Title: Let Him Not Deceive Himself….
Warnings: Profanity. Semi-ignorance of 7th season aside the beginning and since no one had seen it yet, certainly not me, references to the opening are minimal and after the premiere AU. The story is consistent with Famous Last Words but that one doesn't need to be read because important parts of the plot will be heavily referenced when necessary. Spoilers for up to the end of 6th Season.
Pairings: Hotch's and Reid's friendship. One sided Reid/Emily. Mentions of past Reid/OC - because babies have to come from somewhere.
Chapter summary: Confrontations aren't easy and they always hurt, some more than the others.
Word count: Around 11 000 and counting up.
DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done.
Feedback welcomed with open arms.
Anger wishes that all mankind had only one neck; love, that it had only one heart; grief, two tear-glands; and pride, two bent knees.
Jean Paul Richter
Let Him Not…: Confrontations
Spencer Reid
The jet almost always took off from Quantico and it returned to Quantico with the same frequency. But when the call came in the middle of the night, the case was relatively close enough and the most important time was essential it was way easier and faster to take off from Arlington. Landings in Arlington were even rarer and they were always Hotch's call.
For most of the time it didn't matter to Reid where the jet landed after the case but this time he welcomed landing in Arlington with open arms because from Arlington he had only fifteen minutes drive instead of full hour.
Now he just wanted to come back home to his daughter, to the safety his house offered and to his bed because most of what remained from his strength he used to lash out at Hotch. He was bone tired, confused, hurt and furious with everybody and fifteen minutes taxi drive to Winfield Lane NW seemed like eternity.
He paid for the cab and looked at the dark windows of his house.
It was one o'clock on early Tuesday and most people were sleeping. He shook his head, fished out his keys and entered the house. He locked the door almost mechanically, dropped his jacket and messenger bag where he was standing and slowly climbed up the stairs.
The door to Cynthia's room were ajar and the soft glow of the night lamp was reaching the staircase and giving the room itself the feeling of fairyland rather than former study turned child bedroom.
The walls were lilac with delicate white flower accents, irises, roses, tulips and hyacinths. Cynthia's bed was opposite to the window and she had her head turned towards the door. Surrounded by flowery covers with her hair spread like a halo over her head she looked more like sleeping fairy than a little girl.
The baby-monitor on the nightstand was on and Reid smiled softly as he turned it off. Cameron's idea to keep the monitor in Cynthia's room allowed Cynthia sleeping in the comforting privacy of her own room yet a holler away of her sitter. It also had a downside because Cynthia's monitor was overlapping with Ginger's monitor so when Cameron's newborn niece woke up demanding feeding Cynthia woke up to the crying baby along with Cameron and the best way of putting Cynthia back to sleep was telling her stories through the telephone left in front of the baby monitor and it was also the reason Reid kept the sleeping hours of a parent of an infant, even though his daughter wasn't one. It was a little inconvenience but it allowed Cynthia to hear his voice and him to hear her sleeping. Now he was home and the monitor didn't have to be on.
Quietly he sat down by Cynthia's bed without tearing his eyes from her. He sighed softly feeling how slowly the confusion, hurt and anger was replaced by this heady and heart wrenching feeling that was still new to him. Father's love. Terrifying responsibility of bringing up bright-headed, bright-eyed, completely innocent bundle of joy, curiosity and overwhelming compassion and understanding.
He loved his Mum with the same devotion and strength he resented his father. It wasn't easy to learn how to deal with her episodes, how to drag her from the bed and do anything that made her less depressed. It terrified him that there was so little he could do to make her feel better, make her get better. The guilt of committing her to Bennington was overwhelming but it was a decision he had to make, for her.
He didn't understand how much he loved his Mum until Cynthia entered his life and he had to face his Mum's stubborn refusal to return to Bennington. After all DC had psychiatric hospitals too and if not DC then for sure there were some in Virginia.
He tried to protest but he couldn't win the argument. There were psychiatric hospitals and hospitals with psychiatric wards nearby and his Mum happily moved to St Elizabeth's with minimal fuss.
And now he wasn't sure if he made the right call by agreeing.
He shook his head. It was the right call because he could visit her more and his visits with Cynthia were making his Mum feel better. He wouldn't take it away from them no matter how ready he was to quit working in BAU.
He was still getting offers. White-collar crime had offered him whole range of positions, starting from technical analyst and ending on chief of the unit. That one was in Hoover Building. He wouldn't have to leave FBI, wouldn't have to travel unless completely necessary or at all depending from the position he would accept, he would be working steady hours, have more time for Cynthia and his mum and most important wouldn't have to subject either of them to moving.
