Criminal Minds Fic #2: The One Where Reid Speaks at the Law Enforcement Conference
Title: The One Where Reid Speaks at the Law Enforcement Conference
Author: myrna1_2_3
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Reid speaks at a law enforcement conference
Word count: ~5,500
"Become who you are."
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Special Supervisory Agent Emily Prentiss raced into the Grand Ballroom of the upscale Madison Hotel trying-and failing-to look like she wasn’t running. Hotch thought fleetingly that the daughter of an ambassador should have more composure, but he admired her grace when she slid into an aisle seat like a baseball player stealing second base. She leaned in towards her colleagues and reported with an agitated whisper, “Rossi dressed him!”
“No!” Agents Garcia and JJ instantly denied, while Derrick Morgan wildly craned his neck to catch a glimpse.
“Holy crap,” Morgan said when he finally honed in on Reid.
He did look well turned out, Hotch had to agree as Reid strolled into the meeting room looking more like he was on his way to a runway in Milan than a speaking podium to refute a recently published hit job on profiling.
Rossi waltzed in behind Reid wearing a look so smug Hotch wouldn’t have been surprised to see canary feathers at the corner of his mouth.
Thank God we’re not in the military, Hotch thought. Rossi’s attitude from the start of his relationship with Reid had been Whaddya Mean, Don’t Tell?
Rossi once said to Hotch that he wouldn’t risk Spencer’s thinking he harbored an ounce of regret or reserve about what they were doing.
Even as he cautioned his friend to exercise at least a little discretion, the staid and reserved Hotchner couldn’t help being impressed by Rossi’s confidence and integrity. He said as much one night when they’d scored tickets to a Georgetown basketball game. Rossi had shrugged off the compliment, “Yeah it only took me three failed marriages to get my head out of my ass. Someone oughta give me a medal or something.”
The supervisor in Hotch still had to ask, “Aren’t you concerned there might be repercussions to being as… well… out as you are?”
Rossi thought about that for a moment before answering, “I don’t need the Job the way I once did, Aaron. Financially I’m set. I’ve already found other things I’m happy doing. And Spencer’s gonna invent a thought-control device and become supreme ruler of the world one day, so we don’t gotta worry about him…” Hotch had laughed as Rossi continued. “Besides, I don’t think we’re as out as you think we are. You know as well as I do that someone not looking for something usually doesn’t find it.”
“I don’t know--I get the impression you’re inviting people to look.”
“Only ‘cause you’re a suspicious bastard,” Rossi had said, then earnestly asked, “You ever thought about bein’ a cop?”
Hotch shook his head now, inwardly amused as he remembered that conversation. He put on the blandest face he could and said, “Is Reid picking up a new shirt over the weekend really this shocking?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Morgan said. “That ain’t off the rack--that’s couture, man.”
Prentiss kept her eyes solidly on Reid, but leaned in closer to Garcia. “Are you sure Morgan isn’t the gay one?” she asked.
Morgan just elbowed her as he shook his head in proud disbelief. “I can’t believe this is the same kid who ordered buttered noodles the first time we went to a restaurant together.”
“I’m not sure graduating to buttered pasta constitutes all that much growth,” Hotch said. “Could someone explain to me again why the entire team needed to be here?”
“Profiling is under fire,” Morgan said, sincerity oozing from his pores. Hotch almost looked down to see if it was spilling on to his new shoes. “We need to show a united front.”
“By eating mass quantities of pastries?” Hotch said. “ What is that, your third danish? We’ve been here 20 minutes.”
“Gotta feed the belly before you feed the soul,” Morgan replied, popping the last of the pastry in his mouth. “Besides, the Bureau is encouraging our attendance at conferences and symposiums for which the Bureau will not incur additional expenditures like hotel, meals and other sundry items.”
“Thank you, Dr. Reid,” Hotch said.
“Focus, people!” Prentiss said. “So Reid and Rossi walk in the door and Gideon’s there in the lobby and sprints over to give Spencer a bear hug,” Prentiss relayed.
“Did Reid hug him back?” Morgan asked. “Remember how Gideon used to go all Deepok Chopra on Reid--he’d throw that arm around him, and Reid always acted like Gideon’d just bathed in Uranium or something?” Morgan demonstrated with Garcia who accordingly stiffened at Morgan’s contact. The others laughed at the exaggerated look of horror on her face.
“Well he seems to have gotten over that particular neuroses,” Hotch said wryly.
All of them, having caught Rossi and Reid in one compromising position or another, nodded wisely in agreement.
“Did Gideon and Rossi shake hands?” Morgan asked. Prentiss nodded and Morgan fired back for additional details. “Any shoulder slap, back slap, cupping of the elbow?”
“No, 100% business all the way, hand-shake, crisp nods. Rossi had his left hand at the small of Reid’s back.”
They all digested this with knowing looks and thoughtful nods.
“All right JJ, time for a little recon,” Morgan said, motioning with a tilt of his head to where Reid and Gideon were talking.
“Why do I have to go first?” JJ asked.
“Because you already talked to Gideon for 15 minutes in the lobby,” Morgan said. “He’s not going to have to stop what he’s doing and give you the meet and greet.”
“But I just got a cup a minute ago…”
“So? You need caffeine! You’ve got a baby at home, waking you up at all hours!”
“To breastfeed!” said JJ. “We’re trying to keep the caffeine to a minimum at least until Henry’s capable of sitting upright.”
“Go!” Emily ordered.
JJ marched over to the refreshment table, giving Reid, Gideon and Rossi a sickly smile as she passed. She poured herself a cup of coffee, leaning back toward them at an awkward angle that might have made sense if the coffee had the potential to erupt from the carafe like lava from a volcano.
Her cup filled, JJ strolled back with studied nonchalance that was matched only by the indifference of the team that immediately swarmed around her demanding details in hissed whispers.
Hotch made a mental note to schedule some additional training in the art of role-play.
“Reid’s telling him about Italy!” JJ whispered.
“You are lying!” Prentiss whispered back.
“Details!” Garcia ordered. “Italy like I went to Italy and saw a lot of beautiful art or I went to Italy with my sugar daddy and by the way do you like the 20,000 dollar outfit he bought me?”
“How long do you think it takes me to pour a cup of coffee?” JJ said. “I heard Reid say, ‘…in Italy,’ Gideon said, ‘Oh, where?,’ and Reid said, ‘That’s when we were still in Amalfi.’.”
“He said ‘we,’?” Prentiss clarified. “You’re sure he said, ‘we’?”
“Positive,” JJ said.
“Gideon knows,” Prentiss said decisively. “He’s not going to let Reid drop a ‘we’ and not follow up on who that ‘we’ is unless he already knows the answer.”
“No way,” Garcia said. “Look at Rossi pacing around. If Gideon knew, Rossi’d be standing there next to Reid doing the coupley ‘we-spent-our-honeymoon-in-Italy’ thing.”
“Says the woman who thought Reid was making time with Angela O’Neil in White Collar,” Prentiss said.
“She’s really nice.”
“She’s 62.”
“You act like that takes her out of the running,” Garcia replied.
“The “she” part does!” Prentiss answered.
Garcia waved away the discussion. “Dammit, Jim, I’m the IT girl, not a profiler!”
