"Solace"
Definitely going to have to dedicate this to morejoyful; without her, this might never have been posted. This is a coda to CM's 2x15: "Revelations." Enjoy!
They won’t stop staring at him. Reid knows that it’s their way of comforting themselves: they’re crowding him with their eyes the way they would like to physically. A person’s disappearance can cause a kind of hyper-vigilance to develop in those around them after their recovery; the feeling that if their attention is distracted for even a split second, that person will disappear again (only this time, never to be found). He’d expected it after they’d found him and gotten him to the hospital, but not here, not on the jet. The jet had always been a safe area for them-the team’s home away from home.
From her seat, JJ won’t stop glancing out her window, at him, and then back again. Guilt. She obviously blames herself for what happened to him. Reid wishes she wouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault-he’d had the idea for the two of them to split up in the first place, had pursued the idea even when she protested.
Prentiss is making her gaze no secret, although she does have the courtesy to look away every once in a while when Reid’s eyes dart up to meet hers. It almost surprises him to see the genuine concern on her face. She’s been here for such a short time.
And then there’s Morgan. He’s seated the way he usually is when he’s prepared for sleep: headphones on, head leaned back and tilted up-except Reid knows that whenever he isn’t looking at Morgan, the older man’s eyes never leave his face. He can feel it.
Reid supposes he can’t blame any of them. He would stare, too.
He tries to tell himself that they can’t help it, that they’re at least trying to give him some space, but that doesn’t keep him from feeling pinned by the weight of their gazes. Eventually, he has to get away. Reid rises from his seat, excusing himself quietly as he slowly makes his way to the bathroom.
He’s absolutely certain that all of their heads turn as he goes.
In front of the mirror of the jet’s small bathroom, he can see the reason for their stares. The circles around his eyes, even darker than usual, make him look like he hasn’t slept in a year; the bandage on his forehead is stark in contrast against hair that he didn’t think could ever be this disheveled. To be frank, he looks like shit. He feels even worse, tired to the bone and sore all over. A splash of cold water isn’t going to do anything to fix things, but he makes the effort anyway, dries his face and hopes he looks a little less like death as he steps back out into the hall.
Morgan’s eyes immediately snap right back to him, and from the way his brow furrows minutely, Reid’s pretty sure his appearance hasn’t changed. The two stare at each other for a long moment. Then Morgan finally closes his eyes, and this time, Reid knows he’s going to sleep.
“Reid.”
He isn’t sure how long he’d been standing there; he looks up at the sound of Gideon’s voice. Jason looks tired, too-they all are-but the difference in his face is that he’s the only one who seems somewhat relieved. The sight loosens something in Spencer’s chest.
“You look like you’re headed for the lion’s den,” Gideon says once he has Reid’s attention. A corner of his mouth lifts slightly; Reid can’t help but mirror the expression. “Why don’t you sit with Hotch there.”
Hotch is sitting with a book, one leg crossed over the other. He doesn’t acknowledge Gideon’s suggestion. Casting a last glance in the direction of the rest of the team, Reid sits down gingerly next to Hotch. His supervisor doesn’t even look up. And strangely enough, it feels good to be ignored. Although Gideon’s intervention had helped, Reid’s still feeling vulnerable, flayed open by all the stares. But sitting next to Hotch, finally feeling like he’s being left alone, Reid can slowly begin to put himself back together, and it feels like a gift. Idly, he wonders how it is that Gideon always just knows.
Eventually, Reid relaxes enough to fall asleep.
When he wakes up, his cheek is pressed into something solid and… polyester. Reid opens his eyes, only to shut them immediately again for two reasons. The first is pure mortification. In his slumber, his head managed to end up sliding over onto Hotch’s shoulder. The second is more complicated: much to his own chagrin, Reid doesn’t actually want to move. He’s comfortable. But the urge brings with it a trace of guilt, because Hotch can’t possibly be enjoying this right now. With a Herculean effort, Reid withholds the sigh that desperately wants to escape from his lungs, and begins gearing himself up for the awkwardness that is about to ensue when he picks himself up off of Hotch.
He doesn’t manage it in time. Instead, a little turbulence from the plane sends him sliding forward: it’s slight, but Reid’s eyes fly open anyway. Before he can right himself, however, he feels an arm slide around from behind him and softly pull him back against the leather.
“S'all right, Reid. Go back to sleep.” The other man’s voice is rough-rougher than usual. Had he been sleeping, too? Hotch continues to guide him gently until Reid’s face is right back in its previous position. Surprised, Reid waits for the light grip to release him.
It doesn’t.
For a long, tense moment, Reid isn’t even sure that he’s still breathing. And then, all at once, the tension just drains out of him. He’s too tired for this, he thinks. Besides, Hotch is probably just being nice. Preparing to catch him again if the plane goes through any other disturbances. Something. So it’s okay for Reid to relax and lean in closer, cheek slipping from Hotch’s shoulder to land on top of his chest, right? After all, the man had practically offered. So if Reid feels Hotch’s arm draw in even closer in response, that’s probably just for weight distribution, blood flow. Hotch is trying to keep his arm from falling asleep, that’s all.
And if Reid notices, drifting off to the feel of Hotch’s slowed breathing, that the book the other man had been reading is now lying off to the side, forgotten, that doesn’t have to mean anything either. This is fine.
