Evolution, a Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 20. A Little Cleaning Out

They let a few minutes pass after Strauss’ abrupt departure, just to be certain she didn’t return. Then the team gathered in Hotch’s office. Giggles, snickers and self-congratulations were cut short when it became clear to all that Hotch still wasn’t feeling well. Rossi pushed him down into a chair and frowned at him. Prentiss laid a hand across his forehead, feeling for fever. J.J. ran for a glass of water and something bland to settle an uneasy stomach from one of the vending machines in the kitchen. She also brought paper towels to cover up what they chose to call the “Strauss repellant,” pending the arrival of the Bureau janitorial service.

The fuss didn’t last long. It was late and Hotch told everyone to go home. Rossi and Reid remained. Rossi, because he had a paternal streak where the Unit Chief was concerned and wanted to be sure he could get home on his own. Reid, because he wanted a chance to be one on one with Hotch. He had a feeling he might be able to understand what was going on with his boss if his psychic antenna wasn’t picking up interference from the others. And the last few days had taught Reid to trust his hunches. He didn’t think Rossi’s calm presence would hamper him.

When things were quieter and the office was almost deserted in deference to the late hour, Reid pulled up a chair facing Hotch.

“I’m fine, Reid. Go home.” Hotch let himself slide down in his seat so he could rest his head against the upholstered back.

Reid didn’t speak. He peered at Hotch’s face with an intensity that began to make his boss uncomfortable.

“Do I have to make that a direct order?” Hotch closed his eyes and sighed. “It’s been a long day. I’m just tired.”

Rossi nudged Reid. “Is he? Just tired?”

The young doctor continued to stare, seeing something Rossi couldn’t. Hotch opened one eye. “And I’m not taking my shirt off again so you can…whatever…see me, I guess.” The eye drifted shut. “Go home. Both of you.”

“I don’t think I need you to lose the shirt anymore.” Before Hotch could respond, Reid scooted his chair closer, reached out and let the fingers of one hand lightly touch the fabric over Hotch’s chest. The Unit Chief’s eyes flew open, while Reid’s closed. Rossi exchanged looks with Hotch and shrugged. He had no idea what was happening, but he wasn’t afraid of Reid getting lost in their leader’s thoughts as he had with Arthur Brandenhoff. For one thing, the thoughts he might be accessing now weren’t those of a psychotic killer.

Long minutes passed. The two older agents were reluctant to move or speak. They didn’t want to interrupt whatever Reid was doing. When Rossi began to think he should shake the young doctor to see if he was still with them, Reid spoke.

“Concentrate, Hotch.” His voice was slow, almost distant.

“On what?”

“You know what. You can feel it like…like…dark smoke is how you thought of it earlier today…on the jet. Dark and vaporous, curling around in your spirit. You know what I mean, Hotch.”

Rossi saw real fear pass across their leader’s features. This was something neither of them understood. And even if Reid was a colleague, a teammate, a friend…it was eerie. Hotch shivered and felt Reid’s fingers press harder against his chest. He licked his lips, swallowed nervously, and then, as Rossi knew he would, surrendered himself completely to Reid. It was a reflection of the trust Hotch gave without reservation to each member of his team. The Unit Chief leaned his head back again and squeezed his eyes shut, following Reid’s instructions as best he could.

For his part, Reid’s face assumed the expression they’d seen when he’d first demonstrated his ability, when he’d first touched Hotch and experienced all the pain and grief of being attacked and of losing a loved one so brutally. Blank. Impassive. Almost inhuman in its serenity.