“Fat lot of good that does us,” Prentiss said. “One little mike tucked over by the coffee pot and we wouldn’t have to guess what they’re saying.”
“Well if you hadn’t opened your big mouth in front of Hotch, he would have been fine with our checking out a couple of pieces of equipment…”
“No, he really wouldn’t have,” Hotch said. “Am I lacking in form and substance today? You can see me, right?”
“Morgan, what say you?” Garcia asked.
Morgan shook his head. “Tough call, tough call,” he said. “The thing is, Rossi won’t be able to stand Gideon not knowing. No way, no how.”
“Even if Reid doesn’t want him to?” Garcia asked.
“It’s an issue of passion,” Morgan said. “Rossi’s ego about this thing with Reid way over trumps Reid’s reticence. He ain’t gonna put the brakes on the old man. Anyway, my money’s on Reid not caring if Gideon knows.”
“Where’s your money when it comes to Reid caring about the four of you skulking around like this?” Hotch asked.
“Skulking?” Morgan indignantly repeated. “You make us sound sinister. We’re just keepin’ an eye on our boys.” He winked at Garcia. “Chop chop, Baby Girl. Coffee time.”
“What exactly are you going to do if you don’t like something Gideon says?” Hotch asked Prentiss.
“That is a good question,” Prentiss said. “The only thing that comes to mind right now is stop, drop & roll, but I’m not sure that will help.”
Hotch sighed and shook his head as he watched Garcia tiptoe-Good heavens, why was she tiptoeing?-over to the refreshment table. She was staring so intently at Reid while she filled her cup that the coffee overflowed and burnt her fingers.
Aware of Garcia’s scrutiny, Reid absent-mindedly started brushing presumed crumbs from his face. “Do I have something on my mouth?” Hotch heard him ask Rossi. Rossi gave him the once over and shook his head, then whispered something into his ear. Whatever he said must have been lewd because Reid blushed crimson right up to the top of his forehead.
Garcia scooted back over to the group, blowing on her fingers. “Delicious!” she sang excitedly. “Gideon just asked Rossi if he had any children, and Rossi said he always assumed he’d adopt an older child later in life!”
Prentiss clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her squeal in check while Morgan muttered, “Get out!” and JJ took Garcia’s cup and put it with the 10 others that were on the table next to them.
“What did Gideon say?” Prentiss asked.
“I don’t know--that’s when I got the third degree burns.”
Prentiss studied the trio. “With Gideon and Rossi trying to out-cool each other and Reid with his usual public-speaking-nausea thing, it’s impossible to know what’s going on.”
“How exactly would things be different if you knew?” Hotch asked to no one in particular and was soundly ignored.
There was a moment of commotion in the room and it took a minute to find the cause, but finally, Hotch realized John Burton, second in command of the FBI had entered the ballroom. That was a bit of a surprise-he hadn’t heard that any of the higher-ups were going to be in attendance. Burton had risen through the ranks of the FBI, one of the few men to opt in at the bottom rung and work his way up to the near top. Convention wisdom had Burton on the short list to be named Director if Barack Obama won the presidential election in November.
Burton greeted a few colleagues who had been standing near the door, but his attention was elsewhere. He intently surveyed the room and damn if he didn’t point toward-Reid?-and head over to the young man. Reid wasn’t expecting him, that much was clear in his surprised reaction. But he smiled in welcome and shook the Assistant Director’s hand, promptly introducing him to Gideon. Hotch felt like Rossi’s greeting was familiar. He wasn’t meeting Burton for the first time, but given his notoriety in the Bureau that was hardly surprising. Burton kept a hand on Reid’s shoulder as he spoke, and Hotch wracked his brain to try and remember when Reid would have come in to contact with the man.
“Morgan!” Hotch barked and Morgan’s head snapped his way. “You look thirsty. Go get a cup of coffee.”
“I’m on it,” Morgan said. He loped toward the coffee table, stopping halfway there to lean down and polish the side of his shoe.
Hotch wondered idly how in the hell any of them had ever managed to scam a confession out of an unsub. They were really, really bad actors.
Morgan came back with a cup of coffee and another danish-what was that, number five?--“You are not going to believe this. I’m walkin’ by and Burton says to Reid, and I quote, ‘Ellen loved the exhibit, she just wished you could have gone with her to explain the history.’ God’s truth.”
“Unbelievable!” Garcia exclaimed. “All this Rossi drama the past few months, and we completely missed that Reid is BFFs with the FBI’s second in command!”
“Do he and Rossi go back?” Prentiss wondered.
Morgan shrugged. “That wouldn’t explain why he and Reid are so chummy.”
Garcia rolled her eyes and demonstrated for him. “Hello John, old buddy, have you met my fiancé Spencer Reid?”
Prentiss turned suddenly and glared at Hotch. “I cannot believe you were going to make us miss this.”
“It has gotten interesting, hasn’t it?” Hotch said, tossing the last of a cinnamon danish in his mouth. “I’m going to go get some coffee.”
=================================================================
Reid was the third speaker on the program and he walked up to the podium following a pat on the back from John Burton, a shoulder squeeze from Jason Gideon and a searing gaze of confidence from David Rossi. Hotch felt a wash of affection for their youngest team member. Did he feel the weight of expectation from these three icons of law enforcement? Was it a comfort or a curse? No doubt a mixture of both, Hotch thought.
“With apologies to Somerset Maugham,” Reid began with a shaky smile, “There are three rules for making an interesting speech at a law enforcement conference. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”
At the sound of laughter, Reid visibly relaxed, his smile growing bright and natural. He met Rossi’s heated stare with a look of delight, then cleared his throat and began his talk in earnest.
“The ovaries of all five women sitting in the third row just exploded,” Prentiss whispered to Morgan, who snorted into his coffee.
Hotch leaned closer to Rossi and clucked his tongue, whispering, “Writing our boyfriend’s papers now are we? What’s next?”
Rossi chuckled. “Just the opening. To understand what he wrote, you have to be fluent in Latin, 15th century literature, and Bell’s Theorem of No One Knows What the Hell You’re Talking About.”
“Oh,” Hotchner said. “Well, thanks for dumbing it down for us.”
Rossi said nothing--his rapt attention was all on Spencer Reid who was confidently explaining to a crowd of over 200 law enforcement personnel why a profile that seemed to encompass every trait possible was remarkable for the traits it had purposefully left out.
Six speakers and roughly 400 PowerPoint slides later, the conference was adjourned. Attendees milled about for awhile, exchanging business cards and small talk. Reid introduced John Burton to the remainder of his team and accepted their praise of his presentation with chagrin and pleasure.
As Burton took his leave, Hotch heard Gideon-who’d been talking privately with Rossi-excuse himself to the restroom. The door was swinging shut behind him when Rossi loudly slammed shut his briefcase. Rossi stalked up to the group and before anyone could say a word, he glared at Reid and said, “Car.”
Reid smiled at his co-workers. “I guess we’re heading out, then,” he said affably. “See you in the morning.”
Morgan, Prentiss, JJ and Garcia watched them go with wide eyes. “What was that about?” Prentiss asked. “Dammit! Who was paying attention to Rossi and Gideon?”
