Genius at Work, Chapter 3/15
Jun. 25th, 2010 08:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madlorificGenius at Work
A "Criminal Minds" fanfiction by MadLori
Chapter 3
SATURDAY
Reid's weekend began, as all his weekends did, with lunch at Hilda's, a crazy little restaurant just down the block from his house that served a weird juxtaposition of Hungarian and Thai food, along with whatever other cuisine struck their fancy. Once, he'd come in to find that they were serving moussaka with an optional side dish of gefilte fish. The owners, Olek and his wife, the eponymous Hilda, had taken him on as a pet project. "Doctor Spencer!" Hilda exclaimed, hurrying forward to clasp him to her generous bosom. "You are late, we are beginning to think you not come today. Come, I have soup for you and also blintzes."
The soup turned out to be Thai coconut curry soup with chicken and mushrooms, which went surprisingly well with the cheese-filled blintzes. Hilda brought him some homemade raspberry preserves for his blintzes and a tall glass of Thai iced tea sweetened with condensed milk, his favorite drink here.
Hilda hovered in the nearly-empty restaurant (not many customers at eleven o’clock in the morning when they didn't technically serve breakfast), fretting over him. "Doctor Spencer, you are too skinny, I can see your bones. Can you not find a nice girl to cook for you? Look at you, so handsome, and smart FBI man, how are girls not everywhere for you?" She peered at him. "Oh, but you blush! Olek! Come out here, Young Doctor Spencer has a lady friend, I think that is what he has!"
Olek came bustling out, a dishtowel over his shoulder. "Where is she?" he demanded.
"Wait, wait!" Spencer exclaimed, half-laughing and holding up his hands in supplication. "I never said there was a – a lady friend!"
"There is! I see it on your face!" Hilda cried. "You glow pink like a man who thinks on a lady. You listen to me, now. You must bring your lady friend here and we will give her paprikash and then we'll see."
"What will we see?"
"If she eats it! If she is one of these dainty little things who will turn up her nose and only pick at salad like a little bird, then pah. She is not for you. A woman who can eat is a woman who will be tough and strong and bear you fine strong children."
Reid felt like his face must be purple by now. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind," he stammered, thinking of yesterday at the Hard Times Cafe when Emily had polished off a big bowl of chili three-way. Hilda would approve. "Maybe I will bring her here, if I get the chance."
"Yes, you must! See?" she said, slapping at Olek's arm. "I told you, he would find himself a nice girl!"
"When did I say he would not?" Olek yelled, indignant and rubbing his arm.
"Is she pretty?" Hilda asked, serious again.
Reid smiled. "Yes, she's beautiful."
"Ahhh. I look forward to meeting your pretty lady friend, Doctor Spencer. Now you must shoo because all the funny men will be here soon and I must get the pad thai started." Hilda did love her ‘funny men.’ The restaurant was a major destination for the boys who’d been up all night at the gay clubs down the street, some of them making the Walk of Shame. They descended in packs around noon. Hilda fussed over them and fed them coffee and blintzes and they adored her. Reid got up and let her bustle him out the door. He never paid for his food here. He'd tried, but they refused. The second time he'd come here, just before they closed, a robber had come in and held up Olek at gunpoint. Spencer had quietly waited until the robber had come to his table to get his wallet (clearly the guy had seen Pulp Fiction one too many times) and then, with the assistance of his sidearm, he'd persuaded the robber he ought to put the nice money down and let himself be handcuffed. Olek and Hilda were eternally grateful for this, so Spencer ate for free.
Reid walked the two blocks back to his apartment. It might actually be fun to bring Emily here. It was a hole in the wall, but it was charming. He let his mind drift to one of its more frequent subjects of preoccupation of late, namely, what he would do on a date with Emily. He'd yet to hit on the perfect idea. He'd rejected most of the usual suspects. Movie? No, he wanted to talk to her. Concert? Same problem. Museum? Too...quiet, and too much pressure to be intellectual. Something she'd like. Something unique.
It would come to him.
When he got back to his apartment, there was a small white box sitting on the floor in front of his door. He paused when he saw it, looking right and left as if elves might pop out and deliver a singing telegram. He bent down and picked it up. He knew who it was from. Who else?
Reid opened the box, then just shook his head. Oh, Prentiss. This is just too...too something.
Inside the box was Emily's red tank top.
SUNDAY
Reid had spent a distressingly long time on Saturday trying to figure out what he could possibly leave outside her door that would have anything like the significance of that red tank top and had come up blank. He couldn't think of any item of his own clothing that she'd ever noticed or commented on, much less found irresistible.
He thought of conversations they'd had, things they'd bonded over, things they had in common. Nothing had sprung to mind.
Glum, and feeling like he was somehow failing in this treasure hunt, he read the Sunday paper while he drank his third cup of coffee. It was coming up on October (and Emily's birthday, which he was trying not to think about) and that meant haunted houses, horror movie marathons – here was an ad for one. A picture of Bela Lugosi accompanied the ad.
Reid flashed on a conversation they'd had on the plane out to Minnesota, about Dark Shadows. He'd heard of it, but wasn't surprised that Emily might have gravitated towards a vampire-based soap opera that had aired fifty years ago. That had led to comparisons of Barnabas Collins to other vampires, then a discussion of the cherry-picking of vampire lore for the various mythologies of vampire shows, then reminiscing about the case they'd had in L.A. of a schizophrenic vampirist, and so forth.
