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Chapter Thirteen

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In retrospect, it was his own damn fault.

Seeing Spencer at his door, Rossi had yanked the kid inside like a child at Christmas pulling his parents downstairs towards the tree and launched into the tale of how he'd got the story stopped. He'd been so intent on telling the story that Reid had had to repeat himself three times before Rossi had finally heard him.

"WHAT?!"

"I'm leaving the team," Reid repeated for a fourth time.

"But…but I fixed it," Dave argued helplessly. "Everything's fine now. The story's not going to come out." He started to pace across the floor of his living room. Why was this happening? Didn't his son get that everything was all right now?

Then he realized what he'd done. Concentrating so hard on repairing the story leak, he'd pushed all of their other hurdles out of his head, convincing himself that if he just did this one little thing, if he surmounted this one obstacle, that everything would be peachy from now on. The awkwardness between them, the team, the legal matters like Spencer's name and correct birthday, even the kid's "I'm sorry" text - all of that was somehow forgotten.

Sorry? Sorry for what? Sorry I was oversensitive? Sorry I asked you to leave? Sorry I can't be what you want?

Sorry, I'm leaving?

"I know, and I am truly very grateful for what you've done - " Reid was saying.

"Look, I know what this is," Dave said, interrupting. He stopped and took a deep breath, calming himself down with a visible effort. "Things are strange between us at the moment. I get it. And yeah, when Hotch tells the team it's only going to get more weird. But it'll pass! So, please, don't make any decisions right now. Don't do something you'll regret just because you're afraid of some uncomfortable weeks at work."

Reid sighed, feeling a deep-seated remorse as he met the other man's gaze from where he sat on Dave's sofa. "Dave, that isn't the only reason."

"So just tell me! Whatever it is, I'll make it right!"

"Dave, it's not a matter of making it right - "

Rossi sat down on the coffee table so that he could be face to face with his son. "Do you want me to leave the team? Because I will! You don't even need to feel bad about it. I mean, hell, I'm only a couple of years away from retirement anyway."

"No, I'm leaving because I want to leave - "

"Oh, please, you once said you couldn't imagine doing anything else with your life!"

"Things have changed a lot in the last two years," Reid said quietly. "I've been thinking about this for awhile. Even before… you know, you and me. Honestly, all that our new-found relationship means is that my leaving makes even more sense now."

Dave sat back. "Bullshit," he said.

"What?"

Rossi leapt up and started pacing again, anger bubbling up inside his brain like coffee percolating. "You're running. You're running from this like a scared kid."

To Dave's eternal annoyance, Reid stayed calm. "If I was running, I'd already be gone. But I'm not my father and I'm not Gideon."

"Don't fool yourself - you're not that far off! You get hit with a few emotions you can't handle and whadda ya know? You're off! You've barely even tried to deal with this!"

Reid rose to his feet. "I'm sorry you feel like that. Perhaps I should leave."

" 'Perhaps I should leave,' huh? Looks like more running to me."

"I'm not leaving right away. I'll come see you again when you're less upset and we'll talk then." Reid moved to step around Dave, but the older man latched onto his forearm.

"Tell me now."

"Dave, I really think - "

"No! You want to reject me, then at least do me the courtesy of telling me why. Go on, tell me some of these so-called sensible reasons."

"Fine. First off, have you considered the legal ramifications of our working together?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Yes, there are a few regulations on the subject, but they're mostly for couples. And they're not going to land us in jail."

"Really? And what if the Bureau were to find out the only witness to my shooting Daniel Milworth was my long-lost father? You think that wouldn't raise a few questions?"*

"Don't be stupid! Blake was there."

"Blake had her back turned. That's why she didn't see him sneaking up on her. No, you were the only one able to say that my shooting Milworth saved Blake's life. And the Bureau accepted it, because of your credibility. But what if that changed? If they find out you are really my father, that would put a whole new spin on your story, wouldn't it? Oh, Daddy's little boy got too excited and shot the big, bad Unsub without cause and so Daddy lied to cover up for him."

