Permission
Title: Permission
Pairing: Reid/Garcia, or Reid & Garcia
Rating: PG13
Prompt: I need you (via cm_het_drabble) & tortured (via my crimeland prompt table)
Words: 790 (oops!)
Warnings: Spoilers for Identity, references to torture
Notes: Drabble!fail... yet again.
"Garcia?"
It's late, and it's quiet, and she is concentrating with all of her might -- which is considerable (it has to be to do this job) -- on trying to unsee things, so the sound of a voice is both startling and frightening. She drops her book into her lap, her heart ricocheting around her chest like a bullet before screeching to a stop at the base of her throat and thumping itself back into a normal rhythm when she realizes who it is.
"Reid! You scared the crap out of me!"
"I'm sorry," he says, narrowing his eyes in question. "I saw your light on, and I was just going to shut it off. I didn't know you were still here." He pauses. "Why are you still here?"
"I could ask the same of you, Dr. Late-night," she says, closing her book and marking her page. "What gives?"
Reid shrugs. "I had a stack of files a foot high on my desk."
"No, you didn't. And even if you did, it would take you all of what -- six minutes? -- to go through them." After a moment, she adds, "If you've had that cute little intern under your desk trying to earn some brownie points, I'm going to report you. I don't even think she's legal!"
"She's not." Reid scans the wall of screens, all blinking with multi-colored starbursts. "You're not working."
Garcia sighs heavily, tossing her book onto her desk. "Nope."
"So what are you doing?"
"Not working."
"But you can not work at home."
"You really are a genius," she teases. "That's true. But I don't want to."
Reid leans against the corner of the desk, crossing his legs and tilting his head.
Garcia narrows her eyes. "Don't look at me like that!"
"Like what?"
"Like a profiler!"
"I'm not profiling you."
"Yes, you are!"
"I'm just wondering why you don't want to go home."
"How do you know I..."
"You just told me."
Garcia sighs, curling her arms against her stomach and staring up at him. She hates how exposed he can make her feel sometimes; how naked. "I didn't want to be alone."
"You knew I was here?"
Suddenly embarrassed, and for no particular reason she can discern, Garcia nods meekly.
Reid's forehead furrows. "But I startled you when I opened your door. What's bothering you? Why are you so jumpy?"
"Everything," Garcia answers, her voice small and tired. She knows when to concede defeat.
"The footage," Reid says quietly. "Goehring."
Garcia nods again, the movement of her head barely perceptible. "Did you see it?"
Reid's mouth tightens at the memory. "Some of it."
"Well, I saw all of it. Every. Single. Horrifying. Frame. I don't know how you do it."
"Do what?"
"Sit in the same room with psychos like that. Share space. Share oxygen. I don't... I don't like them being so close to you. It's creepy."
"We have to. It helps us to..."
She cuts him off, her eyes tired and resigned. "I know. But I don't have to like it."
Reid settles himself into the chair next to her and stares openly at her, searching for something. For once, though, he doesn't speak. His silence is an invitation.
Garcia twists her hands together in her lap, tight like the knot in her stomach. "I can't get rid of it. I can't make it go away. When I'm not focused on something else, that's what I see. Those women. They... they were alone for a second, and that's what happened to them, Reid. A second. That's all it took for that scumbag to get a hold of them. When I go home, I'm alone for hours. I...." She stops. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he says. That's all. He doesn't rattle off statistics at her about the unlikelihood of being kidnapped and tortured and raped; he doesn't tell her the things she should do to make herself less of a target; he doesn't try to make it better; make it go away. He just tells her not to be sorry. He gives her permission to be frightened.
And just like that, her belly fills up with warmth and her head feels heavy, and she is calmer than she has been in hours. Her mouth curls into a small smile, and she tilts her head to look at him.
"Do you want me to stick around?" he asks after a moment.
Garcia nods her head. "Mmmhm. I think I need you to. If you don't mind."
"Of course," Reid says, and reaches into his pocket for a deck of cards.
As he deals them, Garcia asks, "Why did you stay late tonight?"
"Because you did. And you never do, unless you're working."