By the time the thought had passed through his mind, Reid knew what he wanted to do. Now he just had to see if he could find what he needed.
MONDAY
Reid could hardly contain himself as he walked into the BAU. He couldn't wait to see what Emily's reaction would be to the surprise he'd left on her doorstep. It had taken some doing and a lot of calling around to every geek he knew, but he'd finally found what he was looking for, even if he had to promise the owner his firstborn child to get him to let Reid borrow it.
He just wished he could have been there to see her face when Emily opened her door to find there a cardboard standee of brooding vampire Barnabas Collins – wearing her red tank top.
He felt almost gleeful with anticipation. He'd sent her a cryptic text message to get her to open her door but hadn't gotten any texts from her all evening, which was fine. They somehow both understood without having discussed it that phone, email or text contact over the weekend was verboten, an agreement he'd broached by texting her in the first place. He'd left for work extra early just so he'd be there when she came in. It was barely seven o'clock when he came into the bullpen. It was deserted. Not even Hotch was in his office yet.
On the seat of his chair was a flash drive.
Sighing, Reid shook his head. She must have come in last night and left it. She wasn't here yet, her coat and purse weren't at her desk and he hadn't seen her car in the garage in its usual parking spot. He glanced around to make sure he was alone, then sat down and plugged in the flash drive. On it was a single file, a photographic slideshow.
The first photo, obviously staged, was of Emily opening the door to her apartment. Barnabas was lurking outside, looking menacing and yet quite sporty in his red tank top. Emily was facing the camera with wide eyes and one hand to her face, her mouth in an exaggerated wide "O" of silent-movie surprise. Reid grinned. In the next photo, she'd brought Barnabas into her apartment. He'd been relieved of his tank top and now she was wearing it. She had her arm around the standee's waist and was gazing up at it with a dreamy expression. In the next photo, she'd dipped Barnabas low like they were dancing the tango. In the next, she had her arms around his neck and was miming a passionate kiss. In the last one, she still had her arms around Barnabas, but she was looking back at the camera, giving Reid a flirty smile with a bit of a challenge behind it. I'd rather be doing this to you than to a cardboard cutout of Barnabas Collins.
Reid stared at that final image for awhile, amused and a little aroused all at once. Damn, she is amazing, he thought. She found my little present and this is what she did with it. She found a way to get me back and be funny and sexy about it at the same time.
His reverie, which was rapidly becoming a daydream, was interrupted by the click of JJ's heels as she burst into the bullpen. "Reid, good, someone's here," she said, a little breathless. "We need to call in the team. I'll call Hotch and Rossi, can you do the rest?"
"Sure," he said, picking up his phone while quickly closing down the slideshow file with his other hand. "What's up?"
"Police in Tempe, Arizona are on the line. They had a really bad spree shooting overnight," she said, reaching for the remote to turn on the bullpen TV. They looked up at the morning news, which was full of images of bodies covered in sheets on the ground. "In six hours starting just after midnight, he hit two convenience stores, a walk-in clinic, a cab driver, a prostitute and a fast food restaurant. Eight dead, two injured."
"Any of the survivors give statements?"
"Yeah, one of them said that the shooter was calm and collected, he seemed to just pick out people and shoot them at random. He didn't speak."
"He's not done," Reid said.
"That's why they need us."
Hotch had been en route when JJ called, everyone else hustled in and within forty-five minutes the team was assembled in the roundtable room. Emily was the last to arrive. She and Reid exchanged a quick glance, mutually understanding each other. Work now, flirt later.
After a quick briefing with the scanty information they had, everyone dashed out to the elevator to head to the airstrip. Reid pressed himself to the back of the elevator, Emily situating herself next to him. He couldn't help himself, he reached out and hooked her pinky finger with his. She pulled on it a little so he knew she returned the gesture.
More information on the victims and the shooting sites came through the fax while they were on the plane, so the flight to Tempe passed quickly as they tried to make sense of the shooter's psychology. Reid spent most of the time triangulating the locations on a map of the area, and all it told him was that the shooter appeared to be traveling in circles.
Not long before they landed, they got word that the shooter had just killed two more people at a cafe. He'd walked in to the crowded restaurant, picked out two people seemingly at random, shot them, then turned around and left in the ensuing pandemonium. How he was eluding the police, who were now out in force patrolling the area, was a mystery, but according to earlier witness statements, he'd changed his appearance in the three hours since the previous shooting.
The police station was in chaos when they arrived. The local lieutenant in charge of the task force practically tackled them as soon as they walked in the door. "We got a letter. From the shooter," he said, not even waiting for introductions. Hotch immediately handed off the letter to Reid for analysis. The rest of the team split off to interview survivors and look at the last crime scene. Emily stayed behind to try and corral all the information pouring in from all quarters.
One of the detectives found him a magnifier and he set to analyzing the letter. "What's it say?" Emily asked.
