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 wakes up screaming and lunging for her gun. She's drenched in sweat and shaking. She's hyperventilating and it's terrifying. It takes a good five minutes for her to calm down enough to be able to pull back the covers on her bed and stumble towards the shower. She cleans up quickly, checks the time—2:07 a.m.—and dresses in track pants and a hooded sweatshirt.
There's no going back to bed after that kind of nightmare. Then, she remembers Reid's comments over dinner after the case in McAllister. When Reid actually does sleep, he only gets in two or three hours at time. I write my term papers at three a.m. Do you, ah, think it's weird that I'm working on a bachelor's in philosophy?
I think it's totally you, Reid, she replied and the relieved smile she received made her vow never to judge him on his hobbies, especially his obsession with obtaining college degrees.
Knowing that he's probably awake is the reason she grabs her cell phone and texts him, RU UP?
Three minutes later, her phone is ringing. She picks it up and says, "A simply 'y' or 'n' would have sufficed."
Reid laughs, but it's a little on the strained side. He sounds worried. "I'm terrible with the keys."
Elle fiddles with the folds of her bedspread and asks, "Can I come over?"
"Sure," he says without hesitation, and Elle knows he's been kept up by nightmares as well.
Thirty minutes later, Elle's knocking on the door to Reid's apartment. He answers it, hair mussed and dressed in—she blinks twice—seersucker pajamas. He's wearing his glasses, which only adds to his dorky charm. He wordlessly lets her in and closes the door behind her. She hears the locks tumble into place, but she's too busy glancing around his apartment to say anything.
Elle is not expecting neat. Tidy. A quirky mix of IKEA (she recognizes the black-brown Billy/Benno bookcase combination because she has the same exact ones in birch) and used furniture. It makes her smile, because it's not what she's expecting. Sure, it's one-hundred percent Reid, but it's not what she would have predicted.
There are no Star Wars or Star Trek movie posters adorning the walls; instead, the artwork is modern, paint on canvas. There are no model starships dangling from the ceiling or lightsabers on the bookshelves. There are a few gargoyles on the tops of the shelves and polished, split geodes used as bookends. When Elle's gaze gets to his desk, she stops. It's an old fashioned secretary style that should look out of place but doesn't; it's also littered with paper and folders. It's the sloppiest thing in his living area.
"Tea?" Reid's question jolts her out of her observation.
Elle knows she's blushing so she apologizes with a "Sorry" and a sheepish shrug. When she glances over her shoulder, she realizes he's not offended by her taking in the details of his living space. It's almost as if he's expecting it. She remembers his comment about no one following the "don't profile each other" rule.
"Tea?" he asks again.
While tea is nice and tea is appropriate, Elle asks, "Something stronger?"
He presses his lips together briefly and then nods. "Gin, right?" he calls out as he goes off to his kitchen. She says 'yes' as she follows to the small space which is a poor excuse for a cooking area. Reid sorts through the cabinet over the fridge and produces a bottle of Magellan. "On the rocks?"
Elle gapes. She's expecting Gordon's or Beefeater, not her favorite top-shelf brand. It takes a few seconds for her to nod as she realizes that Reid bought the booze specifically for her. She knows he doesn't drink that often—at least that's what she's observed when they're all out together—but he's of the belief that even if he doesn't drink them, he's going to offer the better brands. She's suddenly curious as to what brand of bourbon he keeps in stock for Hotch, just in case Hotch were to stop by at two in the morning trolling for drinks.
Like that's ever going to happen.
Reid hands her a glass with four ice cubes and healthy shot of the blue-tinged gin. He has one himself and taps it lightly against hers. A toast, but she's not quite sure what they're toasting to.
Elle decides she doesn't care.
The gin is smooth. Amazing. Potent.
"You have excellent taste, Doctor Reid," she tells him with a smile. She saunters back to his living space and looks around again. The couch has a solid forest green slipcover and the coffee table is dark, like the bookcases, but scuffed. There are books and DVDs on the shelves. It's then she realizes, "There's no TV." She looks back at him. "Oh, c'mon Reid. I know you have one."
He turns crimson, hastily takes another sip of his gin as if needing the liquid fortification, and then says, "My bedroom." He coughs a little and adds, "I don't usually have guests."
It's Elle's turn to nod her understanding. It also makes her heart ache. She's a transplant from Seattle but originally from New York, so it's reasonable she wouldn't have any friends in the DC area. Those she grew close to at the Academy are scattered all over the country. Reid? As far as she can tell, he's been here for at least three years. She thinks back to her conclusion about him from the coffee shop, that people only want to be Reid's friend if they can do so privately or if it's for their own personal benefit. There's no reciprocity for him. It prompts her to say, "Sucks, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," he snorts before fidgeting with his glass. "Do you, ah, want to talk?" Reid's tone is cautious, wary almost. Up until his question, she could have simply been a friend stopping by for a drink.
Of course, he's curious. He has to be. And he has to be wondering why she chose him, of all people, to visit. Elle looks down at her glass and then glances towards his bedroom. "Bad dreams."
"I promise I won't tell anyone," he swears and that is what makes her scowl a little. "I mean…I mean…do you…ah…want me to?"
The way he squeaks out the question makes her jerk her gaze to meet his. He's so earnest, so Reid, that it makes her walk up him and grab his wrist. He flinches, like always, but she holds on. "I'm mad because you told something to Morgan in confidence and he betrayed you."
Reid gapes a little, just like he did the first time she said it over dinner at her place. "He just thought…"
"It wasn't affecting your performance," Elle interrupts, because she knows how Reid automatically defends Morgan. Hell, he defends everyone on the team but himself. She brushes her thumb against his wrist. "I don't want you telling anyone." She pauses. "Unless you think it's affecting my performance."
He gives a quick, sharp nod. "I promise."
And that's one thing Elle knows about Reid for certain: he doesn't break his promises. He really doesn't.
They stand in silence for a few moments before Reid clears his throat and tentatively asks, "Would you, ah, like to watch TV?"
Elle can't help but grin. "Is that a new euphemism for asking me to go to bed with you?"
His eyes widen. He stammers. She's never seen him flush so dark before.
She lets him go and sashays down the hall towards his bedroom. "I accept."
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