"Don't be so dramatic," Dave scoffed. "They wouldn't say that."

"Of course they would. And even if they didn't, there'd be people in the Bureau who would always wonder. Just like they'd wonder about this last case. What if the Atkinson brothers weren't killed when their boat exploded? Or, even if they were, why couldn't one of the victims' family members come along and attempt to sue the Bureau, claiming the team could have caught them sooner if two of their agents hadn't been emotionally compromised?"

"That's nonsense! We did everything we could have!"

"You and I know that, Dave, but outsiders don't. Cruz might - and I stress might - believe us, but he'd have no evidence to back that up. He wouldn't be able to defend us, and so he'd have no choice but to split us up."

"You don't know that for sure. You're over-thinking the whole thing."

"Then what about everything else? Dave, he'd be stupid not to split us up. Can you really stand there and say that this isn't going to get in the way of how the team works?"

"YES! Yes, I can!" an exasperated Dave shouted.

"Really? So you're not going to over-react if Hotch places me in a situation that puts me in danger?"

Dave couldn't answer.

"Or put up with my worrying over you if the situation happens to be reversed?"

"In that case, I'd tell you to back off, the same as I would anyone."

"But I won't be anyone. I'd be your son, expressing a legitimate concern. Could you still brush me off then, knowing how I might be hurt by that? And what's our worrying over each other going to do to our judgement or our ability to concentrate on the case?"

"We can deal with that when it happens."

"And what are you going to do when the inevitable charge of nepotism comes up? Oh, wait, that's not going to be your problem is it? It's not going to be you that LEOs will refuse to take seriously, snickering behind their backs or rolling their eyes every time Daddy gives me a compliment, or saying the only reason I got this job is because Daddy pulled some strings."

"Is that what this is really all about?" Dave demanded. "Because you've got it in your head that people look at you like you're a kid?"

" 'Because I've got it in my head?' " Reid repeated. "You don't know, do you? You have no idea of how hard it is - even now - for local law enforcement to take me seriously. I've been on the team ten years and I'm still getting people asking me if I got on the team by sleeping with Erin Strauss, or even Hotch!"

"There are always going to be a few ignorant assholes out there, Spencer - you just need to learn to deal with them. But you don't have to keep proving yourself."

Reid threw his hands up in defeat and sat back down on the sofa. "Oh, for God's sake Rossi, don't be naïve. Of course I do. Yes, I know, we all go through that stage in our lives. But for whatever reason - because of the way I look, or the way I sound, or because there are certain accompanying labels that come with genius, like "helpless" or "sheltered" - that's something I still have to do every day. The team's pretty much a lost cause, but the LEOs still need it because nepotism is a bigger problem than just dealing with a few ignorant assholes. If that's all it was, I'd be fine - I've been dealing with people like that for all practical purposes since I was old enough to speak. But when the local law enforcement officers don't take me seriously, they stop listening just when we need them to hear us the most. And, in some cases, the less seriously they take me, the less seriously they take the team, which only compounds the problem. Not to mention, they're hardly the only ones; if this comes out, other agents at the Bureau are going to start making accusations. Even if the team stays intact, the atmosphere is going to be disruptive."

"What do you mean about the team being a lost cause?"

"Seriously? That's what you got out of all that?"

"All right, I admit there are a few problems I didn't think of. Now tell me what you meant."

Reid breathed out heavily. "When Emily came back and I blew up at J.J., I announced to the room at large, and pretty damn loudly at that, that I had nearly relapsed with Dilaudid. Yet not one of you - not one - ever asked me about it. When I was addicted, fine, I'll let that slide. I mean, I never actually admitted it. Nor did I ever actually ask for help - though I hinted at it pretty goddamned clearly," he added sharply. "So, yes, all right, I can see why no one but Gideon and Emily ever bothered to reach out. Well, no, I can't, but let's say I can. But the time with J.J.? There was no ambiguity there. I couldn't have been more direct. And yet no one asked me about it. Why do you think that is? Is it because none of you care?"