"It's long and detailed. More like a manifesto. The content is nothing extraordinary, he's disgruntled, he's been treated badly by society, he'll make everyone else suffer as he's suffered, and so on. What interests me is the handwriting. It's extremely controlled." She came up next to him and leaned over his shoulder, then he felt her hand settle on the back of his neck, her thumb making the tiniest stroking motion against his skin. It calmed him a little. "The spaces are even, the letters are carefully formed, he never has to cram in letters because he's running out of room. It's like he's rehearsed writing this. I bet we'll find several drafts of this note in his house where he's written and rewritten it over and over." He shook his head. "This isn't a guy who snapped or had a psychotic break. He's planned this. He's not stopping until he's done, or until we stop him."
Emily's phone rang. Her hand fell away from his neck as she stepped away to answer it and he immediately missed its warmth.
The shooter claimed three more victims that day, one at a library and two at a pizza place. No pattern emerged between the victims nor between the locations where the shootings occurred. Reid felt profoundly useless, as did the rest of the team, when their profile turned out to be not helpful in the slightest. They could tell a lot about the shooter from his actions and his letter, except where he was, who he was and where he'd kill next.
The break in the case came when one of the witnesses actually recognized the shooter as a man who'd worked on a roofing crew at her house. From there it was a short hop to identifying the man, and by eight o'clock that night they were getting ready to raid his house. The agents and police gathered a block away, getting on their Kevlar, breaking up into teams. Reid helped Emily tighten her vest, letting his hand rest on her side for a bit longer than he needed to. As they approached the house and waited to rush in, she looked over at him with a clear "be careful" message in her gaze. He sent her some of the same back, and then they were bursting in, guns raised.
The shooter wasn't in the house. Reid and Morgan had just cleared the living room when suddenly the plate-glass door right next to Reid broke inward in a noisy glut of glass. A sizable rock landed on the carpet, but before anybody could do more than duck, a man leapt through the door and right into Reid, tackling him to the ground. Somewhere in the back of his mind Reid registered Emily calling his name. Before Reid could even think about striking back, hands were hauling the shooter off of him and Morgan had the guy in a headlock on the ground. It's good to have friends who teach hand-to-hand combat, Reid thought.
Emily was suddenly there kneeling next to him. "Are you okay?" she said, worry and fear a little too evident on her face. The feeling in her face touched him even while he worried that someone else would notice.
"I'm fine," he said, sending her a bit of a warning look. Don't look at me like that. We're just co-workers, remember? She swallowed hard and dialed down her expression.
"Are you cut?" she asked, her hands flicking over the exposed skin of his arms, neck and face, looking for blood.
"I don't think so." Hotch extended a hand and helped him off the ground. "Ow," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Might have cracked my skull on the floor, though."
"Oh, we better check that out," Morgan said, having handed off the shooter to the Tempe police. "We don't want anything to happen that that brain in there."
"No, we don't," Emily said, quieter, and without Morgan's joking tone. Reid felt her surreptitiously pat his arm, then she made herself scarce.
Reid watched her go, remembering the look in her eyes when she thought he might be hurt. If you were waiting for a signal, Dr. Reid, I think you just got it.
THURSDAY
Reid was biding his time.
The team had returned from Tempe late Monday night, and Tuesday morning had found them back on the jet to Pittsburgh for a child kidnapping. That had kept them away until Wednesday afternoon. The opportunities for Reid and Emily to continue their nonverbal courtship had been few and far between. He'd barely seen her at all on Tuesday, she'd been out in the field with Rossi most of the day and he'd been up to his eyebrows in case files of kidnappings in the area going back ten years. They'd all staggered back to the hotel Tuesday night just before midnight, finally too tired to keep working. He'd felt her hand brush across his back as she headed for her room, around the corner from his. A tiny gesture, but it had buoyed him into his room and into his dreams.
Wednesday night he had finally been hit with the perfect idea for where he could take her on the date he'd been planning in his head for almost two weeks.
Standing on the tarmac at the airport, waiting for the jet to taxi in from its holding area and pick them up, Emily had stood next to him with her arms wrapped around herself against the chill in the night air. He'd wished that he could step up behind her and wrap her up in his arms to keep her warm, but he couldn't. She'd looked up into the sky and smiled. It was a perfectly clear night; it would be the new moon on Friday so the sky was very dark and every star was brilliant, or as much as it could be given their proximity to the city.
"Pretty stars tonight," Rossi had commented, seeing her upward gaze.
"Mmm," she'd agreed. "Beautiful. I used to stargaze when I was a kid. Whenever we'd move to a new place, I'd get out my dad’s Atlas of the Heavens and look up which constellations I could see that were different from the last place we'd been, and I'd always look for the North Star. It was like finding one constant thing."
Reid had risked a look over at her profile, tilted up toward the stars, and he knew where to take her.
So now everything was in place. He'd made the necessary calls. All he had to do was ask her. But when? How?
She'd dropped him a wink when she came in that morning. He'd been too nervous to return it. He tried to concentrate on his files and succeeded for the most part, although he was hyperaware of her sitting across from him.
Finally, he couldn't wait anymore. He got up and went down the hall to the only place on the floor he could be sure they wouldn't be disturbed – the file storage room. No one ever went in there. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, then sent her a text message.
Then, he waited.
FRIDAY
Spencer Reid was a man known for his intellect, counted upon by his team for his ability to solve puzzles, piece together clues, and notice details. He'd received a grand total of five commendations from his superiors for his quick and lifesaving solution of cases.
But at the moment, he couldn't even decide which pants to wear.
