TITLE: Foxtrot Whiskey Bravo

AUTHOR: Kuria Dalmatia

PAIRING: Reid/Elle

RATING: FRM/R

See Chapter 1 disclaimers, author's notes, etc.

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The door to Hotch's office is closed as are the blinds. It muffles voices to a certain degree, but not enough for the bullpen to ignore that Elle and Hotch are arguing.

Spencer can't help the frequent glances over there. It's been fifteen minutes and they're still going strong. In his time at the BAU, Spencer can't recall any closed door meeting with Hotch that lasted more than a few minutes—especially with raised voices. Hotch is the kind of guy with whom one has to score verbal jabs swift, hard and first, because Hotch isn't going to let the match go to a second round.

Spencer may not know shit about football, but boxing is another matter entirely. He knows what the argument is about: Elle rushed into the UnSub's basement without waiting for backup or putting on Kevlar. Hotch is ferociously protective of the team nowadays, a byproduct of Adrian Bale no doubt, and he waited until they got back to Quantico to call Elle on her behavior.

"Wonder if she's going to have any left," Morgan comments as he leans back in his chair and tosses a wadded up piece of paper into his trash can. It lands perfectly, of course.

Spencer looks up at the door again before returning his attention to Morgan and his comment. He asks, "Any what left?"

"Her ass," Morgan replies sourly and then shoots another basket. "Still can't believe she did that. Damn."

The door to Hotch's office swings open and Elle storms out and down to her desk. Those in the bullpen struggle to act like they weren't paying attention, but fail miserably. Spencer is surprised she doesn't slam the door behind her but realizes that while Elle tends to be emotional, she's not melodramatic. She yanks open a drawer, pulls out her briefcase and begins stuffing files in it. She's scowling.

Spencer knows that Morgan's going to start questioning her; he's the only one with the clout and nerve to do so. Yet by the light tremor in her hands as she reaches for things, he also knows that she won't handle Morgan's brand of interrogation or comfort very well in her current state.

So, Spencer leans forward and makes it obvious that he's looking at her rear. "It's all still there." The bullpen comes to a complete stop.

Elle is momentarily stunned and then she glares at him, a look that usually causes men to grab their crotches in self-defense. Morgan's mouth drops open. Anderson starts coughing suddenly.

Spencer looks quizzically at Morgan. "You said she wouldn't have any of her ass left."

"Kid…" Morgan sputters as he hastily signals for him to shut up.

Spencer ignores him on purpose, keeping his tone bright and gestures enthusiastic. "Did you know the phrase 'a pound of flesh'…" he begins to lecture, rambling on about origins and historical significance. No one tries to stop him. At the three minute mark, Elle finishes packing, swings the strap over her shoulder, grabs her jacket, and leaves.

"Kid!" Morgan finally snaps and throws a wad of paper at him. Spencer automatically ducks, and when he looks back, Morgan is shaking his head and pressing his fingers to his temples. "Didn't your momma teach you any manners?"

The comment stings like hell, of course, but he knows that Morgan has no clue about his family. Spencer's done a damn good job at deflecting those questions; it's second-nature to him now. Still, he presses his lips together, looks confused and starts with, "But you said…"

"I know what I said, kid," he snaps and makes a cutting motion with his hand. "Just forget it."

The rest of the day speeds by, the bullpen quiet and timid the two times Hotch leaves his office for coffee and a restroom break. When Gideon stops by Spencer's desk on his way out for the evening, his mentor says quietly, "You didn't need to do that."

Spencer looks up and tilts his head sideways. "Do what?"

There's that split second when Gideon's brow creases, as if trying to figure out if Spencer is really as clueless as he's pretending to be. There's a part of Spencer wondering why the hell he's even attempting to fool an expert profiler, especially his mentor. His ego chimes in with, Gideon's a chess player, not a magician. There are still a few of your tells he doesn't know. Spencer figures he has a few more shots at playing dumb before the man catches on.

"Elle can take care of herself," Gideon tells him, eyes narrowed as if he's studying some specimen.

Spencer glances towards Morgan, who has his nose pointedly stuck in a file, and then over to Anderson, who nearly spins out of his chair because he's turning around so fast trying not to paying attention. Spencer blinks and meets Gideon's scrutinizing gaze. This is the part where most people screw up. This is the part where most people start babbling about not knowing what Gideon is talking about, thereby giving Gideon an opening for an interrogation. Instead, Spencer bounces his gaze from Morgan to Anderson to Gideon again.

His mentor shakes his head, lets out small, exasperated sigh and turns his attention to Morgan. "Explain it to him, will you?"

Morgan nods but still refuses to make eye contact with Spencer. Gideon pats Spencer once on the shoulder and then leaves. Once the glass door to the BAU closes, Morgan rolls his chair over and leans forward. "He thought that your whole little 'pound of flesh' speech was meant to focus the attention on yourself so Elle wouldn't have to answer any of our questions."

Spencer blinks as if he just now realizes how the scene could have been interpreted, "Oh. But.…"

Morgan holds up his hand. "I know, kid. Just…hell, I don't know. Next time, when I tell you to shut up, shut up, okay?"

He dutifully nods and earns another pat on the shoulder. Technically, he's not lying. He's just not acknowledging the truth. Spencer wonders if Morgan or Gideon will forgive the distinction.

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