“Did Reid play us?” Morgan wondered. “You don’t think he brought Burton over here to keep us from pickin’ up on Rossi and Gideon, do you?”
“Reid doesn’t have a devious bone in his body!” Garcia said. “But Rossi has hundreds. Maybe even thousands. How many bones are in the human body anyway?”
“We should have filmed this,” Prentiss said. “Much easier to deconstruct video than memory.”
Gideon returned to the ballroom and walked over to Hotch. Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia were now making plans to stop off somewhere for dinner, while JJ begged off to get home to the baby. They were almost to the door when Hotch stopped them.
“Hey, guys?” he called. Four heads turned at once. “Just so we can document how worthwhile it was for all of us to be here, I want Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia each to draft five page overviews of the topics covered with recommendations for further study. Have them on JJ’s desk first thing tomorrow morning so JJ can synthesize them into a single document for my review.”
The four of them stared at each other for a beat, then Morgan raised his hand in the middle of the circle they formed. “Totally worth it,” he said. In absolute agreement, Garcia, Prentiss and JJ all brought their hands up for a group high five.
==================================================================
Watching the door of the ballroom swing close behind his old teammates, Gideon’s smile was fond, warm. Hotch could only grin back and shake his head. They’re crazy, but they’re mine.
“You were right,” Gideon said placidly.
“I know,” Hotch said, then a beat later, “About what?”
Gideon chuckled. “Spencer. He’s…thriving.”
Hotch took exception to the vindication in Jason’s tone, and a petty part of him wanted to say, “In spite of you, Jason,” but what would that accomplish? Gideon seemed to be thriving as well, and Hotch was glad.
“Your team is supportive of the relationship between Spencer and David Rossi.”
It wasn’t a question; but then again, the not-ready-for-primetime players were hardly subtle today. Hotch nodded and didn’t mask the pride in his tone. “They are.”
“What, exactly, were they afraid I was going to do?”
Hotch laughed at Gideon’s puzzled curiosity. “You know, it is funny. The steadier Reid becomes, the more comfortable he is in his skin, the more protective we’ve become. We’re lucky Reid is more amused than irritated.”
“Yeah?” Gideon asked, and Hotch knew the Reid Gideon remembered probably wouldn’t have been attuned enough to the people around him to even realize what they were doing.
“Yeah,” answered Hotch. “He even humors us now and then and let’s us think we’re actually helping in some way. He’s recognizing where he fits in the family dynamic. Accepting it.”
“I’m glad,” Gideon said. He sighed, and if there was melancholy to it, there was an equal amount of contentment. He cocked an eyebrow at Hotch, motioned toward the door Rossi and Reid had just walked through and said, “Don’t you worry about the power imbalance?”
“Well, of course,” Aaron admitted. He patted Gideon on the back and urged him toward door as well. Their dinner reservations were for seven and DC traffic was unpredictable. “So far, though, Spencer seems to be taking it pretty easy on him.”
==================================================================
Rossi opened the door that led to the underground garage and motioned for Reid to go through first. “You’re evil,” Reid said, looking straight ahead.
“I was perfectly pleasant to Gideon,” Rossi said, unlocking the doors as they neared the car.
Reid pursed his lips. “No, I mean that little performance you put on for the team.”
Rossi grinned as he got behind the wheel. “Evil seems harsh,” he said.
“They’re going to be insufferable for days now, trying to pry details out about some manufactured altercation that never even happened!”
Rossi shrugged. “It’s not like they’re all that sufferable anyway.”
“It’s easy for you-your office has a door!”
“And walls,” Rossi affably agreed.
“Even Hotch was all…curious. I don’t understand, that-he knows I had dinner with Gideon last night.”
Rossi laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, but he didn’t know John Burton was going to drop by with an atta boy for you-that’s what’s on his radar. The only reason Hotch isn’t always stickin’ his nose in is because he thinks he knows what’s goin’ on. The minute he might not, he’s right in there with Prentiss and the rest of our motley crew.”
“Who get no encouragement whatsoever from you,” Reid added sarcastically.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” Reid echoed incredulously. “Three days before we left for Italy, you asked Garcia to research gay marriage in Europe.”
Rossi wiped the grin from his mouth and put on his most earnest face. “Not during work hours and certainly not using the FBI’s computer.” Reid looked unimpressed. “I can’t be curious about other cultures?”
Reid just rolled his eyes. “What about the time you asked Morgan if he personally knew someone who was willing to be a surrogate mother?”
Rossi reacted with affront. “That was related to the missing person’s case we were investigating.”
“Paula Shaver is a dog groomer!”
“Of childbearing years.”
“Asking Prentiss to recommend some good books on understanding the transgendered mind? What was that about?”
Rossi tried to mask his laugh as a cough, but finally conceded. Torturing Spencer with illogic was close to cruel and unusual punishment. “Okay, maybe that time I was just messin’ with them.”
“Maybe,” Reid agreed.
“They’re going to stand around and speculate anyway. What does it harm to steer them a little?”
“I say again, you have an office with walls and a door.”
Rossi laughed, reaching over and pulling Reid’s hand to his lips for a kiss. He lifted a curious eyebrow when Reid’s stomach gave a noisy growl. “Hungry for me?” he asked with a comically lecherous look in his eye.
Reid groaned theatrically and probably would have smacked Rossi’s arm save the fact that two percent of all auto accidents could be attributed to passenger interference with the driver. “Hungry for dinner,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be if you ate the stuff I kept bringing over. I’m going to weigh 500 pounds if I have to eat all of the danish I fetch you out of the kindness of my heart.”
Spencer hardly sounded sympathetic. “And yet you always only ever fetch the kind of pastry you like.”
“What?”
Reid began to list as proof, “Apricot turnovers, apricot danish, apricot muffins, apricot breakfast bars…”
“What do you like?”
“Anything that doesn’t have apricots!” Reid answered, his tone suggesting this was not the first time he’d mentioned it.
Rossi laughed. “I’ll try to remember that.”
Spencer smoothed down the front of his shirt. “Morgan liked my clothes,” he said in that shy voice that never failed to charm Rossi.
“He should,” said Rossi. “You look great.”
Reid’s self-deprecating tone was more familiar. “Hotch is concerned that my finances are going to be investigated now.”
“That man spends more on ties in a single year than you’ve spent on your whole wardrobe in the entirety of your 27 years on this planet.”
“Thank you doesn’t seem the appropriate response to that statement.”
Rossi snorted in agreement with that thought. “I hope you told Hotch it’s not your fault you were born to wear sinfully expensive designer clothes.”
“Garcia says it’s because clothes look the same on me as they do on a hanger.”
Rossi’s grin had more than a little leer to it. “I disagree,” he said, and slid a possessive hand across Reid’s leg to rest at his inner thigh.
When they got back to the house, they shifted into domestic mode. Reid retrieved the mail and tossed it on the kitchen desk, then rifled through an impressive stack of take-out menus and placed an order for dinner. Rossi let the dog out in the back yard while reading the ridiculous dog walking report card that sat on the counter by the phone. Not only did it record asinine details like “amount of snuggle time” and “number of belly rubs,” but it was written from the dog’s point of view. “I had three treats!” the sheet exclaimed. “I pooped!” It seemed beneath Muchie’s dignity, but the outfit had been vetted by the Bureau and the dog needed exercise, so what could he do? Still, every time there was a handwritten, first-person note on the bottom of the page-I loved the new park on West Elm!--Rossi didn’t know if it was from the dog walker or the dog.