He glanced at the clock. If he wasn't to be late to pick up Emily, he had to leave in fifteen minutes. He'd had it all worked out, timed down to the last minute, but none of his plans and schedules had included time for pants debate.
Yesterday's rendezvous with Emily in the file storage room had been – exhilarating. She'd barely entered the room before they were kissing, finally kissing again as they had in Minnesota, as he'd longed to kiss her again ever since. And she'd started it, grabbing him and pulling him in with definite intent. If he'd doubted that she wanted this with him, he no longer had to. Somehow he'd mustered the presence of mind to finally ask her out on a date, and she'd said yes. And then she'd kissed him again. They'd stood there in the dark little closet, engaged in what he imagined Garcia would call "making out" for some time before a sense of propriety had drawn them back to their desks.
Today had been agonizing. Knowing where things stood, at least for now, having gotten the words in the open and admitted out loud that there was something going on between them – well, their fun little unacknowledged game was no longer so satisfying nor so fun. It was just an inadequate substitute. Ever conscious of the perceptive eyes of their co-workers, they'd tamped themselves back to pre-Minnesota levels of friendly interaction. No flirty smiles, no clandestine hand-squeezes, no smirky cocked eyebrows. Just a normal day's work in the BAU and vague, circumspect answers to innocent questions from others about their weekend plans.
Morgan's usual teasing about Reid's love life was particularly galling. "How about you, pretty boy?" he'd said, like he did almost every Friday. "Hot date?"
"Sure. Me and some particle physics."
"Oooh. Jump back."
"Particle physics is sexy," Emily said. "All those bosons and leptons and quarks. You know two of the quarks are called 'top' and 'bottom'? Sounds naughty to me." She grinned at him, and Reid was damn near undone by the sight of a woman he was rapidly becoming crazy about smiling and making sexual innuendoes about particle physics.
Somehow, the time had passed. Emily had gotten up to leave right at the stroke of five. "What's your hurry?" Morgan said. "Don't tell me you have a hot date, too."
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said. Reid felt a bright flare of jealousy before he remembered that she was referring to him.
I’m her hot date. I think I’m going to pass out.
"Oh yeah? Who's the lucky guy?" Morgan asked, twinkling and smirking all over the place.
Emily didn't so much as glance in Reid's direction. "That is for me to know and you not to find out."
"Hoo, baby," Morgan crowed, grinning. "I like the sound of that."
"You like the sound of your own voice," Emily said, smacking him on the shoulder. "Night, Reid."
"Night, Emily." He watched her leave. She glanced back when she got to the bullpen doors and gave him a tiny eyeroll with a glance at Morgan’s back, then she was gone.
And now here he was. He was supposed to pick her up at seven. He now had just eleven minutes to achieve pants. He didn't think it would make a very good impression to show up in his boxer shorts.
His first instinct was just to wear what he'd worn to work that day, but then his better nature had appealed that decision. She'd most certainly change her clothes, and didn't he want her to see that he wanted to look his best for her? He was clean and shaved, his teeth were brushed, his hair was -- just sort of hanging there, like it always did. This was what he looked like. Emily seemed to find it attractive, so why make some artificial effort to change things up?
Wear jeans.
But isn't that dressing down? Shouldn't I dress up for a date?
Garcia says jeans make a man's butt look good.
Spencer had never given much thought to how his pants would affect the appearance of his butt. Not that he had much of a butt.
Just wear the damn jeans. It'll be a night of Spencer Does Things Differently. Things like wearing jeans, and taking your gorgeous co-worker out on a date.
And maybe having sex.
He cut that thought off before it could go too much further. He didn't want to presume; she might pick up on any expectation he had and he didn't want to come off like he had an expectation. It'd be up to her how far things went tonight. He was reasonably sure that there would be kissing of some kind, but beyond that, he wasn't going to count on anything.
In the end, he wore the jeans.
When she opened her door in answer to his knock and looked him up and down, he could see that he'd made the correct choice.
A "Criminal Minds" fanfiction by MadLori
Chapter 3
SATURDAY
Reid's weekend began, as all his weekends did, with lunch at Hilda's, a crazy little restaurant just down the block from his house that served a weird juxtaposition of Hungarian and Thai food, along with whatever other cuisine struck their fancy. Once, he'd come in to find that they were serving moussaka with an optional side dish of gefilte fish. The owners, Olek and his wife, the eponymous Hilda, had taken him on as a pet project. "Doctor Spencer!" Hilda exclaimed, hurrying forward to clasp him to her generous bosom. "You are late, we are beginning to think you not come today. Come, I have soup for you and also blintzes."
The soup turned out to be Thai coconut curry soup with chicken and mushrooms, which went surprisingly well with the cheese-filled blintzes. Hilda brought him some homemade raspberry preserves for his blintzes and a tall glass of Thai iced tea sweetened with condensed milk, his favorite drink here.
Hilda hovered in the nearly-empty restaurant (not many customers at eleven o’clock in the morning when they didn't technically serve breakfast), fretting over him. "Doctor Spencer, you are too skinny, I can see your bones. Can you not find a nice girl to cook for you? Look at you, so handsome, and smart FBI man, how are girls not everywhere for you?" She peered at him. "Oh, but you blush! Olek! Come out here, Young Doctor Spencer has a lady friend, I think that is what he has!"
