Chapter 6: Uncharted Waters
a/n: As far as I know, this is the last chapter of Four Eighths. If I write anymore on it, it'll be as a sequel, either a multi-chapter or one-shot, depending on my muse. :)
Thanks for all the reviews, and I'd love to read more. :D
Chapter 6: Uncharted Waters
What with all my expectations long abandoned,
And my solitary nature notwithstanding,
You’re the one who pulled me out of that crash landing,
My stunning mystery companion.
-Jackson Browne, “My Stunning Mystery Companion”
“Kid, I know you’re in there. There’s no place else to go. Just let me in,” Derek Morgan demanded through Spencer Reid’s hotel room door. He’d been knocking a solid ten minutes, but he had no illusions about Reid’s capacity to ignore someone: he could be stuck out here all day.
He was on the verge of giving up (or maybe going outside and ripping his shirt open, a la Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire, as he screamed Reid’s name…) when the door swung open. “You’re bothering the whole hotel, Morgan. I was in the shower,” Reid snapped.
The bigger man stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “Where’s Prentiss?” he asked, glancing around warily.
Reid shot him a baleful look. “She left when she got J.J.’s call. Are you here to fire me?”
“Jesus, Reid, that never crossed my mind,” he admitted, slumping down into the uncomfortable chair that had been witness to Reid’s earlier epiphany.
The young man sighed; rubbed a towel over his wet hair just to keep his hands busy. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” he said at last.
Morgan spread his hands in a semi-shrug. “Understandable, given the circumstances. Would you have lied if I weren’t acting Unit Chief?”
His brows drew together; the worry line appeared between them. “I honestly don’t know. It wasn’t just my secret to tell.”
He absorbed this in silence. Shifted in an attempt to get comfortable. Studied his young friend with careful, worried eyes. “So you and Prentiss…is it serious?”
Reid cleared his throat. Gingerly perched on the corner of the bed. “I…it’s…um, it’s really complicated,” he finally decided.
Morgan’s mouth quirked appreciatively. “You can say that again. I thought Hotch was gonna have an aneurysm.”
He rubbed his fine-boned face with both hands. “They’re close, Hotch and Emily,” he said through his fingers.
“Yeah,” Morgan agreed, “but not ‘confide all your secrets’ close. That’s more Garcia’s area; she’s gonna hit the ceiling when she finds out.”
The hands fell to his lap. “And you? How are you reacting?”
He sighed. Jogged the foot he had propped on one knee in agitation. “I wish you would’ve told me, man.”
“There wasn’t much to tell, Morgan. It was just…a port in the storm, I think. For both of us.”
“So what changed?” he asked, pinning his friend with a dark-eyed, perceptive stare.
Reid shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know.”
“But something did.”
“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “something did.” He drew a deep breath. “It’s funny. We all relate in different ways, on different levels, and we’re all…close…but I feel like Emily…gets me. I don’t know how to explain.”
“There’s a connection. Like Garcia and I.”
He glanced over sharply. “But I thought you and Garcia-”
“We’re not lovers, never have been. But to say we’re ‘just friends’ is to over simplify. I told her once she was my God-given solace, and I meant it. I still do,” he explained in a mild voice.
“Look, kid,” he continued after a moment’s pause, “if you and Em think you can make each other happy in this dirty, fucked up world, then go for it. I’m not gonna run to Strauss or make your lives any harder. I just want you to be prepared for how tough it’s gonna be. Can you handle it?”
His face scrunched as he considered his answer. “We all listened to Haley die,” he said. Morgan knew it wasn’t a change of subject, so he sat, silent, and waited for the point. “Foyet killed her because Hotch loved her, and he made him listen because he was a monster.”
“There are a lot of monsters out there, Reid,” Morgan cautioned gently.
“Here there be monsters…” he whispered speculatively.
“What?” the other man asked with a frown.
The young man raised his gaze to meet his friend’s concerned eyes. “Old maps. In unexplored areas they had fantastic drawings of sea serpents and dragons with the inscription ‘Here there be monsters,’” he explained. “It kept people away from unexplored waters for a long time.”
Morgan raised an appreciative brow; huffed out a little chuckle. “Until someone had the balls to go see for himself.”
“There are always going to be monsters, Morgan,” he said. “Our choice isn’t whether or not to stick close to home so we can avoid them; our choice is the crew we take with us when we go face them.”
He smiled, a flash of white teeth in a dusky face. “Alright, pretty boy; go get your woman.” His expression sobered, and he dropped both feet to the floor; leaned forward in the small chair. “Just be careful, Reid. I mean it.”
His mouth twisted. “I’m always careful, Morgan; isn’t that sort of the problem?”