"Of course we care!" Dave protested.

"Then maybe it's because I'm the Kid. I'm Junior G-Man, Boy Wonder, Pretty Boy. And nobody on this team wants to face the picture of the little boy with the drug problem."

"Goddamnit, Reid, that is just not true," Rossi whispered dangerously.

"Isn't it? And what else are you not facing, Rossi? Isn't that why you snapped at me in the hotel room? Because I am 'fucking skittish' Dave, and that ruined the daydream, didn't it? The real me intruded on the daydream of baby Jimmy."

"This is all crap!" Rossi snapped, pointing a finger at Reid and completely avoiding his question. "Everyone treats you like a child because you like it! You bring this on yourself. Your constant need for reassurance and advice; your flashing of those big, wide eyes at Garcia and J.J. every second minute until they help you with something; your stupid mismatched socks; and those dumb shoes that you wear," Dave said, gesturing to Reid's Converse, "just because some character on a silly children's show does."

There was a flicker of tightness around Reid's jaw as he got to his feet once more. "I see. If I want respect, perhaps I should buy some three hundred dollar Italian boots. Sure, it would mean I couldn't go climbing down ditches, but still, I suppose it's easier than expecting a bunch of expert profilers to look beyond clothing choices. Oh, and hey, there are always handy co-workers to send down instead."

"I was only trying to - "

"I know what you were trying to do," Reid broke in coldly. "I also know what my doctor told me: that even a half an inch slip sideways could have put me back on crutches for weeks. A one-inch slip could have made it permanent. So maybe the next time you think you know what's best for me, how about simply suggesting it and not manoeuvring me into it, as if my reasons were simply coming from some kid trying to get out of a math test.

"And as for calling me a child, try not to do that when I'm the only one of us thinking about this whole situation like an adult. Our staying on a team together would be disruptive and you know it. Aside from the nepotism and danger, there are half a dozen other reasons why it would never work."

"And they're still all bullshit!" Dave shouted, coming to stand toe to toe with his son. "You know what I think? I think William Reid was a shitty parent and so I'm paying the price. You are so terrified of another father running out on you, you don't even want to try and make this work!"

"Fine, Dave, maybe that is it. I mean, what exactly are you offering here? A dead mother, a destroyed relationship with the one I do have, and yet another parent to eventually take care of."

"How about a father who gives a damn?"

"Till when? Until you figure out you want someone better? Someone less 'fucking skittish'? It's not as though you have a great track record for sticking around, after all. How many step-mothers do I have again?"

"Don't talk about things you don't know anything about!"

"Well, then I'll tell you what I do know, Rossi: I've got four parents, but one's dead, one abandoned me, and the other two each want someone else. Isn't that a fantastic joke? You want Jimmy and Mom wants Christopher. I don't know what Dad wants, other than perhaps some generic kid so that he can fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming Ward Cleaver, and truthfully I can only guess at what my mother wanted - maybe a girl - but what does it matter, because she's not here! So what am I supposed to do now? Sublimate my entire personality in order to play 'Let's Pretend' and be your son for no other reason than friendship?"

"Don't you DARE think you know what your mother and I wanted! Not even for a minute! We wanted you and nobody else! And I still want you now!"

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why, Rossi?" Reid asked again. "Ask yourself that. Why do you want me now? All this affection and wanting to get to know me really only happened once you found out I was your missing child. But I haven't changed. I'm still the exact same person I was three months ago. Only your knowledge of our relationship has changed. So tell me what happens when the euphoria of knowing your baby boy didn't die wears off and you look at me and only see Spencer Reid again?"

"I don't know," Dave admitted. "But is that really a good enough reason not to try?"

"I'm sorry, but for me it is," his son told him.

-x-

Hotch heard a thump just as he was making his way up the stairs to Reid's apartment. Taking the last few steps two at a time, he rushed to the door and knocked forcefully. "Reid? Was that you? Are you all right?"