Everything is just fine.
They won’t stop staring at him. Reid knows that it’s their way of comforting themselves: they’re crowding him with their eyes the way they would like to physically. A person’s disappearance can cause a kind of hyper-vigilance to develop in those around them after their recovery; the feeling that if their attention is distracted for even a split second, that person will disappear again (only this time, never to be found). He’d expected it after they’d found him and gotten him to the hospital, but not here, not on the jet. The jet had always been a safe area for them-the team’s home away from home.
From her seat, JJ won’t stop glancing out her window, at him, and then back again. Guilt. She obviously blames herself for what happened to him. Reid wishes she wouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault-he’d had the idea for the two of them to split up in the first place, had pursued the idea even when she protested.
Prentiss is making her gaze no secret, although she does have the courtesy to look away every once in a while when Reid’s eyes dart up to meet hers. It almost surprises him to see the genuine concern on her face. She’s been here for such a short time.
And then there’s Morgan. He’s seated the way he usually is when he’s prepared for sleep: headphones on, head leaned back and tilted up-except Reid knows that whenever he isn’t looking at Morgan, the older man’s eyes never leave his face. He can feel it.
Reid supposes he can’t blame any of them. He would stare, too.
He tries to tell himself that they can’t help it, that they’re at least trying to give him some space, but that doesn’t keep him from feeling pinned by the weight of their gazes. Eventually, he has to get away. Reid rises from his seat, excusing himself quietly as he slowly makes his way to the bathroom.
He’s absolutely certain that all of their heads turn as he goes.
In front of the mirror of the jet’s small bathroom, he can see the reason for their stares. The circles around his eyes, even darker than usual, make him look like he hasn’t slept in a year; the bandage on his forehead is stark in contrast against hair that he didn’t think could ever be this disheveled. To be frank, he looks like shit. He feels even worse, tired to the bone and sore all over. A splash of cold water isn’t going to do anything to fix things, but he makes the effort anyway, dries his face and hopes he looks a little less like death as he steps back out into the hall.
Morgan’s eyes immediately snap right back to him, and from the way his brow furrows minutely, Reid’s pretty sure his appearance hasn’t changed. The two stare at each other for a long moment. Then Morgan finally closes his eyes, and this time, Reid knows he’s going to sleep.
“Reid.”
He isn’t sure how long he’d been standing there; he looks up at the sound of Gideon’s voice. Jason looks tired, too-they all are-but the difference in his face is that he’s the only one who seems somewhat relieved. The sight loosens something in Spencer’s chest.
“You look like you’re headed for the lion’s den,” Gideon says once he has Reid’s attention. A corner of his mouth lifts slightly; Reid can’t help but mirror the expression. “Why don’t you sit with Hotch there.”
Hotch is sitting with a book, one leg crossed over the other. He doesn’t acknowledge Gideon’s suggestion. Casting a last glance in the direction of the rest of the team, Reid sits down gingerly next to Hotch. His supervisor doesn’t even look up. And strangely enough, it feels good to be ignored. Although Gideon’s intervention had helped, Reid’s still feeling vulnerable, flayed open by all the stares. But sitting next to Hotch, finally feeling like he’s being left alone, Reid can slowly begin to put himself back together, and it feels like a gift. Idly, he wonders how it is that Gideon always just knows.
Eventually, Reid relaxes enough to fall asleep.
When he wakes up, his cheek is pressed into something solid and… polyester. Reid opens his eyes, only to shut them immediately again for two reasons. The first is pure mortification. In his slumber, his head managed to end up sliding over onto Hotch’s shoulder. The second is more complicated: much to his own chagrin, Reid doesn’t actually want to move. He’s comfortable. But the urge brings with it a trace of guilt, because Hotch can’t possibly be enjoying this right now. With a Herculean effort, Reid withholds the sigh that desperately wants to escape from his lungs, and begins gearing himself up for the awkwardness that is about to ensue when he picks himself up off of Hotch.
He doesn’t manage it in time. Instead, a little turbulence from the plane sends him sliding forward: it’s slight, but Reid’s eyes fly open anyway. Before he can right himself, however, he feels an arm slide around from behind him and softly pull him back against the leather.
“S'all right, Reid. Go back to sleep.” The other man’s voice is rough-rougher than usual. Had he been sleeping, too? Hotch continues to guide him gently until Reid’s face is right back in its previous position. Surprised, Reid waits for the light grip to release him.
It doesn’t.
For a long, tense moment, Reid isn’t even sure that he’s still breathing. And then, all at once, the tension just drains out of him. He’s too tired for this, he thinks. Besides, Hotch is probably just being nice. Preparing to catch him again if the plane goes through any other disturbances. Something. So it’s okay for Reid to relax and lean in closer, cheek slipping from Hotch’s shoulder to land on top of his chest, right? After all, the man had practically offered. So if Reid feels Hotch’s arm draw in even closer in response, that’s probably just for weight distribution, blood flow. Hotch is trying to keep his arm from falling asleep, that’s all.
And if Reid notices, drifting off to the feel of Hotch’s slowed breathing, that the book the other man had been reading is now lying off to the side, forgotten, that doesn’t have to mean anything either. This is fine.
Everything is just fine.