Spencer seemed a little lost as he watched Rossi toss Muchie’s dinner in his bowl. Rossi cocked his head in question and Spencer shrugged, looking embarrassed and confused.
Speaking to a crowd of law enforcement officials would have been unnerving to Spencer anyway, add to the mix seeing Gideon again, John Burton’s unexpected appearace, and the silly interest of the team, and he was on overload.
Rossi drew him into an embrace and just stood there for a bit, letting Spencer ease in to the physical contact and organize his thoughts. There were no signs of an impending panic attack, so Rossi just held on to him.
Rossi, closed-mouthed bastard that he was, didn’t think it fair to badger Reid to talk about things if he didn’t want to, and Reid gravitated to solitude anyway. It had been a slow, steady effort to get Reid to decompress in his company. That Reid now did it in his arms was a reward he sure as hell didn’t deserve but was glad to take.
They eventually sat down on the couch and Reid began to talk. “At dinner last night, Gideon told me he reconciled with his son,” he said. “I’m not sure what the rift was about, but they spent a couple of weeks together camping out west last month.”
Rossi made a noise that conveyed little more than I’m awake which made Reid smile.
“It is interesting, isn’t it? He reconnects with Steven around the same time I find my dad…Not the same outcomes maybe, but…” Reid sighed, still puzzling out exactly what he was thinking. He gazed at Rossi with doe eyes and said, “Do you think if Gideon and I were still working together…” his voice trailed off and he looked irritated at himself. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.” was all Rossi said.
“Gideon asked me what I liked best about Italy, and I said the DaVinci museum, but that wasn’t even close.” Reid didn’t seem bothered by the deception, and he and Rossi shared sly smiles with each other. “Remember the day we spent in Amalfi and all we did was walk around and eat fresh-baked bread and gelato, and we watched the people in the square and imagined where they were going and what they were going to have for dinner and where they were going to take their vacations. And then we went back to the room and opened the balcony doors and the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves were right there in the room with us and we m-made love in the middle of the day…”
Rossi smiled as Reid tripped over the words. Still, this was a far cry from referring to it-as he had for month after painful month--as engaging in sexual intercourse. Rossi pressed a kiss to Reid’s head. “That was a beautiful day,” he agreed, still unsure why it was troubling to Reid.
“Seeing Gideon… I can remember-precisely-how I felt and who I was when he was at the BAU, but… but it bares so little resemblance to who I am now. It’s kind of disconcerting, you know?” Spencer didn’t wait for an answer. “Dave, I’m… happy. And it’s probably odd to be so amazed by something so elementary but I am, and sometimes it’s kind of… overwhelming to realize just how much I like this life I have, this life we have. Like, hard to take another breath kind of overwhelming, you know?”
Rossi nodded, though he was more comforted by the relationship than anything. He understood what Reid was saying.
“I’ve been connecting the dots in my brain, you know? Who I was to who I am, and I started thinking how I want to stop criminals from hurting people and some day understand them enough to figure out a way to stop them before they even start. And I want to come home and eat dinner with you and read next to you and sleep with you. And I want to go on vacations to Italy with you and make love in the middle of the day. And I worry that maybe…”
Reid’s voice trailed off and the silence between them lasted long enough that Rossi kissed the top of his head and whispered, “Maybe what?”
“Maybe I want too much,” Reid whispered back.
It still shocked Rossi, these periodic shards of heartbreak that went along with loving Spencer Reid. His childhood marked by abandonment, his mother’s mental illness, and an otherness that guaranteed in equal measure both isolation and harassment, Reid had learned time and again to expect so little for himself. Beyond that, he had learned to fear that the simple act of yearning for something meant he was doomed to lose it if it ever came his way.
Rossi kept his breathing even as he protectively cupped the back of Reid’s head and held him tightly against his chest. “Well you don’t,” he whispered; glad Reid now knew him well enough to know his vehemence had nothing to do with anger. “You deserve good things,” Rossi reminded him. “And I don’t know how in the hell I weaseled into the mix, but I ain’t leavin’, and I’m gonna be a part of those good things, and I’m not gonna say somethin’ stupid like for as long as you’ll have me, ‘cause there’s never gonna be a time you won’t have me, capisce?”
Reid’s nod, with his face still pressed against Rossi, was tentative, so Rossi tightened his hold and asked again, “Capisce?”
“Yes,” Reid answered softly, but there was nothing tentative in his answer.
“I love you.” Sometimes the words sounded defiant even to Rossi as he said them, as if daring Reid to doubt him.
“I love you too.”
The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of their dinner. Rossi motioned for Reid to stand then held up a hand so Spencer would pull him up. “You want me to be an asshole tomorrow so everyone leaves you alone?” he asked, grabbing his wallet as he headed for the door.
“No!” Reid said quickly, even as he laughed at the idea. “If they think you turn it off and on for me, they’ll make it my problem every time you’re an asshole for no good reason.”
“When have I ever…” Rossi stopped abruptly at the keen look in Reid’s eye. He’d take it as a personal challenge to list every single example he could. “Never mind,” he muttered.
They ate standing up at the kitchen counter, which never failed to make Rossi a little giddy. “You’re like a little kid who gets to have ice cream for dinner or something,” Reid had said once.
Rossi had just shrugged. “I can’t help it. We have to put up with a lot of crap, bein’ together. I kiss you in public and some asshole makes a face, some woman acts like I’m goin’ to lure her kid into the closest bathroom. Try to list each other as the emergency contact and you’d think we were ordering a truckload of yellowcake. But God dammit, it also means I don’t have to sit my ass down at the table to eat dinner. Almost makes all the crap worthwhile.”
Ice cream for dinner had become shorthand for all the things Rossi loved about being in a relationship with another man.
After they finished eating, Rossi said “ Want to run with me and Much?” He always extended the invitation.
Reid always declined it. “Not unless someone’s chasing me.” He moved to turn on his laptop. “I want to add notes to a couple of case files,” he said, but he was lazing on the couch when Rossi returned from his run.
“Case files?” Rossi snorted as he walked over to the couch. “Someone being held captive behind an elaborate Crayon Physics maze?” he asked.
Reid just grinned at the screen. “I’m cleansing my intellectual pallet,” he said.
Rossi shook his head at the insanely complicated drawing Reid was crafting. “You do realize that if you just drew a straight line between the ball and the star, you’d get your star, right?”
“Philistine.”
Rossi laughed and watched him draw for another minute then popped him on the shoulder. “Come blow me in the shower.”
Reid’s eyebrows lifted in delight. “Brilliant idea!” he said, setting the computer aside and jumping up off the couch.
He would deny it, perhaps even up to and past pulling his service revolver to make the point, but G-man David Rossi made a sound at that moment that could only be described as a gleeful giggle.
Reid gave him a look of fond exasperation. “Ice cream for dinner,” he said, shaking his head.
Rossi rubbed his hands together in exaggerated anticipation and motioned for Reid to hurry up. He caught up to him and put both hands on his shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze and whispering into Reid’s ear an enthusiastic, “Amen!”