Olek came bustling out, a dishtowel over his shoulder. "Where is she?" he demanded.
"Wait, wait!" Spencer exclaimed, half-laughing and holding up his hands in supplication. "I never said there was a – a lady friend!"
"There is! I see it on your face!" Hilda cried. "You glow pink like a man who thinks on a lady. You listen to me, now. You must bring your lady friend here and we will give her paprikash and then we'll see."
"What will we see?"
"If she eats it! If she is one of these dainty little things who will turn up her nose and only pick at salad like a little bird, then pah. She is not for you. A woman who can eat is a woman who will be tough and strong and bear you fine strong children."
Reid felt like his face must be purple by now. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind," he stammered, thinking of yesterday at the Hard Times Cafe when Emily had polished off a big bowl of chili three-way. Hilda would approve. "Maybe I will bring her here, if I get the chance."
"Yes, you must! See?" she said, slapping at Olek's arm. "I told you, he would find himself a nice girl!"
"When did I say he would not?" Olek yelled, indignant and rubbing his arm.
"Is she pretty?" Hilda asked, serious again.
Reid smiled. "Yes, she's beautiful."
"Ahhh. I look forward to meeting your pretty lady friend, Doctor Spencer. Now you must shoo because all the funny men will be here soon and I must get the pad thai started." Hilda did love her ‘funny men.’ The restaurant was a major destination for the boys who’d been up all night at the gay clubs down the street, some of them making the Walk of Shame. They descended in packs around noon. Hilda fussed over them and fed them coffee and blintzes and they adored her. Reid got up and let her bustle him out the door. He never paid for his food here. He'd tried, but they refused. The second time he'd come here, just before they closed, a robber had come in and held up Olek at gunpoint. Spencer had quietly waited until the robber had come to his table to get his wallet (clearly the guy had seen Pulp Fiction one too many times) and then, with the assistance of his sidearm, he'd persuaded the robber he ought to put the nice money down and let himself be handcuffed. Olek and Hilda were eternally grateful for this, so Spencer ate for free.
Reid walked the two blocks back to his apartment. It might actually be fun to bring Emily here. It was a hole in the wall, but it was charming. He let his mind drift to one of its more frequent subjects of preoccupation of late, namely, what he would do on a date with Emily. He'd yet to hit on the perfect idea. He'd rejected most of the usual suspects. Movie? No, he wanted to talk to her. Concert? Same problem. Museum? Too...quiet, and too much pressure to be intellectual. Something she'd like. Something unique.
It would come to him.
When he got back to his apartment, there was a small white box sitting on the floor in front of his door. He paused when he saw it, looking right and left as if elves might pop out and deliver a singing telegram. He bent down and picked it up. He knew who it was from. Who else?
Reid opened the box, then just shook his head. Oh, Prentiss. This is just too...too something.
Inside the box was Emily's red tank top.
SUNDAY
Reid had spent a distressingly long time on Saturday trying to figure out what he could possibly leave outside her door that would have anything like the significance of that red tank top and had come up blank. He couldn't think of any item of his own clothing that she'd ever noticed or commented on, much less found irresistible.
He thought of conversations they'd had, things they'd bonded over, things they had in common. Nothing had sprung to mind.
Glum, and feeling like he was somehow failing in this treasure hunt, he read the Sunday paper while he drank his third cup of coffee. It was coming up on October (and Emily's birthday, which he was trying not to think about) and that meant haunted houses, horror movie marathons – here was an ad for one. A picture of Bela Lugosi accompanied the ad.
Reid flashed on a conversation they'd had on the plane out to Minnesota, about Dark Shadows. He'd heard of it, but wasn't surprised that Emily might have gravitated towards a vampire-based soap opera that had aired fifty years ago. That had led to comparisons of Barnabas Collins to other vampires, then a discussion of the cherry-picking of vampire lore for the various mythologies of vampire shows, then reminiscing about the case they'd had in L.A. of a schizophrenic vampirist, and so forth.
By the time the thought had passed through his mind, Reid knew what he wanted to do. Now he just had to see if he could find what he needed.
MONDAY
Reid could hardly contain himself as he walked into the BAU. He couldn't wait to see what Emily's reaction would be to the surprise he'd left on her doorstep. It had taken some doing and a lot of calling around to every geek he knew, but he'd finally found what he was looking for, even if he had to promise the owner his firstborn child to get him to let Reid borrow it.
He just wished he could have been there to see her face when Emily opened her door to find there a cardboard standee of brooding vampire Barnabas Collins – wearing her red tank top.
He felt almost gleeful with anticipation. He'd sent her a cryptic text message to get her to open her door but hadn't gotten any texts from her all evening, which was fine. They somehow both understood without having discussed it that phone, email or text contact over the weekend was verboten, an agreement he'd broached by texting her in the first place. He'd left for work extra early just so he'd be there when she came in. It was barely seven o'clock when he came into the bullpen. It was deserted. Not even Hotch was in his office yet.
On the seat of his chair was a flash drive.
Sighing, Reid shook his head. She must have come in last night and left it. She wasn't here yet, her coat and purse weren't at her desk and he hadn't seen her car in the garage in its usual parking spot. He glanced around to make sure he was alone, then sat down and plugged in the flash drive. On it was a single file, a photographic slideshow.
