Unknown- A Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 42- Not What I Meant

Note to Readers: If you'd like to find out what the other half of Reid's conversation with Morgan was, check out the chapter Fresh Perspective in Criminal Minds One Shots.  And please vote! :)

I unlocked the front door to my 'new' small house and pushed it open, expecting a German Shepard to come running at me.  The disappointment that makes your stomach cold hardened in my middle when the dog I was so used to greeting me didn't come running.  I wondered if he disliked Garcia as much as he disliked Mrs. Mulcahy.  Or if he'd even met Garcia yet, cause I told Mrs. Mulcahy to only call her if he wouldn't let Mrs. Mulcahy feed him.  I hadn't seen Chocolate in more than a week, and I didn't know when I'd even see him again.

I sighed and tossed my keys on the counter before letting my bag drop off my shoulder to the floor, flicking the lights on.  With it being four-thirty in the middle of October, the sun had already started going down, but my house was always dark anyways.  I wasn't allowed to open the curtains, my alibi in this small town was a recluse looking for a new start or something else taken from a cheesy rom-com.  Like that would happen I thought with a mental scoff, but I couldn't deny the image of Reid that popped into my head.

Which could have been as insignificant as I would have liked until late the next morning when my phone rang.  I had a burner cell so there wasn't any caller ID, but the number scrolling across the window on the cover of the tiny flip phone looked familiar.  Not Matthew Skinner familiar--though there was a brief moment of panic before I realized that--but someone from the BAU familiar.  None of them were supposed to have my number, but I'm sure Garcia could easily have hacked the records, so I answered it.

"Hey, Charlie," I recognized Reid's voice on the other end of the phone.  And he was the only one who now used my first name instead of calling me McDowell, which is another reason I recognized it was him.

"You're not supposed to have this number," I said with a smirk, wondering if he could hear it in my voice.

He hesitated before admitting, "Garcia got it for me."

"Knew it," I gloated before asking, "So what's so important that you needed her to hack confidential records in order to talk to me?"

"We hit a dead end on a case and I figured you might be able to see something the rest of us missed," he said.

"God, yes.  I am so bored I found myself looking forward to reading the dictionary this morning," I answered. I wasn't even being sarcastic, aside from an outdated atlas and some thick volume written in legalese, there was nothing else to entertain me.

"Really?  I have a couple books you can borrow when I get there," he offered.

"When you get here?" I questioned.

"Yeah, in like ten minutes.  See you then," he said before hanging up.

Well, that was quick.

And, true to his word, approximately ten minutes later there was a knock at the door.  Just to be safe, I grabbed the gun I wasn't supposed to have before answering, first peeking through the small crack between the curtain and the window frame.  The backside of a lanky silhouette was glancing down the street, standing anxiously in front of the door.

I unlocked it and pulled it open, and Reid turned to face me. It'd only been a little more than a week, but man, was I glad to see someone I knew.

"Hi," he greeted, but I could tell he was holding back from giving me a hug by the way he let go of the strap of his messenger bag before reflexively curling his fingers around it again.

I was almost tempted to let him hug me, but then I remembered this was a safe house and I was supposed to be hiding and quickly stepped aside so he could come in, closing and locking the door behind him.

I dropped back onto the couch, regretting it when my tailbone hit one of the crossbars underneath.  Safe houses weren't known for furniture with a five-star comfort rating.

Reid stood awkwardly in front of me, a case file in his hand.  He sighed and admitted, "I shouldn't be giving you this."

"Come on, I have to have something to offer, it's not like I haven't done this before," I argued.

"Aren't there cameras and microphones in here?" he asked, looking suspiciously around the tiny living room.

"Probably, but they won't check them unless something questionable happens.  Considering you're a coworker, it's probably not that far out of the realm of possibility minus the fact that you're not even supposed to know I'm here," I replied, offering a sarcastic I'm-so-innocent look.

He sighed and tried to look disappointed, but I swear I saw him fighting back a smirk before he handed over the case file.

I glanced through the pictures, glancing to examine one of the corpse of a girl in her teens.  You could see the purple bruises dappling her pale waxy skin, on her chin, cheekbone, and around one of her eyes.

The cut in my side twinged, but I ignored it.

"Her eyelid is swollen," I noticed, pointing to the one in the picture not ringed with a plum bruise.

"She was beaten ante-mortem," he said.

"Yeah, but both her eyelids are swollen.  There's only bruising around one of them, there's no bruising around this one," I clarified.

Reid immediately pulled out his phone and hit speed dial, and it rang once before the person on the other end answered and he asked, "Are you still at the M.E.'s?"

I could hear muffled talking from the other end but obviously couldn't tell who it was, I only heard Reid's end of the conversation, "Check the eyelids of the second victim.  They're both swollen but only one of them has bruising around it."

He paused, listening, but then looked guilty before insisting, "We hit a dead end.  I needed a fresh perspective," as he glanced surreptitiously at me.

I smirked, it wasn't like I was the one getting in trouble.

Reid continued listening to whoever was on the other end, and then suddenly shame crossed his face and he wouldn't meet my gaze.  I raised an eyebrow, wondering if Morgan was on the other end of the phone.  He was most likely to say something to embarrass Reid like that, at least assuming so when Reid hissed into the phone, "That's not what I meant."

He barely stayed on long enough to hear what was said next before sighing and hanging up, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

"Please tell me that wasn't Hotch," I teased.

"No, Morgan," he answered flatly.

Ha, I was right.