing into the lecture hall and those already seated, and I could only imagine the speed with which he was taking in details about all of us. I wanted to make myself appear smaller and less noticeable, but that would be a bad idea. He'd clock that as odd behavior, possibly suspicious in a heartbeat, which would lead to him asking questions, which would lead to me jeopardizing my entire plan to become a profiler for the BAU.
I occasionally glanced back to see how many people had shown up to attend the lecture, which was more than I was expecting, but still within the bounds of a reasonable number. After all, there were only so many opportunities to learn from an actual FBI agent, and people were seemingly smart enough to take advantage of the opportunity when they had the chance. When I wasn't glancing back at the other students, I was twirling my pen between my fingers with one hand and drumming the fingers on my other hand on my thigh below his line of sight, beneath the surface of my desk; it was a nervous habit I couldn't quite get rid of from my life before.
Once everybody who wasn't late had filed in and taken their seats, Gideon stepped up to the podium, commanding the audience before him without saying a word. The lecture hall fell quiet, quiet to the point where the only sounds I was aware of were the occasional creak of another student's chair and the beating of my heart in my chest. After a moment of watchful silence, he spoke. "Good afternoon. My name is Jason Gideon. I'm a profiler with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Whether you're attending this lecture because it's required for a class so you can graduate, the prospect of being in the FBI is a dream or goal of yours, you want to pick up tricks to impress your friends and family, or become the next Sherlock Holmes, or you just think profiling is interesting, each and every one of you has one thing in common." He paced slowly as he talked, drawing the gaze of every student in the lecture hall.
"Every single one of you has the ability to profile. While you may not be profiling serial killers for the FBI and putting them behind bars, you can be a profiler. You may not realize it, but you already are. Profiling is the science of interpreting past behavior, analyzing the underlying patterns, and using those patterns to predict future behavior." Gideon had captured the audience's attention before even beginning the lecture itself. If there was one thing the man was good at, it was commanding a space and capturing the attention of the people in it exactly when he meant to.
I took down as many notes as I could, forgetting to pause to fake a hand cramp from so much writing. I could only hope that he didn't notice, but when I glanced up at the writing on the chalkboard, I briefly met his gaze and knew that he had clocked me.
Even though I only held his gaze for a fleeting moment, I could see that he was definitely wondering about my hand. I hadn't stopped once during his entire lecture, even while other students who were attempting to keep pace with my furious note-taking had to stop because their hands cramped up. I had done my best to just be part of the crowd, to not have any particular notice taken to me, and in one split second, I had failed spectacularly and all of my careful planning was beginning to unravel.
Whether I liked it or not, I was on Jason Gideon's radar.
For better or for worse.
Gideon continued the lecture as if nothing had happened. I could feel my face turning red against my will as the anxiety from my plan beginning to unravel sent me into a spiral. My ears felt hot, which just made me more embarrassed, which made them feel hotter. As much as I wanted to get up and head to the bathroom to dunk my face in cold water, I knew that doing so would just give him more behavior to profile, and I wanted to stay as low-profile as I could, pun intended.
He finished his lecture and took questions, which I mostly tuned out as I got further and further into my own head. I probably should've gotten out of my head sooner than I did, because when I did, I was the last student in the lecture hall and Gideon was staring at me. "Did you have a question?" He asked out of the blue and I could feel the panic kick in.
"Uh, no, just got lost in thought." I answered awkwardly, my mouth spewing words as if it were on autopilot. And in a way, it kind of was. "Great lecture; I learned a lot." What am I saying?
"Thank you." Gideon replied politely; he must be very used to people being awkward around him, and just awkward in general. "Well, I'm sure you must be going. You don't want to be late for your next class." He prompted, sort of snapping me out of the weird funk I found myself deeply buried in.
"Yep. Thanks. Bye." I got up and exited the lecture hall a little too quickly. That was way too close for any sort of comfort and I just needed to get myself out of that situation as fast as I could, booking it down the hall and out of the building as I ran back to my dorm.
In my haste though, I tripped on the stairs outside of the building, which resulted in me faceplanting hard onto the concrete sidewalk. "Fuck." I muttered to myself, rolling over as I sat up and brushed myself off, feeling something wet dripping from my nose. Well... dripping was an understatement. My nose was gushing blood, and I could only hope it wasn't broken as I felt around the sides of it, palpating the area gently. It didn't feel broken, but I wouldn't know for sure unless I saw an actual medical professional.
"Are you okay?" A familiar voice asked, and I froze, as if I were in front of the T. Rex in Jurassic Park. I looked up to find one rather pipe-cleaner-like young man standing in front of me, his hands clasped around the shoulder strap of his satchel. His haircut was unflattering, but it didn't matter to me. Nobody else stopped to ask if I was okay, students watching the two of us as they headed to and from their classes. "Do... would you like for me to walk you to the Student Health Center?" He offered awkwardly, and I could feel my heart leap into my throat.
"I'm okay. Really." I tried assuring him, but the nervousness I was feeling and the fact that my nose was still gushing blood certainly didn't help my case. Understandably, the young man looked like he didn't believe a word I was saying. I got to my feet, tilting my head back so that the blood wouldn't flow down my throat and into my stomach. "I mean I'm headed over there anyway, I guess, 'cause I'd like to make sure my nose isn't broken, so if you want to come with, I'm not gonna stop you." I rambled shortly, and the young man kept pace with me, even though he was significantly taller than I was. "So... I'm guessing you don't go here, 'cause you stopped to ask if I was okay and then offered to take me to Student Health, instead of just running off to class. Am I right?" I tried breaking the awkward tension in the air by making small talk, which was never my strong suit, but you know what they say: practice makes perfect.