The first photo, obviously staged, was of Emily opening the door to her apartment. Barnabas was lurking outside, looking menacing and yet quite sporty in his red tank top. Emily was facing the camera with wide eyes and one hand to her face, her mouth in an exaggerated wide "O" of silent-movie surprise. Reid grinned. In the next photo, she'd brought Barnabas into her apartment. He'd been relieved of his tank top and now she was wearing it. She had her arm around the standee's waist and was gazing up at it with a dreamy expression. In the next photo, she'd dipped Barnabas low like they were dancing the tango. In the next, she had her arms around his neck and was miming a passionate kiss. In the last one, she still had her arms around Barnabas, but she was looking back at the camera, giving Reid a flirty smile with a bit of a challenge behind it. I'd rather be doing this to you than to a cardboard cutout of Barnabas Collins.
Reid stared at that final image for awhile, amused and a little aroused all at once. Damn, she is amazing, he thought. She found my little present and this is what she did with it. She found a way to get me back and be funny and sexy about it at the same time.
His reverie, which was rapidly becoming a daydream, was interrupted by the click of JJ's heels as she burst into the bullpen. "Reid, good, someone's here," she said, a little breathless. "We need to call in the team. I'll call Hotch and Rossi, can you do the rest?"
"Sure," he said, picking up his phone while quickly closing down the slideshow file with his other hand. "What's up?"
"Police in Tempe, Arizona are on the line. They had a really bad spree shooting overnight," she said, reaching for the remote to turn on the bullpen TV. They looked up at the morning news, which was full of images of bodies covered in sheets on the ground. "In six hours starting just after midnight, he hit two convenience stores, a walk-in clinic, a cab driver, a prostitute and a fast food restaurant. Eight dead, two injured."
"Any of the survivors give statements?"
"Yeah, one of them said that the shooter was calm and collected, he seemed to just pick out people and shoot them at random. He didn't speak."
"He's not done," Reid said.
"That's why they need us."
Riding in an elevator with the team, they stood side by side at the back. Emily felt Reid’s little finger brush hers, then he hooked them together like they were pinky swearing something, both of them keeping their eyes front. At a police station in Tempe, looking over his shoulder as he analyzed a letter to the police from their UNSUB, she glanced around to make sure they were unobserved before she put her hand on the back of his neck while he explained about the slant of the penmanship and the force of the pen strokes. She'd left it there for a few seconds, letting it slide away when she answered her phone.
This went on for days. A glance as they passed each other in the hall. A quick clasp of hands in the parking garage before parting to their respective cars. His hand on her side as he helped her with the straps on her Kevlar, lingering just a beat too long. A loaded look as they both stood outside a suspect’s house, guns drawn, preparing to swoop in. Please be careful. You’re important to me in a way that’s new.
--How to Fight Loneliness, Chapter 3
Hotch had been en route when JJ called, everyone else hustled in and within forty-five minutes the team was assembled in the roundtable room. Emily was the last to arrive. She and Reid exchanged a quick glance, mutually understanding each other. Work now, flirt later.
After a quick briefing with the scanty information they had, everyone dashed out to the elevator to head to the airstrip. Reid pressed himself to the back of the elevator, Emily situating herself next to him. He couldn't help himself, he reached out and hooked her pinky finger with his. She pulled on it a little so he knew she returned the gesture.
More information on the victims and the shooting sites came through the fax while they were on the plane, so the flight to Tempe passed quickly as they tried to make sense of the shooter's psychology. Reid spent most of the time triangulating the locations on a map of the area, and all it told him was that the shooter appeared to be traveling in circles.
Not long before they landed, they got word that the shooter had just killed two more people at a cafe. He'd walked in to the crowded restaurant, picked out two people seemingly at random, shot them, then turned around and left in the ensuing pandemonium. How he was eluding the police, who were now out in force patrolling the area, was a mystery, but according to earlier witness statements, he'd changed his appearance in the three hours since the previous shooting.
The police station was in chaos when they arrived. The local lieutenant in charge of the task force practically tackled them as soon as they walked in the door. "We got a letter. From the shooter," he said, not even waiting for introductions. Hotch immediately handed off the letter to Reid for analysis. The rest of the team split off to interview survivors and look at the last crime scene. Emily stayed behind to try and corral all the information pouring in from all quarters.
One of the detectives found him a magnifier and he set to analyzing the letter. "What's it say?" Emily asked.
"It's long and detailed. More like a manifesto. The content is nothing extraordinary, he's disgruntled, he's been treated badly by society, he'll make everyone else suffer as he's suffered, and so on. What interests me is the handwriting. It's extremely controlled." She came up next to him and leaned over his shoulder, then he felt her hand settle on the back of his neck, her thumb making the tiniest stroking motion against his skin. It calmed him a little. "The spaces are even, the letters are carefully formed, he never has to cram in letters because he's running out of room. It's like he's rehearsed writing this. I bet we'll find several drafts of this note in his house where he's written and rewritten it over and over." He shook his head. "This isn't a guy who snapped or had a psychotic break. He's planned this. He's not stopping until he's done, or until we stop him."
Emily's phone rang. Her hand fell away from his neck as she stepped away to answer it and he immediately missed its warmth.