End
Author: myrna1_2_3
Pairing: Rossi/Reid
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Reid speaks at a law enforcement conference
Word count: ~5,500
"Become who you are."
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Special Supervisory Agent Emily Prentiss raced into the Grand Ballroom of the upscale Madison Hotel trying-and failing-to look like she wasn’t running. Hotch thought fleetingly that the daughter of an ambassador should have more composure, but he admired her grace when she slid into an aisle seat like a baseball player stealing second base. She leaned in towards her colleagues and reported with an agitated whisper, “Rossi dressed him!”
“No!” Agents Garcia and JJ instantly denied, while Derrick Morgan wildly craned his neck to catch a glimpse.
“Holy crap,” Morgan said when he finally honed in on Reid.
He did look well turned out, Hotch had to agree as Reid strolled into the meeting room looking more like he was on his way to a runway in Milan than a speaking podium to refute a recently published hit job on profiling.
Rossi waltzed in behind Reid wearing a look so smug Hotch wouldn’t have been surprised to see canary feathers at the corner of his mouth.
Thank God we’re not in the military, Hotch thought. Rossi’s attitude from the start of his relationship with Reid had been Whaddya Mean, Don’t Tell?
Rossi once said to Hotch that he wouldn’t risk Spencer’s thinking he harbored an ounce of regret or reserve about what they were doing.
Even as he cautioned his friend to exercise at least a little discretion, the staid and reserved Hotchner couldn’t help being impressed by Rossi’s confidence and integrity. He said as much one night when they’d scored tickets to a Georgetown basketball game. Rossi had shrugged off the compliment, “Yeah it only took me three failed marriages to get my head out of my ass. Someone oughta give me a medal or something.”
The supervisor in Hotch still had to ask, “Aren’t you concerned there might be repercussions to being as… well… out as you are?”
Rossi thought about that for a moment before answering, “I don’t need the Job the way I once did, Aaron. Financially I’m set. I’ve already found other things I’m happy doing. And Spencer’s gonna invent a thought-control device and become supreme ruler of the world one day, so we don’t gotta worry about him…” Hotch had laughed as Rossi continued. “Besides, I don’t think we’re as out as you think we are. You know as well as I do that someone not looking for something usually doesn’t find it.”
“I don’t know--I get the impression you’re inviting people to look.”
“Only ‘cause you’re a suspicious bastard,” Rossi had said, then earnestly asked, “You ever thought about bein’ a cop?”
Hotch shook his head now, inwardly amused as he remembered that conversation. He put on the blandest face he could and said, “Is Reid picking up a new shirt over the weekend really this shocking?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Morgan said. “That ain’t off the rack--that’s couture, man.”
Prentiss kept her eyes solidly on Reid, but leaned in closer to Garcia. “Are you sure Morgan isn’t the gay one?” she asked.
Morgan just elbowed her as he shook his head in proud disbelief. “I can’t believe this is the same kid who ordered buttered noodles the first time we went to a restaurant together.”
“I’m not sure graduating to buttered pasta constitutes all that much growth,” Hotch said. “Could someone explain to me again why the entire team needed to be here?”
“Profiling is under fire,” Morgan said, sincerity oozing from his pores. Hotch almost looked down to see if it was spilling on to his new shoes. “We need to show a united front.”
“By eating mass quantities of pastries?” Hotch said. “ What is that, your third danish? We’ve been here 20 minutes.”
“Gotta feed the belly before you feed the soul,” Morgan replied, popping the last of the pastry in his mouth. “Besides, the Bureau is encouraging our attendance at conferences and symposiums for which the Bureau will not incur additional expenditures like hotel, meals and other sundry items.”
“Thank you, Dr. Reid,” Hotch said.
“Focus, people!” Prentiss said. “So Reid and Rossi walk in the door and Gideon’s there in the lobby and sprints over to give Spencer a bear hug,” Prentiss relayed.
“Did Reid hug him back?” Morgan asked. “Remember how Gideon used to go all Deepok Chopra on Reid--he’d throw that arm around him, and Reid always acted like Gideon’d just bathed in Uranium or something?” Morgan demonstrated with Garcia who accordingly stiffened at Morgan’s contact. The others laughed at the exaggerated look of horror on her face.
“Well he seems to have gotten over that particular neuroses,” Hotch said wryly.
All of them, having caught Rossi and Reid in one compromising position or another, nodded wisely in agreement.
“Did Gideon and Rossi shake hands?” Morgan asked. Prentiss nodded and Morgan fired back for additional details. “Any shoulder slap, back slap, cupping of the elbow?”
“No, 100% business all the way, hand-shake, crisp nods. Rossi had his left hand at the small of Reid’s back.”
They all digested this with knowing looks and thoughtful nods.
“All right JJ, time for a little recon,” Morgan said, motioning with a tilt of his head to where Reid and Gideon were talking.
“Why do I have to go first?” JJ asked.
“Because you already talked to Gideon for 15 minutes in the lobby,” Morgan said. “He’s not going to have to stop what he’s doing and give you the meet and greet.”
“But I just got a cup a minute ago…”
“So? You need caffeine! You’ve got a baby at home, waking you up at all hours!”
“To breastfeed!” said JJ. “We’re trying to keep the caffeine to a minimum at least until Henry’s capable of sitting upright.”
“Go!” Emily ordered.
JJ marched over to the refreshment table, giving Reid, Gideon and Rossi a sickly smile as she passed. She poured herself a cup of coffee, leaning back toward them at an awkward angle that might have made sense if the coffee had the potential to erupt from the carafe like lava from a volcano.
Her cup filled, JJ strolled back with studied nonchalance that was matched only by the indifference of the team that immediately swarmed around her demanding details in hissed whispers.
Hotch made a mental note to schedule some additional training in the art of role-play.
“Reid’s telling him about Italy!” JJ whispered.
“You are lying!” Prentiss whispered back.
“Details!” Garcia ordered. “Italy like I went to Italy and saw a lot of beautiful art or I went to Italy with my sugar daddy and by the way do you like the 20,000 dollar outfit he bought me?”
“How long do you think it takes me to pour a cup of coffee?” JJ said. “I heard Reid say, ‘…in Italy,’ Gideon said, ‘Oh, where?,’ and Reid said, ‘That’s when we were still in Amalfi.’.”
“He said ‘we,’?” Prentiss clarified. “You’re sure he said, ‘we’?”
“Positive,” JJ said.
“Gideon knows,” Prentiss said decisively. “He’s not going to let Reid drop a ‘we’ and not follow up on who that ‘we’ is unless he already knows the answer.”
“No way,” Garcia said. “Look at Rossi pacing around. If Gideon knew, Rossi’d be standing there next to Reid doing the coupley ‘we-spent-our-honeymoon-in-Italy’ thing.”
“Says the woman who thought Reid was making time with Angela O’Neil in White Collar,” Prentiss said.
“She’s really nice.”
“She’s 62.”
“You act like that takes her out of the running,” Garcia replied.
“The “she” part does!” Prentiss answered.
Garcia waved away the discussion. “Dammit, Jim, I’m the IT girl, not a profiler!”
“Fat lot of good that does us,” Prentiss said. “One little mike tucked over by the coffee pot and we wouldn’t have to guess what they’re saying.”
