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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Elle still isn't used to DC traffic and isn't familiar enough with the city to know the back ways to get to Reid's apartment. She's surprised at the neighborhood; it isn't as affluent as she expects for a single guy with a decent FBI salary. Yet as she passes a few landmarks, she realizes that it is, like almost everything with Reid, strategic.

She laughs as she adjusts the volume on NPR. She wonders if Gideon and Hotch buy in to the whole "innocent Reid" routine and concludes that they probably do to some extent. However, his little stunt yesterday…

At first, she was floored by his audacity at making a comment about her ass. Then, she was humiliated by his whole 'pound of flesh' discourse. However, once she got to her car, she realized just what Reid did. Everyone was so focused on his rambling that they left her alone.

It's why she's on his way to his place this morning. She knows he usually takes the VRE and, with a little detective work, she figures out when Reid would be leaving. She gives herself an additional twenty minutes to deal with traffic and getting lost.

Elle spots Reid as he hurries across the street. She honks the horn to get Reid's attention and is momentarily stunned when he doesn't even turn, unlike the six other people he's crossing with. Then she chastises herself, It's Reid. He's heading in the opposite direction she's going, so she puts her turn signal on and, once the lanes are clear, does a u-turn between blocks. The guy behind her rolls his window down to curse at her, but she ignores him.

Reid has only gone two blocks—damn, the man can walk fast—and Elle lowers the passenger window as she approaches. "Reid!" she shouts but, predictably, he doesn't turn. She hits the horn, counts five and tries again. "Agent Reid!" This time, he does look over and his mouth drops open. He stops but doesn't walk over. Elle puts her car in park, leans over and fumbles for the door handle. It takes a few tries but she finally gets it open and pushed out a little. She waves him toward her. "C'mon."

The driver behind her blares his horn and shouts at her. Reid looks frozen to the spot, as if he can't believe his coworker tracked him down and is now offering him a ride. Of all the damn things, he checks his phone and stares at it confused for a few seconds before clipping it back to his belt. Then, he does that funny little quick walk of his over to her car and awkwardly gets in.

"We have a case?" he asks and unclips his phone again. "JJ didn't call…" He sounds hurt.

"No case," Elle answers and puts the car in gear. As she begins driving, she delivers a few nasty glares in the rearview mirror to the dickwad who has now decided to tailgate her. "Can a federal agent arrest someone for a traffic violation?" she asks, because she's really really tempted to do it. Then common sense kicks in. The last thing Hotch needs to hear about is how one of his agents…yeah… She glances over. Reid's mouth is half-open so she says, "Don't answer that."

"Okay."

"Wow. A little slow in the morning?" Because it's totally unlike Reid not to pounce upon such an esoteric question.

"Not enough coffee."

"Then, let's get you some."

"Elle…" he begins and clears his throat. His voice has that nervous pitch to it as he says, "Elle, why are you…ah…here? I mean, you don't live near here…we don't have a case…"

"I'm here to get you coffee."

He closes his mouth and she knows his mulling over things. Reid then grabs the seatbelt and buckles himself in. "Ah…why?"

"We're friends. Friends get coffee together." Elle knows he's staring at her so she keeps focused on the road and the guy who continues to tailgate her. "So, give me directions to your favorite coffee place."

Reid is silent for a few seconds before instructing her to turn right at the next light. The ride to the coffee house is spent in silence except for his directions, including where to park. The place isn't a Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, Peet's or Seattle's Best. It's a small café tucked between a bookstore and a hair salon.

He's obviously a regular because when they walk in, the barista waves and then begins working on an order. There's no one else in line. It's a cozy place and it's easy to see why Reid frequents it. It's very Reid. Elle's order is straightforward: tall, dark roast coffee.

She glances at her watch and tries to calculate if they can have the coffee here or if they need to get on the road because of traffic. Reid answers her unspoken question by ordering two scones but she beats him when it comes to paying.

Or tries to.

He gently pushes her credit card away and pays with cash instead. "They get charged a percentage of the total sale for every credit card transaction. American Express has the worst fees."

They end up sitting at a small table by the window. Her coffee is excellent—they roast the beans here every Thursday according to Reid—and the scone is good.

"You're…you're not suspended, are you?" Reid asks as he stirs his latte o'sugar. He's nervous. He doesn't want to ask, which is the reason he's not looking directly at her.

"I got my ass chewed out, Reid," she replies as she nudges him with her foot, "not fired. Mom told me not to do it again." She smiles because, really, Hotch does have such Mom tendencies it's almost unreal, and she takes another sip of coffee before settling back. She eyes him carefully. "I know what you did yesterday."

Reid blushes and clears his throat. "I'm sorry I stared at your…" He gestures toward her ass and turns even more crimson. "You know…I'm sorry—"

"Cut the bullshit, Reid," Elle interrupts, knowing if she calls his bluff right away, he's more likely to answer outright. He's still blushing, but maybe it's not from embarrassment. Maybe it's because she's figured him out.

He takes a long sip of his coffee then toys with his half-eaten scone. Quietly, he explains, "I know what it's like to have the entire place stare at you and wonder just what was said. And I know that no one would leave you alone until you answered." Reid looks up. "No one has ever gone toe-to-toe with Hotch for that long."

It's Elle's turn to stare. She's never had a champion quite like Reid. Hell, if she's honest with herself, she's never had a champion, period. All she can say is, "Really."

"Morgan's record is four minutes, twenty-three seconds," he replies with a slight conspiratorial tone.

Morgan is headstrong and their resident Devil's Advocate. He's allowed more leeway than the rest of the department. Reid's statement makes her laugh just a little and then wonder why the hell Hotch, well, indulged her. She tilts her head and asks, "You don't want to know what it was about?"

Reid shrugs, takes another hefty drink, and looks out the window. "I know that Hotch, Morgan and I went to six funerals in four states in three days. Have you ever been on a road trip with two alpha males who refuse to admit they're grieving, so they argue about professional basketball instead?"

The comment stops her cold. She closes her eyes. The only reason the spot on the BAU had been open was because it had belonged to one of those six agents killed in the Boston bombings. She curses inwardly at not realizing why Hotch got so bent out of shape. She feels like an idiot.

"Gideon hadn't been cleared to fly yet," Reid continues, "so he could only attend two of them." He tacks on, "What I also know is that you went into the house without backup and without your vest. Sure, I'd like to go to New York City someday, but not to bury you."

It's such a blunt, honest statement that it makes her eyes burn. Elle blinks rapidly, because none of her colleagues have ever expressed such an earnest affection for her. Her voice is watery and she hates it, but she says, "Reid…"

"If we leave now, we'll miss most of the traffic," he interrupts as he begins to slide out of his seat. He meets her gaze and suddenly he's that awkward geek she's used to dealing with. "Unless…ah…you want to drop me off at the station. It's only two blocks from here. I mean…you did say just coffee."

It's another tidbit of himself he's offering to her. An insight into just how hellish his childhood must have been. People willing to be his friend but only in private because people like her never want to admit they spend time around people like him. Like Reid's a dirty little secret.

It angers her so she grabs his hand. He's startled. She knows he doesn't like to be touched but she's not going to let go until he looks at her. When he finally does, she tells him fiercely, "You're my friend. I'll never be embarrassed to call you that, you understand?"

He blanches a little but then nods. She's not expecting Reid to say, "Ditto."

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