Pairing: Reid/Garcia, or Reid & Garcia
Rating: PG13
Prompt: I need you (via cm_het_drabble) & tortured (via my crimeland prompt table)
Words: 790 (oops!)
Warnings: Spoilers for Identity, references to torture
Notes: Drabble!fail... yet again.
"Garcia?"
It's late, and it's quiet, and she is concentrating with all of her might -- which is considerable (it has to be to do this job) -- on trying to unsee things, so the sound of a voice is both startling and frightening. She drops her book into her lap, her heart ricocheting around her chest like a bullet before screeching to a stop at the base of her throat and thumping itself back into a normal rhythm when she realizes who it is.
"Reid! You scared the crap out of me!"
"I'm sorry," he says, narrowing his eyes in question. "I saw your light on, and I was just going to shut it off. I didn't know you were still here." He pauses. "Why are you still here?"
"I could ask the same of you, Dr. Late-night," she says, closing her book and marking her page. "What gives?"
Reid shrugs. "I had a stack of files a foot high on my desk."
"No, you didn't. And even if you did, it would take you all of what -- six minutes? -- to go through them." After a moment, she adds, "If you've had that cute little intern under your desk trying to earn some brownie points, I'm going to report you. I don't even think she's legal!"
"She's not." Reid scans the wall of screens, all blinking with multi-colored starbursts. "You're not working."
Garcia sighs heavily, tossing her book onto her desk. "Nope."
"So what are you doing?"
"Not working."
"But you can not work at home."
"You really are a genius," she teases. "That's true. But I don't want to."
Reid leans against the corner of the desk, crossing his legs and tilting his head.
Garcia narrows her eyes. "Don't look at me like that!"
"Like what?"
"Like a profiler!"
"I'm not profiling you."
"Yes, you are!"
"I'm just wondering why you don't want to go home."
"How do you know I..."
"You just told me."
Garcia sighs, curling her arms against her stomach and staring up at him. She hates how exposed he can make her feel sometimes; how naked. "I didn't want to be alone."
"You knew I was here?"
Suddenly embarrassed, and for no particular reason she can discern, Garcia nods meekly.
Reid's forehead furrows. "But I startled you when I opened your door. What's bothering you? Why are you so jumpy?"
"Everything," Garcia answers, her voice small and tired. She knows when to concede defeat.
"The footage," Reid says quietly. "Goehring."
Garcia nods again, the movement of her head barely perceptible. "Did you see it?"
Reid's mouth tightens at the memory. "Some of it."
"Well, I saw all of it. Every. Single. Horrifying. Frame. I don't know how you do it."
"Do what?"
"Sit in the same room with psychos like that. Share space. Share oxygen. I don't... I don't like them being so close to you. It's creepy."
"We have to. It helps us to..."
She cuts him off, her eyes tired and resigned. "I know. But I don't have to like it."
Reid settles himself into the chair next to her and stares openly at her, searching for something. For once, though, he doesn't speak. His silence is an invitation.
Garcia twists her hands together in her lap, tight like the knot in her stomach. "I can't get rid of it. I can't make it go away. When I'm not focused on something else, that's what I see. Those women. They... they were alone for a second, and that's what happened to them, Reid. A second. That's all it took for that scumbag to get a hold of them. When I go home, I'm alone for hours. I...." She stops. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he says. That's all. He doesn't rattle off statistics at her about the unlikelihood of being kidnapped and tortured and raped; he doesn't tell her the things she should do to make herself less of a target; he doesn't try to make it better; make it go away. He just tells her not to be sorry. He gives her permission to be frightened.
And just like that, her belly fills up with warmth and her head feels heavy, and she is calmer than she has been in hours. Her mouth curls into a small smile, and she tilts her head to look at him.
"Do you want me to stick around?" he asks after a moment.
Garcia nods her head. "Mmmhm. I think I need you to. If you don't mind."
"Of course," Reid says, and reaches into his pocket for a deck of cards.
As he deals them, Garcia asks, "Why did you stay late tonight?"
"Because you did. And you never do, unless you're working."