Reid opened the door and peered out. "What? Hotch? Izzat you?"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

Reid's brow furrowed. "Sure!" he said merrily, after what was apparently a difficult bit of thinking.

"Can I come in then?"

There was a nod, then Reid closed the door to undo the chain, before opening it again and stepping aside so Hotch could enter.

"What's this?" Hotch asked, handing Reid a letter.

Reid, not wearing his contacts or glasses at the moment, held it up right against his face and sniffed. "Paper!" he declared and handed the sheets back to his boss.

"What is wrong with you?"

"I am, as the British say, completely legless. Well, not completely legless, or even just legless, because I can walk. And I still actually have my legs. But it's a metaphor."

"For being drunk."

"Yes! You're such a wonderful Unit Chief! You understand things, like… like words! You understand my words! That makes me happy." Hotch rolled his eyes as Reid wobbled his way over to his couch. He watched as Reid reached down and pulled a bottle off one of the cushions. "Scotch? Where did I get scotch?" the younger man wondered out loud.

"Maybe we should call your sponsor," Hotch suggested.

"Naw, s'okay. I won't become a drunk. Turns out I'm no more related to the alcoholic than I am the schizophrenic." Reid cocked his head rather severely at Hotch. "Isn't that nice? I think that's nice. How nice of them to not let themselves be related to me."

"Yes, well, getting back to this letter," Hotch said, shaking the pages in his hand. "This is your resignation."

"Is it? I'm not precisely in a fit state for reading."

"I realize your reasons have a certain logic to them, but considering the present situation, I don't think I can accept this."

"I know. That's why I gave it to Cruz as well."

"Cruz?"

"You know - short, Latino, has a thing for J.J?"

"No, I mean, you went over my head?"

"I don't know if it's an actual attraction or just a soft spot, but it's a definite thing."

"Reid, FOCUS! I'm not letting you go. At least not like this."

Spencer cocked his head at him again and stared at him with puzzlement. "Well, all right, but starting Monday I'm not going to be there, so you'll probably be forced to fire me anyway."

"What do you mean you're not going to be there Monday?"

Reid, who'd been making his way towards his kitchen, stopped half-way through his negotiation of the strewn mess on the floor to blink at his superior. "When people quit, they usually don't keep showing up to work." He resumed his journey. "What a strange idea," Hotch heard him mumble to himself as he made his way around the obstacle course of furniture with surprising grace. A stumbling, staggering grace, but grace nonetheless.

"Your co-ordination while drunk is very impressive," Hotch said.

Reid, returning from the kitchen without giving any indication as to why he'd gone in the first place, grinned and leaned over to whisper to Hotch. "Do you want to know a secret? I was never that uncoordinated."

"No?"

"No," he giggled. "Only when I was going through withdrawals." Then he playfully shoved Hotch's shoulder and held a finger up to his lips. "But shhh, I forgot! We're not supposed to talk about that! I'm supposed to be invisible!" He leaned forward again to whisper another caution. "Because the real me is inconvenient, you know!"

"Have you always secretly felt this sorry for yourself?"

"Probably," Reid nodded, not hearing the implied criticism. Or not caring. "But I am you know. I'm the Innnvvissibbllle Mannn!" he proclaimed with a theatrical flourish before collapsing onto the arm of the sofa, snickering.

"Claude Rains?" a perplexed Hotchner asked.

Reid snorted. "No, no, no. The other one. The Ralph Ellison one. How did Gordie Lachance put it? People only see him when he screws up." Reid gasped. "No! That's who I am! Gordie Lachance!" He slapped his thigh triumphantly, then slid slowly off the sofa arm to the floor. "Unseen by his parents because they're too busy dreaming about the older, dead son!" +

"And what do you think Rossi wants?"

"Jimmy," Reid answered without hesitation. "The miraculous dead/undead baby."

Hotch walked over and sat down on the sofa beside his agent, his knee almost touching the other's shoulder. "You don't give him - or us - much credit, do you?"