"No, I'm not a student here. I'm here as a guest lecturer, actually. My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I'm from the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit." He introduced himself, markedly not going for a handshake.
"Lanie. Would shake your hand, but, y'know, kinda covered in my own blood at the moment." I tried lightening the mood with a bit of dark humor, but it just seemed to make the young doctor more concerned. "Sorry, trying to find the humor in a possibly broken nose." I apologized. Spencer... no, he was Reid now; just Reid. And I was just a random stranger who happened to bust her face open right in front of him, not the little girl he met all those years ago in that park, at that chessboard.
For now, we were strangers. That's how it had to stay.
Maybe one day, I'd confess to him that I was that weird student who was entirely too nonchalant about busting her face open on a concrete sidewalk, but today was not that day.
Definitely not.
Reid was looking at me like I had more than a few screws loose. "Do you know where Student Health is?" I asked him, realizing that he probably hadn't taken a tour of the campus.
"I memorized the layout of the campus when I glanced at a map earlier." He answered honestly.
I nodded in acknowledgment. "Cool. Shall we?" I prompted, and the two of us headed off to the freshman dorm, which was where Student Health was located.
The silence that hovered around and between us as we walked was immensely awkward; I couldn't think of anything to say to keep a conversation going, and Reid looked like he was studying me. "Does it hurt?" He questioned suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Does what hurt?" I replied, taken aback slightly by the unexpected conversation.
"Your nose. You tripped and landed face-first on a concrete sidewalk." He elaborated, giving me a slightly strange look.
I opened my mouth silently in the universal gesture of 'ohhhhhh'. "Nah, it's fine. I've had worse." I answered casually. That caused Reid to give me a concerned look. "One time when I was a kid, I climbed the fence in my backyard, and I wasn't looking when I came down and got a wicked big gash right down my arm. Still have the scar." I explained, trying to play it off as normal kid injuries, and not as 'I'm a freak of nature who literally can't feel pain'.
Neither of us said anything on the rest of the short-lived journey to Student Health. "Well, this is my stop. Nice meeting you, Dr. Reid. Maybe we'll cross paths again someday, hopefully under better circumstances." I gave him a dramatic bow and a toothy grin.
"Maybe." He agreed, giving me a slight smile in return. "And I hope your nose isn't broken." He added.
"Me too." I gave him a wave as I headed inside.
After waiting half an hour to be seen by one of the school nurses, the verdict was that my nose luckily wasn't broken, but the amount of blood was just a little more than one would expect, despite being a traumatic head wound. Those tended to bleed a lot, which I knew from both experience, and from a lot of research. Even though I had left Gideon under the impression that I had another class when I left the lecture hall, I was actually done for the day; I planned on spending the rest of my day in the library, tucked away in the Stacks, the deepest part of the library that had book-nooks in the window-wells.
When I stepped out of the Student Health office and exited the freshman dorm building, Reid was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone to meet up with Gideon, which was understandable, considering that I had likely pulled him away from doing so in the first place. While it was nice of him to walk me, apparently a total stranger, to the Student Health office, he was under no obligation to, and part of me wondered if he somehow recognized me from all those years ago.
The rest of my day was relatively uneventful and I spent it holed up in the deepest part of the Stacks, in a corner seat that only occasionally saw a couple trying to get hot and heavy in a secret tryst. In the solitude of the Stacks' lowest level, I finally allowed myself to break down, on the verge of hyperventilating as I succumbed to the panic. "He knows, he knows, I know he knows. There's no way he doesn't know; I got singled out, I was careless, I was stupid. Can't do that, I can't do that again, I have to be on top of my guard. I have to be on it at all times. I can't- I can't risk it. It was stupid and reckless and- g-d, I was so stupid." I berated myself quietly, hitting the back of my head against the wall; it wasn't enough to cause any damage, but it was enough to give me the sensation of the cold, painted brick.
Three years.
I had three years to get my act together. Three years to craft the perfect self, one that never screwed up, one that never lost somebody because of a stupid error in judgment or was too late to keep them from being killed.
One that was nothing like my old self.
The sense of time closing in was stronger than ever, and it both steeled my resolve and terrified me. I knew what was coming; I didn't think I'd ever be able to forget what was coming. I knew it gave me somewhat of a savior complex, but really, who wouldn't have one if they were put in my situation? I was practically made for it, what with my inability to feel pain, and my years of knowledge tucked away in my memory. While I didn't have an eidetic memory, I did, in my old life, make a list of every episode chronologically, in order to map out every murder that occurred in the series. It was a weird hobby, but it made me happy and it proved useful in these very bizarre circumstances that I had been put into by Fate or whatever higher power saw fit to throw me into this world for a second go-round.
I spent several more hours in that corner, berating myself for my lapse in vigilance, before I finally headed back to my room, reheated some leftovers, and pulled out a book to unwind from the stress of the day.
I had three years to finish preparing.
And I wasn't going to be caught off guard again.