“Emily? Hey, Em, it’s me. Listen, I brought food…are you…hey, are you hungry?” Reid called through her door. Silence was his only answer, but he knew from J.J. that she was in there. “I can just leave it here if you want…?”
The door swung open, and she stepped back to let him pass. One glimpse at her face told him she’d been crying. Feeling awkward, he fumbled to find a place for the large bag of sandwiches and chips, the bottle of Diet Coke he’d retrieved from his room. “Are you…” He trailed off, at a loss, and mutely offered her his pocket handkerchief.
She took it with a watery smile. “Trust you to carry monogrammed handkerchiefs,” she commented, sniffling and dabbing her eyes.
He shrugged, lips quirking. “My mom sends me a box every Christmas. I think it’s her small way of saving the planet.”
She read the initials, frowning. “SGR. What’s your middle name?”
“Geoffrey,” he told her, “after Geoffrey Chaucer.”
“Of course. Um, so, food. What’d you bring?”
His forehead wrinkled as his brows drew together over worried hazel eyes. Deciding she’d get to it her own way, he let her change the subject. “The sheriff’s wife sent us sandwiches,” he said, unpacking the bag. “I got you tuna salad on rye and turkey and Swiss on wheat. I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for. Of course I brought these, too.” He held up a package of barbecue potato chips with a triumphant little smile: they were one of her favorite guilty pleasures.
“Perfect. What are you having?” she asked as she took the snack from him and inspected the sandwiches.
“Um. Roast beef and provolone on wheat.”
Her dark eyes grew wide. “Roast beef? Really?”
He’d unwrapped the sandwich and was about to take a bite, but the look she was giving him was unmistakable. With a sigh he handed over his sandwich and grabbed the turkey he’d brought for her. “I’m trying to cut back on red meat anyway,” he muttered.
She added a few chips to the sandwich and grinned up at him. “It’s not good for you,” she agreed seriously. “My arteries and I will make the sacrifice.”
“You and your arteries are the very spirit of altruism,” he remarked dryly.
She slid half of the contested roast beef over to him and took half of the turkey, and the two shared a quiet smile before settling down to eat. He stole a chip; she took a long pull from his cup. They chewed in companionable silence and watched as a new shower of snow began adding an additional layer to the already blanketed landscape outside her window.
“So,” she remarked as she brushed crumbs off her shirt; gathered their trash, “I guess you’re wondering why I needed your handkerchief.”
“You were crying.”
She rolled her eyes a little. He grinned, then sobered. “Did you talk to Hotch?”
“Yeah, I did.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes as she refreshed his drink.
“And…?” He took the cup and bottle from her, gently stilling her hands and capturing her gaze with his own.
She sighed; looked away; back again. “He said I’m old enough to know better.”
Reid blinked at her. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “I, um. Oh.”
Her mouth curved. “Exactly.” She ran both hands through her mahogany hair. “I told him he was being ridiculous, and I think, maybe, he realized I was right.”
“I know Hotch’s opinion means a lot to you,” he offered hesitantly.
“It means a lot to both of us, Spencer. But…professional disapproval I could understand; it’s dangerous for two people who work together as we do to get involved; but personal disapproval? He doesn’t really have that right.”
“Doesn’t he? Do you think it’s the idea of you and me he doesn’t like, or you and anyone?”
She glanced up at him sharply. “Hotch and I-”
“Emily, it’s ok. You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know if things were different you might be having lunch with him right now instead of me.”
She frowned; considered. “Things would have to be a lot different,” she finally said with a shake of her head.
“I know.” He flashed a self-deprecating little smile. “I just hope, things being as they are, that I’m an adequate substitute.”
A range of emotions played across her face, but her eyes were piercing as she said, “No, Spencer, you’re not.” She held up a hand to forestall him when his mouth opened. “You’re not a substitute at all. If I wanted anyone else I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m with the person I want to be with, end of story. You know that, right? Tell me you know that.”
“Um.” He tucked his hands into his pockets like he did when nerves got the better of him. “Well, technically, I came to you, so you were already here…”
“Spencer!” she chastised, exasperated.
“Emily,” he replied mildly, brows quirking.
“Spencer,” she repeated, face creasing.
“Emily,” he said again, softly. He reached for her, and she leaned against him. His hands slid up her back to tangle in her rich dark hair.
“Spencer,” she murmured into his shoulder, “it’s January ninth.”
“I know,” he said, resting his cheek against the top of her head.
“Wanna stay for the tenth?”
He breathed out a small chuckle. “Only if you stay for the eleventh.”
She grinned; fitted herself more snugly against him. “You've got a deal.”