Reid rolled his head to look blearily up at his team-mate. "Do you want to hear a story?" he asked.

"If you like."

"Just after I started high school, a couple of seniors beat me up in the boy's second floor bathroom. Football players." He looked at Hotch. "I never have much luck with anything to do with football. You know what - fuck football! It's a stupid game. Anyway, I had to pee. That's it. I just had to pee. I thought I could go into a bathroom to do that. That seems reasonable, right?"

"Very reasonable," Hotch agreed.

"Good. I can't tell right now if things are good ideas or if I just think they are because I'm abnormal." Hotch started to tell him that he wasn't abnormal, but Reid blundered on. "So, peeing. I think. I don't really remember if I got to or not. But they beat me. They beat me so hard blood started coming out my ear. Then they left. They didn't run. Didn't have to. They just walked away. There's something very dehumanizing about that. More than normal, is what I mean. But kids, you know. I knew kids hated me. Even the big ones. But it was what happened after that really showed me what was going on."

"What happened?" Hotch asked reluctantly, a sinking feeling overtaking him.

"I made my way out of the bathroom and collapsed in the hall. Woke up three hours later in the nurse's office. Then do you know what happened? Nothing. I was unconscious for three hours and no one thought to call my Mom. Not one mention was made of taking me to a doctor. No one asked what had happened. No one asked if I wanted to go home or could they drive me there. They gave me a cookie and a glass of juice and then told me to go back to class, with not a word about the blood all over the shoulder of my shirt. No one even walked with me to make sure I got there all right and then Mr. Martin, my chemistry teacher, gave me detention for being late. The only thing anybody ever said to me about it was the next day when the principal called me to his office. He asked if I was all right. Then he said, 'Maybe these things wouldn't happen if you didn't antagonize the other children so much.' "

Hotch could tell Reid was winding down, his voice faraway. "I think they knew about Mom," he went on. "Any other kid, even if they didn't like him, they would have made a fuss over him just because they knew they wouldn't legally be able to get away with not making one if a parent threw a hissy fit. But telling me I caused what happened? That I antagonized those kids? How could he say that? They weren't in any of my classes. I went out of my way to not talk to them, or even let them see me. How could I have possibly antagonized them? They were eighteen - fully grown. I was ten. I just wanted to get through the day and then go home and finish the replica of Babbage's Difference Engine I was building with my Legos."

Reid stared up at him like a hurt child, expecting him to have the answer, but Hotch was speechless. The very idea that an entire school full of adults could ignore, and then blame, a ten year-old-boy - a boy only a little over a year older than Jack, for heaven's sake - for something like that was beyond him.

"Anyway," Reid continued, "that's when I understood: people care what happens to normal children, but they don't give a damn about the freak kid. Not even adults. Adults can hate a child even more than the worst bully.

"So maybe I do like being babied. Or at least I tolerate it. But why not? Sure, it's demeaning, but if mothering me gives them a reason to be kind to me, instead of hurting me, well, that's survival, isn't it?" His shoulders slumped. "I just didn't know what I was giving up, though."

"What did you give up?" Hotch asked gently, hoping not to break Reid's concentration, but it was too late. Reid shook himself and got up, smiling once more.

"I'm going to bed now," he said abruptly. "I have things to do in the morning."

"Dave told me what Erin Strauss said to you once about waiting three months before making a decision to leave. That's good advice. Why don't I just hold on to your resignation until then and we'll see what happens?"

"I'm sorry, we can't."

"Why not?"

"I've already got a new job. I start in two weeks."

.


* "The Caller" 9x10

+ Gordie Lachance was the narrator in Stephen King's "The Body", later made in to the movie "Stand By Me".

Yeah, more angst. Sorry. For the person who asked about that the last time, it's likely going to be a few more chapters. But don't worry, if things don't change there should be plenty of heart-warming, fluffy goodness eventually.

In any case, tremendous thanks to all my readers once again! Hope you're still enjoying the show!