“Well if you hadn’t opened your big mouth in front of Hotch, he would have been fine with our checking out a couple of pieces of equipment…”
“No, he really wouldn’t have,” Hotch said. “Am I lacking in form and substance today? You can see me, right?”
“Morgan, what say you?” Garcia asked.
Morgan shook his head. “Tough call, tough call,” he said. “The thing is, Rossi won’t be able to stand Gideon not knowing. No way, no how.”
“Even if Reid doesn’t want him to?” Garcia asked.
“It’s an issue of passion,” Morgan said. “Rossi’s ego about this thing with Reid way over trumps Reid’s reticence. He ain’t gonna put the brakes on the old man. Anyway, my money’s on Reid not caring if Gideon knows.”
“Where’s your money when it comes to Reid caring about the four of you skulking around like this?” Hotch asked.
“Skulking?” Morgan indignantly repeated. “You make us sound sinister. We’re just keepin’ an eye on our boys.” He winked at Garcia. “Chop chop, Baby Girl. Coffee time.”
“What exactly are you going to do if you don’t like something Gideon says?” Hotch asked Prentiss.
“That is a good question,” Prentiss said. “The only thing that comes to mind right now is stop, drop & roll, but I’m not sure that will help.”
Hotch sighed and shook his head as he watched Garcia tiptoe-Good heavens, why was she tiptoeing?-over to the refreshment table. She was staring so intently at Reid while she filled her cup that the coffee overflowed and burnt her fingers.
Aware of Garcia’s scrutiny, Reid absent-mindedly started brushing presumed crumbs from his face. “Do I have something on my mouth?” Hotch heard him ask Rossi. Rossi gave him the once over and shook his head, then whispered something into his ear. Whatever he said must have been lewd because Reid blushed crimson right up to the top of his forehead.
Garcia scooted back over to the group, blowing on her fingers. “Delicious!” she sang excitedly. “Gideon just asked Rossi if he had any children, and Rossi said he always assumed he’d adopt an older child later in life!”
Prentiss clasped a hand over her mouth to keep her squeal in check while Morgan muttered, “Get out!” and JJ took Garcia’s cup and put it with the 10 others that were on the table next to them.
“What did Gideon say?” Prentiss asked.
“I don’t know--that’s when I got the third degree burns.”
Prentiss studied the trio. “With Gideon and Rossi trying to out-cool each other and Reid with his usual public-speaking-nausea thing, it’s impossible to know what’s going on.”
“How exactly would things be different if you knew?” Hotch asked to no one in particular and was soundly ignored.
There was a moment of commotion in the room and it took a minute to find the cause, but finally, Hotch realized John Burton, second in command of the FBI had entered the ballroom. That was a bit of a surprise-he hadn’t heard that any of the higher-ups were going to be in attendance. Burton had risen through the ranks of the FBI, one of the few men to opt in at the bottom rung and work his way up to the near top. Convention wisdom had Burton on the short list to be named Director if Barack Obama won the presidential election in November.
Burton greeted a few colleagues who had been standing near the door, but his attention was elsewhere. He intently surveyed the room and damn if he didn’t point toward-Reid?-and head over to the young man. Reid wasn’t expecting him, that much was clear in his surprised reaction. But he smiled in welcome and shook the Assistant Director’s hand, promptly introducing him to Gideon. Hotch felt like Rossi’s greeting was familiar. He wasn’t meeting Burton for the first time, but given his notoriety in the Bureau that was hardly surprising. Burton kept a hand on Reid’s shoulder as he spoke, and Hotch wracked his brain to try and remember when Reid would have come in to contact with the man.
“Morgan!” Hotch barked and Morgan’s head snapped his way. “You look thirsty. Go get a cup of coffee.”
“I’m on it,” Morgan said. He loped toward the coffee table, stopping halfway there to lean down and polish the side of his shoe.
Hotch wondered idly how in the hell any of them had ever managed to scam a confession out of an unsub. They were really, really bad actors.
Morgan came back with a cup of coffee and another danish-what was that, number five?--“You are not going to believe this. I’m walkin’ by and Burton says to Reid, and I quote, ‘Ellen loved the exhibit, she just wished you could have gone with her to explain the history.’ God’s truth.”
“Unbelievable!” Garcia exclaimed. “All this Rossi drama the past few months, and we completely missed that Reid is BFFs with the FBI’s second in command!”
“Do he and Rossi go back?” Prentiss wondered.
Morgan shrugged. “That wouldn’t explain why he and Reid are so chummy.”
Garcia rolled her eyes and demonstrated for him. “Hello John, old buddy, have you met my fiancé Spencer Reid?”
Prentiss turned suddenly and glared at Hotch. “I cannot believe you were going to make us miss this.”
“It has gotten interesting, hasn’t it?” Hotch said, tossing the last of a cinnamon danish in his mouth. “I’m going to go get some coffee.”
=================================================================
Reid was the third speaker on the program and he walked up to the podium following a pat on the back from John Burton, a shoulder squeeze from Jason Gideon and a searing gaze of confidence from David Rossi. Hotch felt a wash of affection for their youngest team member. Did he feel the weight of expectation from these three icons of law enforcement? Was it a comfort or a curse? No doubt a mixture of both, Hotch thought.
“With apologies to Somerset Maugham,” Reid began with a shaky smile, “There are three rules for making an interesting speech at a law enforcement conference. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.”
At the sound of laughter, Reid visibly relaxed, his smile growing bright and natural. He met Rossi’s heated stare with a look of delight, then cleared his throat and began his talk in earnest.
“The ovaries of all five women sitting in the third row just exploded,” Prentiss whispered to Morgan, who snorted into his coffee.
Hotch leaned closer to Rossi and clucked his tongue, whispering, “Writing our boyfriend’s papers now are we? What’s next?”
Rossi chuckled. “Just the opening. To understand what he wrote, you have to be fluent in Latin, 15th century literature, and Bell’s Theorem of No One Knows What the Hell You’re Talking About.”
“Oh,” Hotchner said. “Well, thanks for dumbing it down for us.”
Rossi said nothing--his rapt attention was all on Spencer Reid who was confidently explaining to a crowd of over 200 law enforcement personnel why a profile that seemed to encompass every trait possible was remarkable for the traits it had purposefully left out.
Six speakers and roughly 400 PowerPoint slides later, the conference was adjourned. Attendees milled about for awhile, exchanging business cards and small talk. Reid introduced John Burton to the remainder of his team and accepted their praise of his presentation with chagrin and pleasure.
As Burton took his leave, Hotch heard Gideon-who’d been talking privately with Rossi-excuse himself to the restroom. The door was swinging shut behind him when Rossi loudly slammed shut his briefcase. Rossi stalked up to the group and before anyone could say a word, he glared at Reid and said, “Car.”
Reid smiled at his co-workers. “I guess we’re heading out, then,” he said affably. “See you in the morning.”
Morgan, Prentiss, JJ and Garcia watched them go with wide eyes. “What was that about?” Prentiss asked. “Dammit! Who was paying attention to Rossi and Gideon?”
“Did Reid play us?” Morgan wondered. “You don’t think he brought Burton over here to keep us from pickin’ up on Rossi and Gideon, do you?”