Really, it was no-brainer. Except considering accepting that position made him feel like a coward and he wasn't a coward. But it was good offer and he wouldn't have to face the team. Of course they would be hurt that he would be walking away, Hotch would be antsy that he lost second agent to white-collar in a span of a month but he had Emily back so he shouldn't be complaining.
He shook his head again and chastised himself. No matter what conclusion he would draw from rethinking if he made the right call by staying in BAU he didn't have to make it now.
He yawned so hard that his jaw cricked. He really needed to get to bed otherwise he would end sleeping on the floor which wasn't the best idea.
Very slowly and delicately he pulled lose strand of Cynthia's light brown hair behind her small ear and he kissed her forehead.
She was the only one who didn't fail him lately, the only one aside of his Mum who didn't hurt him. And the two of them mattered to him the most.
Quietly he made his way to his bedroom, shed his shoes and collapsed on the top of the covers, having only enough strength to loosely wrap the coverlet around himself.
He needed to sleep, he really needed to sleep.
He bolted from the bed a second later to hoarse cry for Cynthia, wet as if he recently jumped into swimming pool and crawled straight into his bed. The covers were still cocooned around him and his heart was breathing as if he ran a mile.
He heard soft footsteps on the corridor before the door were opened slightly and Cynthia slipped inside. She was holding her white teddy bear in her left hand as she approached his bed and looked at him quizzically.
"Did you have a bad dream, Daddy?" she asked carefully.
Bad dream? Had he slept at all? He probably did.
"Was it about bad guy?" Cynthia asked. "Did he got away?"
"No…" he whispered. "He didn't get away, Sweetie. I'm sorry I woke you up."
"It's okay," Cynthia said simply. "Can I tell you a story? So you would sleep better."
Something settled around his heart and squeezed tightly. It was a feeling nothing could duplicate.
"Of course, Princess," he smiled softly.
Cynthia beamed at him before she climbed on the bed and looked at him skeptically as he remained half-seated on the bed.
"You have to get under the covers first and lay down, Daddy," she told him simply.
He laid down obediently and wrapped the coverlet around himself. Cynthia happily wrapped herself into the rest of the cocoon and laid her head on his shoulder.
He was lulled back to sleep by soft and at the same time excited voice of his daughter as she unfolded in front of him the story of Luciano The Black Cat and Evil Dachshund from the End of the Street.
At the mention of dachshund he smirked inwardly. Even if he wanted to he couldn't deny that Cynthia was his daughter. Apparently aversion to dachshunds was genetically passed.
If only he could remember what scared him in the first place…
…Let Him Not…
Next morning he barely managed to extract himself from the cover-cocoon without waking Cynthia. It took few minutes but at the very least he could take the quick shower to wash away the smell of sweat and tiredness not to mention find more comfortable clothes.
He showered but he didn't shave, not because he needed to shave, which he did but because he planned to spend the rest of the day and possibly week as the laziest bum on earth and any average Mr Smith with a toddler.
Dressed in socks, old jeans and Cal-Tech's t-shirt he padded his way from the bathroom into the kitchen to start coffee and to hunt the fridge for edible, Cynthia approved, breakfast. According to Cameron, Reid's neighbor and Cynthia's sitter and caretaker when he was way, Cynthia was very picky eater when it came to breakfasts. His rebuff was that at the very least Cynthia was breakfast-eater unlike him because he only ate breakfasts on weekends and during the rest of the week he lived on coffee-shop cakes and muffins.
He barely opened the fridge, located milk and marmalade, which might be a part of waffles as long as he would manage to locate flour when someone knocked on the front door.
It wasn't mailman because lion part of his correspondence was delivered to the office, what wasn't were bills and he always paid them on time. It wasn't Cameron because at six o'clock in the morning she was still sleeping because Ginger always woke up half past six and Cameron had her own keys.
Who in the name of Einstein would give him this kind of wakeup call?
He approached the door and looked through the peephole.
Emily.
Great. If she heard his lash out at Hotch she came to his house to chastise him. If she didn't then she came to apologize.
He didn't want an apology. Certainly not from her. He didn't want her to emotionally coerce him into placing all the blame on her and her alone. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to compartmentalize and most certainly he wanted the raising bile in his throat to go away, that and the sudden heaviness on his shoulders.
Pretending that he wasn't home wouldn't get him anywhere because Emily would ascertain it by either calling or getting inside. Avoidance wasn't an option. So he swallowed around the bile in his throat, straightened his shoulders and opened the door.
Emily didn't look as if she slept well. She looked haunted and tense, even in the comfortable outfit that consisted from jeans, too big t-shirt and old washed off jeans jacket.
When she saw him she smiled nervously and raised Starbucks cup as a peace-offering.
"Cómo es su cabeza?" she asked softly.
He could trust her to remember that when she died he was at his lowest and suffering from terrible migraines.
"Better than it was," he shrugged as he opened the door wider. "I didn't have a migraine for a while."