The shooter claimed three more victims that day, one at a library and two at a pizza place. No pattern emerged between the victims nor between the locations where the shootings occurred. Reid felt profoundly useless, as did the rest of the team, when their profile turned out to be not helpful in the slightest. They could tell a lot about the shooter from his actions and his letter, except where he was, who he was and where he'd kill next.
The break in the case came when one of the witnesses actually recognized the shooter as a man who'd worked on a roofing crew at her house. From there it was a short hop to identifying the man, and by eight o'clock that night they were getting ready to raid his house. The agents and police gathered a block away, getting on their Kevlar, breaking up into teams. Reid helped Emily tighten her vest, letting his hand rest on her side for a bit longer than he needed to. As they approached the house and waited to rush in, she looked over at him with a clear "be careful" message in her gaze. He sent her some of the same back, and then they were bursting in, guns raised.
The shooter wasn't in the house. Reid and Morgan had just cleared the living room when suddenly the plate-glass door right next to Reid broke inward in a noisy glut of glass. A sizable rock landed on the carpet, but before anybody could do more than duck, a man leapt through the door and right into Reid, tackling him to the ground. Somewhere in the back of his mind Reid registered Emily calling his name. Before Reid could even think about striking back, hands were hauling the shooter off of him and Morgan had the guy in a headlock on the ground. It's good to have friends who teach hand-to-hand combat, Reid thought.
Emily was suddenly there kneeling next to him. "Are you okay?" she said, worry and fear a little too evident on her face. The feeling in her face touched him even while he worried that someone else would notice.
"I'm fine," he said, sending her a bit of a warning look. Don't look at me like that. We're just co-workers, remember? She swallowed hard and dialed down her expression.
"Are you cut?" she asked, her hands flicking over the exposed skin of his arms, neck and face, looking for blood.
"I don't think so." Hotch extended a hand and helped him off the ground. "Ow," he said, rubbing the back of his head. "Might have cracked my skull on the floor, though."
"Oh, we better check that out," Morgan said, having handed off the shooter to the Tempe police. "We don't want anything to happen that that brain in there."
"No, we don't," Emily said, quieter, and without Morgan's joking tone. Reid felt her surreptitiously pat his arm, then she made herself scarce.
Reid watched her go, remembering the look in her eyes when she thought he might be hurt. If you were waiting for a signal, Dr. Reid, I think you just got it.
Finally, on a Thursday afternoon back at the BAU, she got a text message from him. Meet me in the file storage room. Sneaking to the little-used room, looking over her shoulder, keenly aware of being surrounded by profilers. Unlocking the room and slipping inside, locking the door behind her.
--How to Fight Loneliness, Chapter 3
THURSDAY
Reid was biding his time.
The team had returned from Tempe late Monday night, and Tuesday morning had found them back on the jet to Pittsburgh for a child kidnapping. That had kept them away until Wednesday afternoon. The opportunities for Reid and Emily to continue their nonverbal courtship had been few and far between. He'd barely seen her at all on Tuesday, she'd been out in the field with Rossi most of the day and he'd been up to his eyebrows in case files of kidnappings in the area going back ten years. They'd all staggered back to the hotel Tuesday night just before midnight, finally too tired to keep working. He'd felt her hand brush across his back as she headed for her room, around the corner from his. A tiny gesture, but it had buoyed him into his room and into his dreams.
Wednesday night he had finally been hit with the perfect idea for where he could take her on the date he'd been planning in his head for almost two weeks.
Standing on the tarmac at the airport, waiting for the jet to taxi in from its holding area and pick them up, Emily had stood next to him with her arms wrapped around herself against the chill in the night air. He'd wished that he could step up behind her and wrap her up in his arms to keep her warm, but he couldn't. She'd looked up into the sky and smiled. It was a perfectly clear night; it would be the new moon on Friday so the sky was very dark and every star was brilliant, or as much as it could be given their proximity to the city.
"Pretty stars tonight," Rossi had commented, seeing her upward gaze.
"Mmm," she'd agreed. "Beautiful. I used to stargaze when I was a kid. Whenever we'd move to a new place, I'd get out my dad’s Atlas of the Heavens and look up which constellations I could see that were different from the last place we'd been, and I'd always look for the North Star. It was like finding one constant thing."
Reid had risked a look over at her profile, tilted up toward the stars, and he knew where to take her.
So now everything was in place. He'd made the necessary calls. All he had to do was ask her. But when? How?
She'd dropped him a wink when she came in that morning. He'd been too nervous to return it. He tried to concentrate on his files and succeeded for the most part, although he was hyperaware of her sitting across from him.
Finally, he couldn't wait anymore. He got up and went down the hall to the only place on the floor he could be sure they wouldn't be disturbed – the file storage room. No one ever went in there. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, then sent her a text message.
Then, he waited.
FRIDAY
Spencer Reid was a man known for his intellect, counted upon by his team for his ability to solve puzzles, piece together clues, and notice details. He'd received a grand total of five commendations from his superiors for his quick and lifesaving solution of cases.
But at the moment, he couldn't even decide which pants to wear.
He glanced at the clock. If he wasn't to be late to pick up Emily, he had to leave in fifteen minutes. He'd had it all worked out, timed down to the last minute, but none of his plans and schedules had included time for pants debate.