“Reid doesn’t have a devious bone in his body!” Garcia said. “But Rossi has hundreds. Maybe even thousands. How many bones are in the human body anyway?”
“We should have filmed this,” Prentiss said. “Much easier to deconstruct video than memory.”
Gideon returned to the ballroom and walked over to Hotch. Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia were now making plans to stop off somewhere for dinner, while JJ begged off to get home to the baby. They were almost to the door when Hotch stopped them.
“Hey, guys?” he called. Four heads turned at once. “Just so we can document how worthwhile it was for all of us to be here, I want Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia each to draft five page overviews of the topics covered with recommendations for further study. Have them on JJ’s desk first thing tomorrow morning so JJ can synthesize them into a single document for my review.”
The four of them stared at each other for a beat, then Morgan raised his hand in the middle of the circle they formed. “Totally worth it,” he said. In absolute agreement, Garcia, Prentiss and JJ all brought their hands up for a group high five.
==================================================================
Watching the door of the ballroom swing close behind his old teammates, Gideon’s smile was fond, warm. Hotch could only grin back and shake his head. They’re crazy, but they’re mine.
“You were right,” Gideon said placidly.
“I know,” Hotch said, then a beat later, “About what?”
Gideon chuckled. “Spencer. He’s…thriving.”
Hotch took exception to the vindication in Jason’s tone, and a petty part of him wanted to say, “In spite of you, Jason,” but what would that accomplish? Gideon seemed to be thriving as well, and Hotch was glad.
“Your team is supportive of the relationship between Spencer and David Rossi.”
It wasn’t a question; but then again, the not-ready-for-primetime players were hardly subtle today. Hotch nodded and didn’t mask the pride in his tone. “They are.”
“What, exactly, were they afraid I was going to do?”
Hotch laughed at Gideon’s puzzled curiosity. “You know, it is funny. The steadier Reid becomes, the more comfortable he is in his skin, the more protective we’ve become. We’re lucky Reid is more amused than irritated.”
“Yeah?” Gideon asked, and Hotch knew the Reid Gideon remembered probably wouldn’t have been attuned enough to the people around him to even realize what they were doing.
“Yeah,” answered Hotch. “He even humors us now and then and let’s us think we’re actually helping in some way. He’s recognizing where he fits in the family dynamic. Accepting it.”
“I’m glad,” Gideon said. He sighed, and if there was melancholy to it, there was an equal amount of contentment. He cocked an eyebrow at Hotch, motioned toward the door Rossi and Reid had just walked through and said, “Don’t you worry about the power imbalance?”
“Well, of course,” Aaron admitted. He patted Gideon on the back and urged him toward door as well. Their dinner reservations were for seven and DC traffic was unpredictable. “So far, though, Spencer seems to be taking it pretty easy on him.”
==================================================================
Rossi opened the door that led to the underground garage and motioned for Reid to go through first. “You’re evil,” Reid said, looking straight ahead.
“I was perfectly pleasant to Gideon,” Rossi said, unlocking the doors as they neared the car.
Reid pursed his lips. “No, I mean that little performance you put on for the team.”
Rossi grinned as he got behind the wheel. “Evil seems harsh,” he said.
“They’re going to be insufferable for days now, trying to pry details out about some manufactured altercation that never even happened!”
Rossi shrugged. “It’s not like they’re all that sufferable anyway.”
“It’s easy for you-your office has a door!”
“And walls,” Rossi affably agreed.
“Even Hotch was all…curious. I don’t understand, that-he knows I had dinner with Gideon last night.”
Rossi laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, but he didn’t know John Burton was going to drop by with an atta boy for you-that’s what’s on his radar. The only reason Hotch isn’t always stickin’ his nose in is because he thinks he knows what’s goin’ on. The minute he might not, he’s right in there with Prentiss and the rest of our motley crew.”
“Who get no encouragement whatsoever from you,” Reid added sarcastically.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean?” Reid echoed incredulously. “Three days before we left for Italy, you asked Garcia to research gay marriage in Europe.”
Rossi wiped the grin from his mouth and put on his most earnest face. “Not during work hours and certainly not using the FBI’s computer.” Reid looked unimpressed. “I can’t be curious about other cultures?”
Reid just rolled his eyes. “What about the time you asked Morgan if he personally knew someone who was willing to be a surrogate mother?”
Rossi reacted with affront. “That was related to the missing person’s case we were investigating.”
“Paula Shaver is a dog groomer!”
“Of childbearing years.”
“Asking Prentiss to recommend some good books on understanding the transgendered mind? What was that about?”
Rossi tried to mask his laugh as a cough, but finally conceded. Torturing Spencer with illogic was close to cruel and unusual punishment. “Okay, maybe that time I was just messin’ with them.”
“Maybe,” Reid agreed.
“They’re going to stand around and speculate anyway. What does it harm to steer them a little?”
“I say again, you have an office with walls and a door.”
Rossi laughed, reaching over and pulling Reid’s hand to his lips for a kiss. He lifted a curious eyebrow when Reid’s stomach gave a noisy growl. “Hungry for me?” he asked with a comically lecherous look in his eye.
Reid groaned theatrically and probably would have smacked Rossi’s arm save the fact that two percent of all auto accidents could be attributed to passenger interference with the driver. “Hungry for dinner,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be if you ate the stuff I kept bringing over. I’m going to weigh 500 pounds if I have to eat all of the danish I fetch you out of the kindness of my heart.”
Spencer hardly sounded sympathetic. “And yet you always only ever fetch the kind of pastry you like.”
“What?”
Reid began to list as proof, “Apricot turnovers, apricot danish, apricot muffins, apricot breakfast bars…”
“What do you like?”
“Anything that doesn’t have apricots!” Reid answered, his tone suggesting this was not the first time he’d mentioned it.
Rossi laughed. “I’ll try to remember that.”
Spencer smoothed down the front of his shirt. “Morgan liked my clothes,” he said in that shy voice that never failed to charm Rossi.
“He should,” said Rossi. “You look great.”
Reid’s self-deprecating tone was more familiar. “Hotch is concerned that my finances are going to be investigated now.”
“That man spends more on ties in a single year than you’ve spent on your whole wardrobe in the entirety of your 27 years on this planet.”
“Thank you doesn’t seem the appropriate response to that statement.”
Rossi snorted in agreement with that thought. “I hope you told Hotch it’s not your fault you were born to wear sinfully expensive designer clothes.”
“Garcia says it’s because clothes look the same on me as they do on a hanger.”
Rossi’s grin had more than a little leer to it. “I disagree,” he said, and slid a possessive hand across Reid’s leg to rest at his inner thigh.
When they got back to the house, they shifted into domestic mode. Reid retrieved the mail and tossed it on the kitchen desk, then rifled through an impressive stack of take-out menus and placed an order for dinner. Rossi let the dog out in the back yard while reading the ridiculous dog walking report card that sat on the counter by the phone. Not only did it record asinine details like “amount of snuggle time” and “number of belly rubs,” but it was written from the dog’s point of view. “I had three treats!” the sheet exclaimed. “I pooped!” It seemed beneath Muchie’s dignity, but the outfit had been vetted by the Bureau and the dog needed exercise, so what could he do? Still, every time there was a handwritten, first-person note on the bottom of the page-I loved the new park on West Elm!--Rossi didn’t know if it was from the dog walker or the dog.
