Head In the Game

Chapter 4: Stuck

Yes, I wanted to get back to headquarters and see what the rest of the team was getting up to, but I was dreading stepping back into that car. For one, it was freezing in there. Apparently, people living in Chicago had forgotten what a normal human temperature was, but that wasn't it. That was Siberian.

Maybe I was being dramatic, but I didn't enjoy shivering inside of a vehicle. The only thing colder than that were the dispositions of its riders. No one had said anything on the ride over. I had come up with about five different conversation starters in my head but abandoned each before it had a chance to leap off my tongue.

The first day of a new job was always hard, I reasoned. The good news was that I was only here temporarily. On a consulting basis, technically. If Reid didn't like me, and I was beginning to suspect just that was the case, it wouldn't matter in a couple of weeks. And if this car ride was determined to be the most awkward of my life, so be it. It would be over in ten minutes.

At least, that's what I thought. Our designated driver jammed the keys in the ignition and drew from the car an awful dying sound.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Reid asked. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

"It's fine. She just needs a sec to warm up," the driver said. But seconds snowballed into minutes and soon we'd been sitting there for fifteen minutes.

"Maybe we should find another car," I proposed for the third time.

"No, no," the driver said, "She'll be ready any time now." James, I remembered. That was his name. Wait, was that his first or his last name?

I was shaking from the cold now. And that incessant pop music kept playing, so low that it sounded like I was listening to it through a wall. Like the upstairs neighbors were having a party. What if I just made a run for it? That would be rude, but I was caring less and less by the second. Why hadn't Hotch called?

"Hey, James?" I asked, "Can you turn that music off?

"Sorry, wish I could. The radio's stuck." That was the last straw. I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket and held it to my ear.

"Hey, Hotch"--Reid looked at me, puzzled, but I ignored him--"What's that? Check underneath? No, I don't think- Okay, we'll get right on that." I put the phone down. Not a bad performance, if I said so myself. I hadn't exactly majored in drama, but I could fake a phone call.

"Sorry, James, looks like we have to head back inside. Missed a clue. Why don't you shout if you can get the car running, okay?" Before he could answer I was already out of the car. Reid hadn't moved. I went around the car and opened his door like I was his prom date.

"Come on," I said in an urgent whisper. It really was just as cold inside the car as outside, but the wind chill made it worse outside. I had no desire to hover. Reid hesitated for only a second. Then he stepped out of the car and accompanied me up the cobblestones and into the house.

"Do you even have Hotch's number?" he asked, once we were inside.

"Nope."

"I didn't think so." I leaned against the floating island counter in the kitchen. The crime scene techs were mostly gone now. The body had been taken before we'd arrived. Now there was just one lady in a dark blue windbreaker holding a clipboard, surveying the aftermath. It was quieter. Which was weird, because I never would have consciously characterized a crime scene as loud. But the comparative silence was noticeable and much less tense than that of the car. Just waiting with Reid was comfortable.

No offense to James, I thought. Then I remembered the pop music.

Some offense to James.