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Derek isn’t one to kid himself. He knows he’s usually the last of the team to show up to work on time but they do plenty of overtime already and, quite frankly, he’s going to use up every scrape of free time he has.
That being said, miracles do happen.
Which is how he ends up being the first person in the bullpen that Wednesday morning.
Well, second person technically but Derek doesn’t really count Hotch since he’s pretty much always the first to arrive. Sometimes, he wonders if the man actually goes home to sleep at all. He casts a quick glance in the direction of the man’s office, the blinds pulled shut but a warm glow coming from between the cracks, and sighs as he drops his bag down by his desk.
Looking down at his watch, Derek sees that there’s still another half an hour until his shift officially starts. He figures it’s not too early for coffee and heads to the break room.
It’s not until he’s returning to his desk, cradling a mug of coffee to his chest, that he spies another bag in the bullpen. Reid’s messenger bag is propped up beside his vacant chair and, if it wasn’t for the fact that the kid himself wasn’t anywhere to be seen, Derek wouldn’t have questioned it. The thing is though, Reid almost never goes anywhere without his beloved bag. It’s almost always thrown over his shoulder, or at least within arm’s reach.
Not that it’s any cause for concern; he’s probably somewhere nearby Derek assumes. So, with a shrug, he settles down into his own chair and boots up his computer. He’s in early, he might as well make a start on the pile of paperwork he’s been building up for a rainy day.
Derek ends up so engrossed in his work that he doesn’t even realise that it’s almost nine until the sound of a door opening, and an oddly familiar and yet unrecognisable laugh echoes down from above, jolts him back to his surroundings. At first, Derek suspects that Rossi has finally arrived but, when he glances up around the bullpen, he quickly realises that he’s still the only one here.
That’s when he looks up at the mezzanine and sees the door to Hotch’s office open. But, instead of the man himself stepping out, it’s a familiar head of curls bundled up in a sweater that, honestly, should be too warm for the middle of June.
Reid isn’t facing this way yet, still looking back into the office and grinning with pride at something. He’s too far away for Derek to make out what exactly he says as he’s leaving the office but whatever it is is followed by that same laugh from earlier and Derek frowns. It’s nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning and Hotch is laughing?
Derek is seriously starting to think he might’ve woken up in one of those alternate universes Reid is always rambling on about.
That belief only grows stronger when Derek is fairly certain he sees one of Hotch’s pens go flying towards the door that Reid is walking out of, just barely missing the younger man’s torso. Reid only seems to smile wider, bending to pick it up and wiggling it in a taunting fashion back at Hotch – who must be sat at his desk – before finally heading towards the steps to the bullpen.
As he reaches the desks, Reid seems to finally notice Derek’s presence and directs his smile at him, a glimmer of amusement lingering in his eyes. “Hey, Morgan!” he greets, slipping behind his own desk and carefully placing the pen in his hand amongst his collection of fancy pens. This one isn’t like Reid’s (which are all uniform in size and colour). No, this one looks well used, with what’s appears to be a print of the Eiffel Tower around it.
Definitely not Reid’s style.
Although, now that Derek thinks about it, it’s not exactly Hotch’s style either.
“Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” Derek prods, taking a long sip of his coffee. Reid hums, following Derek’s line of sight and chuckling when he realises what Derek is referring to.
“Oh,” he twiddles the pen between his fingers absently. “We got this back in Rome. Which is weird, considering it has the Eiffel Tower on it. It’s nice though, right?” He holds to pen out for Derek to see and Derek purses his lips, nodding in agreement despite the fact that the answer only caused him more questions.
But, before he can push any further, a loud cry of, “What are you doing here so early?!” by Emily steals his attention and Derek smirks, leaning back in his chair and tapping his watch as she walks by.
“I think you mean, what are you doing here so late?”
She huffs, collapsing into her seat and flipping him off in one fluid motion. With that, any strange thoughts about laughter and pens leave Derek’s mind faster than they appeared.
There’s something to be said for the tranquil stillness of the jet on the way home from a taxing case. It’s quiet and peaceful, everyone drifting off to their own space as they deal with the events of the past few days in their individual ways. For Emily, that means tucking herself tight under an old blanket she stashes under one of the more secluded seats and allowing herself to finally get some much needed rest.
Even if, like tonight, that rest only consists of closing her eyes; the hope of getting any actual sleep long gone.
From across the jet, she can hear hushed voices as JJ and Derek argue over the rules of some card game they decided to play. There’s the periodic flip of a page as Rossi slowly makes his way through yet another book, too.