"Oh," Emily said softly. "Do you know what it was?"
He didn't. They just went away as suddenly as they started.
"Apparently a very bizarre allergy," Reid said simply. "To revengeful psychopaths, blatant, supposedly well-meaning lies if lies could be well-meaning and being blindsided, repeatedly. I can be my own lies detector. I only need a year worth supply of ibuprofen and I will make it."
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself and he cringed inwardly at Emily's hurt expression.
"Reid," she said softly. "I'm so sorry…"
"You have nothing to be sorry for," Reid said slowly. "You were terrified, you thought that you would manage to beat Doyle on your own, you were protecting us, protecting Declan, protecting yourself… Profiler with unclear head is more prone to mistakes."
He needed to get out. Now. But he couldn't wander away without Cynthia.
So he swiftly walked into the kitchen and busied himself with preparing breakfast for Cynthia.
"You are angry," Emily said from the doorway.
"Not at you," Reid shrugged. "Trust me you are the last person I'm angry with right now."
"I don't think so," Emily said skeptically. "It's five past six o'clock in the morning and you are wounded up tighter than Hotch's tie before meeting with Strauss."
Reid snorted inwardly.
"Did he put you up to it?" he asked after a moment. "To make sure that I won't lose it?"
"Why would he? Why would you?" Emily asked as she settled both cups on the island.
"Because last time I checked withholding important for the team information fell into the category of putting oneself above the team. So unless dead friend not really being dead counts as unimportant information he is guilty as charged… again. Don't worry, I'm not going to play Russian roulette with my own gun," Reid snorted.
"He only did what I asked for," Emily said softly.
"Well then you asked for too much," Reid sneered. "You didn't ask for enough. You were so driven to do it all on your own that you forgot that the team is a family and families protect one another. Did you forgot that together we are stronger than apart? Did you forget that every time one of us puts themselves above the team bad things happen? I'm guilty of that, Emily. I knowingly put myself above the team in West Bune. I knowingly put myself above the team in New Orleans. I knowingly put myself above the team in Atlanta. I knowingly put myself above the team in Miami. And every single time I made it out by scrapes and I knew what would happen if I didn't…"
"I was protecting you, all of you," Emily said quickly. "I was protecting all of you, I was protecting Declan… Doyle would have killed all of you."
"Doyle is dead and we are not," Reid snorted. "Declan is alive, you are alive and everything is fucking fine except it isn't. You know what I told the narcissists? During grief assessment I told him what had been bugging me for a longer while. If we cannot keep each other safe then why we are even doing any of these and now I think that if we cannot trust each other then how we are supposed to do any of these. How can I be sure that the man standing behind my back is going to shot the unsub and not me? Do I have to start demanding open coffins during funerals to make sure that there is a body inside? Maybe I should go all the way and I should start second guessing myself…"
"You don't understand," Emily said softly. "You don't understand the paranoid need to protect your family. I had to protect all of you, I had to protect Declan. He still remembers… he still needs me…"
"No, Emily, it's you who don't understand," Reid said bitterly. "Do I understand the need to protect my family? Am I willing to kill anyone who comes in and harms my family? I'm more than willing and more than ready. Next thing you will tell me is that my severe abandonment issues are getting in the way and clouding my judgment. Later you will call me self-centered ass who makes everything about himself. Go ahead, you can do this now. Feel free. Do it, it will make you feel better, it will make you feel in control and that's what you need, to finally have control over the situation. You don't have to worry that I will put a bullet in my head after that, you will be only telling the truth and truth is certainly better than all the lies I heard lately. Let's start with she never made it from the table. No, let's start earlier because that was a crowning jewel…"
"Reid…" Emily started.
"You should have trust us, Emily," he added sourly. "It's good to have you back but you shouldn't have left in the first place. As for Declan," he shrugged, "do it, kids are grounding, he needs a mother and you need him. Perhaps parenthood will remind you that family comes first. Now excuse me I have something to do."
He couldn't stay here any longer. He couldn't stare at Emily because if he continued to do so he would end up saying things he was going to regret or things which would hurt her more. He didn't need to feel more guilty. Besides Cynthia needed to have breakfast and he didn't have enough strength left to prepare it himself.
"What do you want Reid?" Emily asked quietly.
"It doesn't matter," he shrugged. "What I want, I'm not going to get. Let yourself out when you are done with coffee."
…Let Him Not…
Emily's visit should have been the only strength-draining visit on his early morning but another strength-draining visit came five minutes after the front door clicked shut behind Emily.
It was Cameron. Tired, defeated Cameron with her hair hanging loosely from a ponytail and dark circles under her eyes even more pronounced than when he left.
"Ruby was found," she said quietly.
"How is she?" Reid asked quickly.