Yesterday's rendezvous with Emily in the file storage room had been – exhilarating. She'd barely entered the room before they were kissing, finally kissing again as they had in Minnesota, as he'd longed to kiss her again ever since. And she'd started it, grabbing him and pulling him in with definite intent. If he'd doubted that she wanted this with him, he no longer had to. Somehow he'd mustered the presence of mind to finally ask her out on a date, and she'd said yes. And then she'd kissed him again. They'd stood there in the dark little closet, engaged in what he imagined Garcia would call "making out" for some time before a sense of propriety had drawn them back to their desks.
Today had been agonizing. Knowing where things stood, at least for now, having gotten the words in the open and admitted out loud that there was something going on between them – well, their fun little unacknowledged game was no longer so satisfying nor so fun. It was just an inadequate substitute. Ever conscious of the perceptive eyes of their co-workers, they'd tamped themselves back to pre-Minnesota levels of friendly interaction. No flirty smiles, no clandestine hand-squeezes, no smirky cocked eyebrows. Just a normal day's work in the BAU and vague, circumspect answers to innocent questions from others about their weekend plans.
Morgan's usual teasing about Reid's love life was particularly galling. "How about you, pretty boy?" he'd said, like he did almost every Friday. "Hot date?"
"Sure. Me and some particle physics."
"Oooh. Jump back."
"Particle physics is sexy," Emily said. "All those bosons and leptons and quarks. You know two of the quarks are called 'top' and 'bottom'? Sounds naughty to me." She grinned at him, and Reid was damn near undone by the sight of a woman he was rapidly becoming crazy about smiling and making sexual innuendoes about particle physics.
Somehow, the time had passed. Emily had gotten up to leave right at the stroke of five. "What's your hurry?" Morgan said. "Don't tell me you have a hot date, too."
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said. Reid felt a bright flare of jealousy before he remembered that she was referring to him.
I’m her hot date. I think I’m going to pass out.
"Oh yeah? Who's the lucky guy?" Morgan asked, twinkling and smirking all over the place.
Emily didn't so much as glance in Reid's direction. "That is for me to know and you not to find out."
"Hoo, baby," Morgan crowed, grinning. "I like the sound of that."
"You like the sound of your own voice," Emily said, smacking him on the shoulder. "Night, Reid."
"Night, Emily." He watched her leave. She glanced back when she got to the bullpen doors and gave him a tiny eyeroll with a glance at Morgan’s back, then she was gone.
And now here he was. He was supposed to pick her up at seven. He now had just eleven minutes to achieve pants. He didn't think it would make a very good impression to show up in his boxer shorts.
His first instinct was just to wear what he'd worn to work that day, but then his better nature had appealed that decision. She'd most certainly change her clothes, and didn't he want her to see that he wanted to look his best for her? He was clean and shaved, his teeth were brushed, his hair was -- just sort of hanging there, like it always did. This was what he looked like. Emily seemed to find it attractive, so why make some artificial effort to change things up?
Wear jeans.
But isn't that dressing down? Shouldn't I dress up for a date?
Garcia says jeans make a man's butt look good.
Spencer had never given much thought to how his pants would affect the appearance of his butt. Not that he had much of a butt.
Just wear the damn jeans. It'll be a night of Spencer Does Things Differently. Things like wearing jeans, and taking your gorgeous co-worker out on a date.
And maybe having sex.
He cut that thought off before it could go too much further. He didn't want to presume; she might pick up on any expectation he had and he didn't want to come off like he had an expectation. It'd be up to her how far things went tonight. He was reasonably sure that there would be kissing of some kind, but beyond that, he wasn't going to count on anything.
In the end, he wore the jeans.
When she opened her door in answer to his knock and looked him up and down, he could see that he'd made the correct choice.
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no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 12:57 am (UTC)Cant wait for more although I may have to cover my eyes and hide when we get further in this relatioship.
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Date: 2010-06-26 01:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 06:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 06:34 pm (UTC)I wish there was more Reid/Prentiss, I really do. If you look at the tags on bau_fic, about 60% of them are...me. So sad! Moar love for R/P!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 04:38 am (UTC)Two things. First, when you were writing HTFL, did you have the background for these scenes you've expounded upon here already? Or did you mention them lightly there, and then went back in filled in what would fit? Just interested in the plotting aspect of plot, haha.
Second, this line is hilarious and A+: He now had just eleven minutes to achieve pants. I will never again say 'get pants on'. It will always be 'achieve pants' from now on.
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Date: 2010-06-26 06:37 pm (UTC)To answer your question, I had some of the backgrounds of things in my head. I had an idea when I was writing HTFL about how long Reid had been going to Hilda's, etc.
Also, when I first decided to write CM fic, I had several ideas. One was HTFL. Another was a fic where R and P sort of fell into an unspoken, secret courtship in the office much as they do here (although without the hotel-room kiss to start things off) and let that go on for months until they had to break out of it when one of them was hurt. The latter part of that made its way into "Marked." The nonverbal courtship part ended up in vastly reduced form in HTFL, and this was my shot to write it out more completely.
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Date: 2010-06-26 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 08:03 am (UTC)Thank you, also, for waiting to post until the story's finished. It makes me much less impatient knowing there will be another chapter coming in a day or two. (Though I may still be a little impatient!)
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Date: 2010-06-26 11:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 05:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-26 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-08 02:17 am (UTC)