And then there’s shuffling and a low rumble of a voice. Coming from the table across the aisle from where Emily’s sat.
Emily opens her eyes, peeking out from over the edge of her blanket, and spies Hotch and Reid sat side by side, their backs to the rest of the team. It’s not that unusual of a sight, really; the two often gravitate towards one another on the jet, they have done ever since Emily joined the team. She’s never really bothered to question it.
What is unusual, however, is how close they are.
Although, perhaps not as unusual as Emily believes because, as Hotch dips his head down to whisper something to Reid, a hand resting casually on the younger man’s knee, Reid doesn’t seem affected. In fact, he actually looks comfortable, a small smile gracing his lips as he hums at whatever Hotch has said.
There’s a newspaper on the table in front of them that Emily doesn’t even notice until Reid leans forward, edging into Hotch’s personal space without any hesitation, the Unit Chief not even bothering to lean back as Reid’s hair brushes his face. Reid points at the paper, saying something that makes a surprised laugh slip from Hotch’s mouth and Emily is mesmerised now by this entire interaction. Reid, the guy who won’t even shake people’s hands, not even flinching as Hotch rests a hand on the small of his back and leans over to write something on the newspaper. And Hotch, their stoic faced boss, smiling and laughing freely.
It’s weird.
“You should sleep.” Hotch is saying suddenly, voice deep and soothing as he runs a hand up Reid’s back to rest at the nape of his neck. And, now that he says that, Emily takes notice of the dark circles under Reid’s eyes, his hair falling over his face and doing a good job of hiding them.
It’s not that surprising, really. Reid worked himself to the bone for this case, up until the early hours of the morning perfecting the geographic profile. It paid off in the end, of course, but Emily somehow let Reid’s health slip her mind in the process of celebrating another solved case.
“’m not tired,” Reid lies, leaning back into Hotch’s touch. Hotch lets out a sharp exhale that could very much pass as a laugh, shaking his head with something akin to fondness as he shifts in his seat. He ends up closer to the window and Reid follows him, his body edging into Hotch’s space like there’s some sort of magnetic pull between them. He must be really tired.
Hotch doesn’t seem bothered by the lack of personal space between them, reaching a hand up and running his fingers through Reid’s hair in a motion reminiscent of a lover. Emily isn’t sure what to make of that.
She’s also not sure what to make of the way that Reid melts into the gentle caress, his eyes fluttering closed as a blissed out sigh escapes him. She watches, a flurry of confusing questions running through her mind, as Reid shuffles down in his seat until he’s able to rest his head on Hotch’s shoulder, eyes remaining closed as he tucks his face comfortably into the crook of Hotch’s neck, his nose brushing underneath Hotch’s jaw.
When Hotch looks down at the now sleeping (and, seriously, it is not fair how quickly he drifted off) Reid there’s an unmistakable softness creeping around the edges of his eyes, his lips quirking up like he’s in on his own private little joke as he cards his fingers through Reid’s hair once more before turning his attention back towards his newspaper.
“So then a horse walked in-”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Morgan holds a hand up, cutting Prentiss off, “a horse? In the precinct?”
Prentiss nods. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking!”
Dave shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee as he half-listens to the details of Prentiss’ latest, and rather bizarre, dream whilst his eyes skim over the dining area of the hotel they’re staying at.
“Okay, I don’t understand. What exactly was the horse doing there?” JJ asks, and Prentiss launches into yet another energetic explanation. Dave would be a better listener (really, he would; the dream had drama, action, murder and now even a horse!) only the last two members of their team have just shown up, finally emerging from their room. Which is unusual, Dave muses, because he’s known Hotch a long time and the man has always been as early riser.
That being said, it’s been a gruelling week and, after finally closing the case, everyone was in dire need of some proper sleep.
Reid is by Hotch’s side as they stroll into the large room, the two stepping in sync with one another like they usually tend to do. They look well rested, the stressful lines that resided on their faces only last night eased away, replaced by a look of contentment and….something else that Dave can’t quite place.
He watches over the rim of his mug as a small smile ghosts over Hotch’s lips as Reid leans closer, a hand coming up to brush delicate fingers over the older man’s elbow, and says something to him that has Hotch nodding. The two hesitate for a moment, sharing a look long enough that Dave is almost convinced that they’re having an entire conversation without uttering a single word, before Reid slips away towards the table of tea and coffee and Hotch heads for the team.
As Hotch slides into the empty seat beside Dave, he can’t help but nudge his friend and tease, “Late night last night?” It’s meant as a joke, obviously, a playful quip over the man’s unusual late awakening, but the way that Hotch’s face heats up and he avoids Dave’s gaze as he clears his throat makes Dave wonder if he’s said something wrong.