Spencer seemed a little lost as he watched Rossi toss Muchie’s dinner in his bowl. Rossi cocked his head in question and Spencer shrugged, looking embarrassed and confused.
Speaking to a crowd of law enforcement officials would have been unnerving to Spencer anyway, add to the mix seeing Gideon again, John Burton’s unexpected appearace, and the silly interest of the team, and he was on overload.
Rossi drew him into an embrace and just stood there for a bit, letting Spencer ease in to the physical contact and organize his thoughts. There were no signs of an impending panic attack, so Rossi just held on to him.
Rossi, closed-mouthed bastard that he was, didn’t think it fair to badger Reid to talk about things if he didn’t want to, and Reid gravitated to solitude anyway. It had been a slow, steady effort to get Reid to decompress in his company. That Reid now did it in his arms was a reward he sure as hell didn’t deserve but was glad to take.
They eventually sat down on the couch and Reid began to talk. “At dinner last night, Gideon told me he reconciled with his son,” he said. “I’m not sure what the rift was about, but they spent a couple of weeks together camping out west last month.”
Rossi made a noise that conveyed little more than I’m awake which made Reid smile.
“It is interesting, isn’t it? He reconnects with Steven around the same time I find my dad…Not the same outcomes maybe, but…” Reid sighed, still puzzling out exactly what he was thinking. He gazed at Rossi with doe eyes and said, “Do you think if Gideon and I were still working together…” his voice trailed off and he looked irritated at himself. “I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.” was all Rossi said.
“Gideon asked me what I liked best about Italy, and I said the DaVinci museum, but that wasn’t even close.” Reid didn’t seem bothered by the deception, and he and Rossi shared sly smiles with each other. “Remember the day we spent in Amalfi and all we did was walk around and eat fresh-baked bread and gelato, and we watched the people in the square and imagined where they were going and what they were going to have for dinner and where they were going to take their vacations. And then we went back to the room and opened the balcony doors and the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves were right there in the room with us and we m-made love in the middle of the day…”
Rossi smiled as Reid tripped over the words. Still, this was a far cry from referring to it-as he had for month after painful month--as engaging in sexual intercourse. Rossi pressed a kiss to Reid’s head. “That was a beautiful day,” he agreed, still unsure why it was troubling to Reid.
“Seeing Gideon… I can remember-precisely-how I felt and who I was when he was at the BAU, but… but it bares so little resemblance to who I am now. It’s kind of disconcerting, you know?” Spencer didn’t wait for an answer. “Dave, I’m… happy. And it’s probably odd to be so amazed by something so elementary but I am, and sometimes it’s kind of… overwhelming to realize just how much I like this life I have, this life we have. Like, hard to take another breath kind of overwhelming, you know?”
Rossi nodded, though he was more comforted by the relationship than anything. He understood what Reid was saying.
“I’ve been connecting the dots in my brain, you know? Who I was to who I am, and I started thinking how I want to stop criminals from hurting people and some day understand them enough to figure out a way to stop them before they even start. And I want to come home and eat dinner with you and read next to you and sleep with you. And I want to go on vacations to Italy with you and make love in the middle of the day. And I worry that maybe…”
Reid’s voice trailed off and the silence between them lasted long enough that Rossi kissed the top of his head and whispered, “Maybe what?”
“Maybe I want too much,” Reid whispered back.
It still shocked Rossi, these periodic shards of heartbreak that went along with loving Spencer Reid. His childhood marked by abandonment, his mother’s mental illness, and an otherness that guaranteed in equal measure both isolation and harassment, Reid had learned time and again to expect so little for himself. Beyond that, he had learned to fear that the simple act of yearning for something meant he was doomed to lose it if it ever came his way.
Rossi kept his breathing even as he protectively cupped the back of Reid’s head and held him tightly against his chest. “Well you don’t,” he whispered; glad Reid now knew him well enough to know his vehemence had nothing to do with anger. “You deserve good things,” Rossi reminded him. “And I don’t know how in the hell I weaseled into the mix, but I ain’t leavin’, and I’m gonna be a part of those good things, and I’m not gonna say somethin’ stupid like for as long as you’ll have me, ‘cause there’s never gonna be a time you won’t have me, capisce?”
Reid’s nod, with his face still pressed against Rossi, was tentative, so Rossi tightened his hold and asked again, “Capisce?”
“Yes,” Reid answered softly, but there was nothing tentative in his answer.
“I love you.” Sometimes the words sounded defiant even to Rossi as he said them, as if daring Reid to doubt him.
“I love you too.”
The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of their dinner. Rossi motioned for Reid to stand then held up a hand so Spencer would pull him up. “You want me to be an asshole tomorrow so everyone leaves you alone?” he asked, grabbing his wallet as he headed for the door.
“No!” Reid said quickly, even as he laughed at the idea. “If they think you turn it off and on for me, they’ll make it my problem every time you’re an asshole for no good reason.”
“When have I ever…” Rossi stopped abruptly at the keen look in Reid’s eye. He’d take it as a personal challenge to list every single example he could. “Never mind,” he muttered.
They ate standing up at the kitchen counter, which never failed to make Rossi a little giddy. “You’re like a little kid who gets to have ice cream for dinner or something,” Reid had said once.
Rossi had just shrugged. “I can’t help it. We have to put up with a lot of crap, bein’ together. I kiss you in public and some asshole makes a face, some woman acts like I’m goin’ to lure her kid into the closest bathroom. Try to list each other as the emergency contact and you’d think we were ordering a truckload of yellowcake. But God dammit, it also means I don’t have to sit my ass down at the table to eat dinner. Almost makes all the crap worthwhile.”
Ice cream for dinner had become shorthand for all the things Rossi loved about being in a relationship with another man.
After they finished eating, Rossi said “ Want to run with me and Much?” He always extended the invitation.
Reid always declined it. “Not unless someone’s chasing me.” He moved to turn on his laptop. “I want to add notes to a couple of case files,” he said, but he was lazing on the couch when Rossi returned from his run.
“Case files?” Rossi snorted as he walked over to the couch. “Someone being held captive behind an elaborate Crayon Physics maze?” he asked.
Reid just grinned at the screen. “I’m cleansing my intellectual pallet,” he said.
Rossi shook his head at the insanely complicated drawing Reid was crafting. “You do realize that if you just drew a straight line between the ball and the star, you’d get your star, right?”
“Philistine.”
Rossi laughed and watched him draw for another minute then popped him on the shoulder. “Come blow me in the shower.”
Reid’s eyebrows lifted in delight. “Brilliant idea!” he said, setting the computer aside and jumping up off the couch.
He would deny it, perhaps even up to and past pulling his service revolver to make the point, but G-man David Rossi made a sound at that moment that could only be described as a gleeful giggle.
Reid gave him a look of fond exasperation. “Ice cream for dinner,” he said, shaking his head.
Rossi rubbed his hands together in exaggerated anticipation and motioned for Reid to hurry up. He caught up to him and put both hands on his shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze and whispering into Reid’s ear an enthusiastic, “Amen!”
End