Cameron swallowed visibly before she said softly, "Tonight at around two o'clock in the morning a woman fitting her description was admitted to ER in Fauquier Hospital in Warrenton, Virginia. She was bleeding into her lungs. She died an hour later in OR when they were trying to find the source of the bleeding. I'm so sorry."
"She had a lung cancer, Cameron," Reid said quietly. "I just hope that she didn't suffer."
"She didn't," Cameron shook her head.
"Can you do me a favor?" Reid sighed.
"Go with you or take Cynthia to my home?" Cameron asked.
"Take Cynthia with you," Reid said softly. "I don't want her to see Ruby like this. Oh, and she didn't have breakfast yet. And can I take your car? Mine is still in Quantico."
Aaron Hotchner
The call came shortly after two o'clock in the morning. It was an alarm from Garcia's computer about Ruby Devaine, Cynthia's mother, being admitted to a hospital in Warrenton. Aaron checked it out weighed the possibility of calling Reid and offering to drive him to Warrenton since his Volvo was still in Quantico but Reid needed to sleep and to cool off a bit.
Aaron slept through the second alarm which bore news of Devaine's death and came half past three. He read it at six o'clock in the morning when he woke up and was readying himself to take Jack and most probably the rest of the kids with Jess for surprise breakfast.
Devaine's death made him change his plans. He called Garcia, listened patiently to the list of curses under his address (some very creative and worth taking a mental note for future references) and asked her to completely clear his calendar for the day, postpone all meetings and to call the rest of the team that Devaine had been found, that she was dead and that he was taking Reid to the hospital for identification.
He called Reid's house from the road but he hung up when Reid himself drove past him in a yellow New Beatle Volkswagen, certainly not his, but nevertheless quite amusing choice for an automobile but Reid's choices were always quirky and always nostalgically classic, he was like Garcia in that regard.
Reid drove fast, not with neck-breaking speed but also not like grandma as Morgan dubbed Reid's early style of driving when in early days they were testing Reid's strengths in the field and it turned out that driving SUV wasn't one of them.
The good side of following yellow Volkswagen was that in the early hours of the morning there was only one yellow Volkswagen on the road to Warrenton and about four black Suburbans.
He followed Reid to Warrenton and stopped before the hospital, closer to the entrance than Reid. He barely get out from the car when Reid reached him.
"What do you want?" Reid sneered.
"To be your sounding board," Aaron offered. "Someone at whom you can lash out and let out everything that gnaws at you," he added.
Reid grimaced before he snorted softly, "It wouldn't be fair to Jack."
"It's not only about Ruby, is it?" Aaron asked softly. "It's about having the control over what is happening, control over yourself, over the others. You are angry at me, you are angry at JJ, you are angry at Emily and this anger scares you because you know what happens when people get angry. You lost control and you are second guessing yourself whatever or not you made the right call by returning."
"Stop it!" Reid hissed angrily. "Just fucking stop it, Hotch!"
"The world stopped mattering when Emily died and nothing made sense. It didn't make sense for a longer while but it started to sink back then. Instinctually you knew right then something which just started sinking, you didn't acknowledge it before because you had no reason to acknowledge it. You started healing slowly and now you are angry…"
He saw it coming, he had time to stop it, he had time duck and avoid it. But he just stood there when Reid's right fist connected with his jaw and he backed away a step with the force of the blow.
"I'm not going to wait for your personal Chester Hardwick, Reid," Aaron added slowly. "I want you to admit it at loud."
"Fuck off!" Reid hissed as he stepped away.
"I will," Aaron said simply. "Just say it. At loud. For once in your life admit to being selfish enough to want something, someone."
If it was possible Reid paled even more though he was already pale. Pale, tired, drained, he looked older than he actually was.
"It won't change anything," Reid whispered. "I only made it worse, Hotch."
"I know," Aaron said quietly as he reached out and gently place his hand on Reid's right shoulder. "It's not your fault. Sometimes everything is not enough."
"I don't even know how to say it, Hotch," Reid admitted quietly. "I had a friend in her and it was and wasn't enough. Now… Now I'm not even sure if she will ever be my friend. I wish I could … I wish I could … I'm not making any sense right now."
"You will make sense of it, eventually," Aaron assured him. "Now let's get you some breakfast, I'm not letting you get back into that canary unless you will eat something."
"I still have to identify Ruby," Reid said softly. "If it's her…"
"I will be there with you," Aaron said quickly.
"You don't have to…" Reid started.
"I know," Aaron nodded. "I don't have to but I don't want to leave you alone in this mess, no one should be alone with this."
"I'm still angry with you," Reid grimaced.
"You can deck me again if you want," Aaron offered.
"My hand is sore already, I don't want to end in a cast," Reid snorted.
Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.
Octavia Butler
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