Before he can question his friend further, though, Prentiss is dragging Hotch into her story and the moment passes. Dave shrugs, writing it off as nothing.
If, when Reid finally joins them at the table, he’s carrying two mugs of coffee in his hands and silently slides one over to Hotch as he takes the seat next to him, and if Hotch looks up and gives Reid yet another undeniably gentle smile well…Dave decides it’s none of his business. These two have worked together for years, after all.
Even if Hotch usually refuses to let anyone make his coffee for him because, and Dave is quoting him here, ‘I like it a very specific way, it’s easier if I make it myself.’
JJ is just walking out of Hotch’s office after leaving some files on his desk for when he returns when Reid stops her. Well, almost knocks her over when he practically collides with her, fingers in a vice grip around his phone, is more accurate.
He looks frazzled, eyes wide, and he rakes a shaky hand through his hair. JJ can’t remember the last time she saw him look so worried.
“Is Hotch in there?” he asks, peeking over her shoulder to try and get a glance into Hotch’s office. JJ sighs, shaking her head and rearranging some of the folders in her arms.
“No, he’s still in that meeting with Strauss. Probably will be for another hour or two, at least. You know what she can get like.”
Reid hums absently, worrying his lip between his teeth as he looks down at his phone. “I have to go.” he says suddenly, slipping his phone into his pocket and straightening his posture.
“What?” JJ stops him from walking away, a hand coming to his arm. “What do you mean? Go where?”
“Jack’s school rang, he’s been sick. It’s probably just a stomach bug, there’s been one going around lately, but even so he can’t stay there. They tried to ring Hotch but he’s probably left his phone in his office and Jessica is away this week so I’ll have to go take him home.”
“I-” JJ shakes her head, mind not able to keep up with Reid’s mile-a-minute rambling. She still hasn’t quite gotten her head around the fact that Jack’s school have apparently rung him when he turns around, taking the steps two at a time. “Spencer, wait! What-”
He’s already throwing his stuff into his messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Will you tell Hotch to ring me once he’s out of the meeting?” he asks her and all she can seem to manage is a nod of her head.
She watches as he starts towards the elevators and, as her mind finally catches up with the past two minutes, she runs after him. “Hold up.” she calls just as he presses the button for the elevator. He turns back to face her, and she continues, “Are you taking him back to Hotch’s?” Reid gives her a confused look, head tilted to the side slightly, and he nods. Somehow, without even saying a word, he’s made her feel like she just asked a very stupid question. “Don’t you need a key, though?” she asks anyway, because honestly not a single part of this situation is making any sense to her.
The doors to the elevator open and Reid takes two steps backwards into it. He looks at her like she’s grown a second head and simply says, “I already have one.” before the doors close and leave JJ standing there, files in hand, feeling like everything she knows in the world is a lie.
When Hotch finally does manage to escape from Strauss’ clutches, JJ fills him in on Jack’s sudden illness and that Reid went to collect him from school. She expects him to jump up and leave on the spot, or at least have questions but when she asks if he wants them to cover for him so he can go home he shakes his head and tells her, “Spencer’s with him.”
“You haven’t come out with us in ages!” Penelope whines down the phone, throwing her head back dramatically. She hears Morgan laughing somewhere behind her. Over the phone, Reid sighs.
“I’m sorry, Garcia.” he says in that genuinely apologetic tone of his that she absolutely hates, “I have plans already.”
“Oh yeah?” she huffs, chewing absently on the end of her pen. “Plans that are better than watching us get Morgan absolutely smashed?”
“Hey!” Morgan pipes up at the mention of his name and Penelope swivels in her chair to grin brightly at him. “You guys are not getting me drunk.”
“Mhm,” she smirks, “sure we aren’t, honey.” Morgan glares at her but, at this stage of their friendship, she’s grown immune to that look.
“Yeah, actually.” Reid answers. She hears shuffling from his end of the line before he continues, “We’re watching the Star Wars movies in chronological order.”
“Hey, sweetheart?” a deep voice, slightly muffled with distance, interrupts Reid’s impending rant about the true order of the Star Wars movies and Penelope’s ears prick up. “Did you want me to make the popcorn now or later?”
There’s a rustling sound over the speaker and Penelope guesses, by the way Reid’s voice has gone quieter now too, that he’s moved the phone away to speak to this mystery person. “Now’s good. We’ve still got some leftover birthday cake, right? We can finish that off if we run out of snacks.”
