Warden Strauss rubbed her forehead. After a few seconds, she sighed and opened a drawer and took out a pill bottle. She took out three extra-strength Tylenol and swallowed them along with a double espresso.
It was the infamous duo again.
Doctor Spencer Reid, genius. And Aaron Hotchner, lawyer.
Reid had been convicted of murdering his parents: his mentally ill mother was assumed to have been a mercy killing, and his father was reportedly killed as a punishment for leaving him and his mother. To this day, Reid maintained that he was innocent.
Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner had killed George Foyet with his bare hands. No jury would have convicted him, given that Foyet had just killed his ex-wife and son, but he had made a deal with the DA and pled out to manslaughter. It was rather stupid, in Erin Strauss' opinion, but then again, he probably thought he deserved it.
Reid arrived in the prison two weeks after Hotchner. Reid's prisoner transport also brought a bad-ass mafia boss sentenced to fifteen years, and he and Reid seemed to be on friendly terms: apparently, during the transport, Reid had quoted cases of jurisprudence the mafia boss' lawyer hadn't mentioned during the trial, and told him he would probably be able to appeal on grounds of inadequate representation.
So Reid entered the prison on his own, but with some protection.
During the first meal, Reid had given similar advice to inmates of all gangs and ethnicities who cared to present their cases. Some, who were waiting on a trial or retrial, were pointed to obscure laws and jurisprudence: others were advised to appeal on grounds of inadequate representation.
Hotch had approached them. He hadn't yet been in trouble with any of the inmates so far: his story had received a lot of media coverage, and this had also reached the prison before Hotch arrived. Most seemed puzzled by his choices: killing the man that murdered your family with your bare hands, and then insisting on going to prison for it. This resulted in a wait-and-see approach, and he was perfectly happy with that. He usually spent mealtimes with Garcia, who was regarded fairly similar: a hacker who had hacked into the FBI and changed the screensaver to a purple smiley face with an annoying tune. They were both respected by the general population of inmates as "not a threat and certainly not a pussy, so live and let live" and thus trouble stayed out of their way.
"I've never heard that one used in court," Hotch had commented.
Reid looked up at him. "Most lawyers don't know a whole lot of jurisprudence," he said. "I'd offer to help you on an appeal, but you're not interested. And as a lawyer yourself, you know the paperwork better than I do."
Hotch inclined his head, somehow not surprised that the younger man knew who he was.
Ever since then, Hotch and Reid had stuck together. They were probably the only two inmates who were not in a gang but still under protection of all the gangs, because the gang leaders found Reid far too useful not to have around, and Reid refused to ally himself with one gang. He didn't discriminate between gangs and rank of inmates, either. And because he was the Doctor, people accepted (and almost respected) that.
Reid and Garcia hit it off immediately, Hotch barely understanding three words of the discussions they had. Garcia was friends with the Black's gang leader, a mass of muscle called Morgan. This gave her enough protection that she was also off-limits to the inmates.
Over the next months, Hotch hit it off with Dave, the leader of the Italiano's. Hotch's friendship with Reid granted him almost as much protection as Reid had himself, because no one wanted Reid mad at them – or their gang.