There’s an amused chuckle followed by the same unidentified man saying, “God, you’re going to be bouncing off of the walls by the end of this.” and it sounds so familiar, a niggling feeling itching at the back of Penelope’s brain, but nobody sounds the same over the phone and she just can’t place her finger on who it is.
Reid makes a displeased noise, “Hey! In sickness and in health, remember?”
“I don’t think those lines were referring to a sugar rush, darling.”
Reid scoffs, and then seems to remember that he’d been speaking with Penelope. “Sorry-”
“No, no!” she cuts him off, waving her hand even though he can’t see the dismissal. “I get it, you’re busy. Enjoy your date, lover boy! I expect to hear all about it later!”
“It’s not really a-” Reid starts, but she’s already hanging up on him, grinning widely as she turns to look at Morgan.
“Reid’s on a date?” he asks, and she nods her head, clapping her hands together. She’s unbelievably happy for him; in the years that she’s known him he hasn’t dated anyone. Not a single soul. She’d actually started to worry for him, was even considering setting him up with one of her friends.
But, she supposes, he obviously doesn’t need her help.
When they all return to work, she’s waiting by his desk ready to interrogate him and find out everything about this mystery man that’s apparently captured his heart, but (as she predicted) he doesn’t spill a single thing. She does notice, however, Hotch walking by them and doing a poor job at concealing his quiet laughter at Reid’s expense.
Maybe he knows something…
Julian has only been the Sheriff for about a year now but he prides himself on knowing people.
It’s how he got the promotion in the first place; people in this town trust him and he takes it upon himself to get to know everyone that steps through the small precinct’s doors.
That includes newcomers. Like the FBI agents they’ve got in at the moment.
Currently, two of said agents are stood away from the rest of the team, huddled together over the table in the secluded conference room where they’ve set up camp with boards covered in maps and crime scene photos. The room has glass walls, giving Julian the perfect view of the two agents as they work on some new theory they came up with. It’s fascinating, watching them work together; they dance around one another with a practised ease, passing notes and files with nothing more than a snap of their fingers.
He’s also pretty sure they’re both drinking from the same mug of coffee sat in the middle of the round table.
The rest of the team are grouped on the other side of the bullpen, gathering intel on their current main suspect – an odd fellow who only recently moved into town and who Julian personally believes gave off bad vibes ever since he stepped foot into this town. He’s not really listening to what they’re discussing, too busy watching the other two and waiting anxiously to see if they’ll figure out this psycho’s next move before he makes it.
The scrawny agent, who’s thankfully removed his damn sweater vest and even unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt (seriously, Julian was starting to worry the guy was going to pass out from heatstroke soon), moves over towards one of the larger maps covered with drawing pins and red circles that Julian doesn’t fully understand the meaning of. He sucks on the end of his pen, eyes scanning the map, and in the meantime his partner walks to join him, standing just behind him.
The older agent, the one wearing the crisp white shirt and pressed trousers, places a hand on the other’s shoulder and steals the pen right out of his mouth, leaning over him to draw a line across the map. Julian doesn’t know the significance of it without being in the room with them but the younger agent’s face lights up as he spins around and his grin is honestly brighter than the sun.
Julian doesn’t know how the other man doesn’t melt being on the receiving end of it.
He turns back to the other FBI agents just as the two return to their table, the older man grabbing the coffee that must surely be cold by now and taking a sip before he begins to write down whatever the other guy is telling him, his hands waving around in exaggerated gestures as he speaks.
“So,” he starts, realising the team have settled into a lull in their conversation. All eyes turn to him and he offers them an easy grin, nodding his head in the direction of the conference room, “How long have they been married?” Because it’s obvious, really.
Between the casual touches, the complete lack of personal space, and the way that the two of them clearly read each other in ways that only a committed couple could, Julian has absolutely no doubts about his observation.
Like he said, he knows people.
Except, the look of complete and utter bewilderment he’s met with by every single other member of the FBI team is not the response he expected.
They all turn to watch their team members, witnessing as their boss places his mug down only for the younger one to step into his space and pick it right back up again, still speaking at an incredibly fast rate as he gulps down the rest of the coffee.
He hears a few gasps from the team, and one of them mutters, “Oh my God!”
Julian shakes his head, wondering if they really hadn’t noticed the glaringly obvious connection between the two members of their own team. It doesn’t really bode well for their investigation, he thinks idly, as he goes to step away.
He ignores the barely concealed squeal of, “They’re married!?” as he walks into the conference room, hoping that these two have at least managed to put their profiling skills to good use and gotten them at least a little closer to closing this case.