Fic: Knowledge and Innocence (1/1, Criminal Minds)
Title: Knowledge and Innocence (Episodes and Incidents table 2 Prompt 28: Heartache)
Author: Frogg
Beta: None
Rating: slash, non-explicit
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Words: 1,115 (without lyrics)
Summary: Morgan breaks up with Reid after a hostage situation goes haywire; Gideon tries to pick up the pieces.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Author's Note: This is a songfic. I usually don't write songfic, but I heard the first single off Jonatha Brooke's newest album on the radio, bought the CD, and promptly fell in love with a different song on the disc. It's the only song to have driven me to tears, literally, ever, and I've been trying to kill plotbunnies ever since.
Gideon tapped the break room door and leaned in. "Reid? Mind if I come in?"
Reid looked up from the paper he was writing on in mild confusion. "Of course, it-it's the break room."
Taking a seat across from the younger man, Gideon glanced over Reid's form, the bandages and posture. He didn't bother looking at the paper sitting on the table; he knew what it was. "How's the arm?"
Reid started, gave a half-hearted bark of laughter. "You know, it'd be a lot better if people would quit asking me that and reminding me that it hurts." He shrugged, frowning at the white bandage covering most of his left forearm. "It hurts. The glass was worse, though. Not sure why, since the gunpowder..."
"The window exploded less than three feet away from you. You're lucky to be alive," Gideon replied, tension creeping into his voice. "Why'd you do it, anyway? You know it's--" He cut himself off at Reid's headshake.
"Do you remember..." Reid stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Do you remember when I failed my firearms qualification? You told me that it wasn't necessary to have a gun to kill someone."
"I remember."
"After...On the plane after I killed Dowd, I agreed with you. I'd been thinking about it, but I kept coming up with more questions. I mean, we all carry the normal issue Glock...but you carry it as an afterthought. Hotch carries two of them. For Morgan, it's just part of the job. And I can't hit what I'm aiming for unless there are lives in danger," Reid said. "Why the difference?"
"And did you find your answer?"
The pen twirled between Reid's fingers for a moment before he answered. "Yeah. The weapons we're most comfortable with, the ones we would choose to use, are really just a reflection of the...intellectual and emotional qualities which most define us."
Gideon raised an eyebrow in interest. "Example?"
"Your weapon of choice is the profile itself. You use wisdom and intuition." A sly smile twisted Reid's lips before he continued. "For Hotch, obviously his guns - a reflection of logic and self control." Reid shut his eyes briefly then, lips thinning. "Morgan's an expert in hand-to-hand, and uses worldliness and empathy. I think that's what attracted me in the first place -- the worldliness. I've never seen anyone as comfortable with themselves as Morgan." He shrugged again. "The empathy's what broke us."
Firmly squashing the urge to reach out in comfort, Gideon could only nod. "And yourself?"
"I...don't really have a physical weapon. You, at least, get a folder, or a piece of paper with the profile. But then again, I have no idea what would go with knowledge and innocence. Or, well, perceived innocence. I can't really claim to be innocent in any sense of the word."
"No, I imagine not." Gideon paused. "So what does this have to do with you trading yourself for the hostages?"
Reid's ears burned. "I'm an FBI agent, but I don't register as a threat."
"Perceived innocence." Gideon sighed. "We're really going to have to get you some more 'weapons'."
Reid gave him a small, sad smile. "That's not necessary, Gideon."
"Oh?"
"Morgan can't do his job if he keeps blaming himself for my injuries. I can't do mine if he's not there to come back to."
"That doesn't make any sense, but then, matters of the heart rarely do."
Reid nodded. "I knew it would end like this before we started, but I couldn't help myself."
"And you're not going to fight for it, either."
A shake of the head. "There's nothing I can say to him that he doesn't already know. And fighting, here?"
"Sometimes all that's needed is for someone else to say it," Gideon pointed out.
"Well, don't. I don't want him badgered about it." Reid huffed, indignant.
"All right." Gideon nodded once and spread his hands in acquiecense. "What now?"
"Now, I go home and sleep for a week. Then I suppose I'll need to go through the standing offers I've gotten and see which one appeals the most."
"You and Morgan were together for over a year."
"One year, three months and seventeen days." Reid smiled. "I can't afford to be unemployed, Gideon. And the FBI wasn't the only organization wanting to hire me."
"Then do me two favors."
Reid just looked up at him expectantly.
"Keep in touch. And don't close the door on the BAU."
Reid gave him that same sad smile. "I'll try."
"Good."
Reid straightened in his chair then, shifting uncomfortably as his shirt pulled across the bandages Gideon knew to be underneath. "If-if you don't mind, I'll come back in once I've healed more to clear out my desk."
"And after you've slept for a week."
"Something like that."
"Sure. Here," and Gideon rose, circling the table to hold out a hand, watching the fleeting expressions of relief and gratitude cross Reid's face as he accepted help getting to his feet.
Reid swayed slightly, wincing at the pain.
"Do yourself a favor. Take a taxi home." Gideon smiled, then reached down for Reid's satchel and handed it to him. "I'll call one for you."
Gingerly taking his belongings, Reid nodded. "I...I appreciate it. Thank you." And then he was gone, pen and paper the only reminders of his presence.
Gideon sighed and leaned against the table, reading.
"Effective immediately, I, Dr. Spencer Reid, of sound mind and slightly-battered-but-healing body, hereby resign my position..."
Short and to the point.
Gideon could only shake his head and smile.
It had no date.
~~~
True to Gideon's word, a taxi pulled up to the main entrance a few minutes later. Reid slid carefully into the back seat and gave the driver his home address.
"You mind the music?" the driver asked, meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror.
"N-no, not at all." There was a folksy-sounding song playing, an earthy female voice and guitar. "It's nice, actually. CD?"
"Jonatha Brooke, sir."
"Could you restart it?"
"Certainly." A push of a button, and the track restarted.
Reid pushed the pain in his back and arm to the back of his mind, instead concentrating on the sad strains of music.
And you say that you're ok
You say you don't need anything, or anyone
And that you're better off this way
You'll be fine no matter what
What's done is done
And walking through these darkened rooms
Filled with empty promises, and your perfume
I'll leave the light on
I know you'll be back
I don't need to know any more than that
So don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been
I'll be here waiting, just to let you in
And you say that I'm naïve
Love is not a fairy tale
Well maybe so, who would know
Cuz I'm the fool who still believes
That there's a happy ending here
That time will tell and love will know
Even in these darkened rooms
I will keep my promises to cherish and believe in you
I'll leave the light on
I know you'll be back
I don't need to know any more than that
So don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been
I'll be here waiting, just to let you in
I'd rather be a fool now, than a slave to my own pride
I'd rather let you go, just to let you know
That I'm always on your side
So I'll leave the light on
I know you'll be back
I don't need to know any more than that
Don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been
I'll be here waiting, just to let you in
As the last few chords died away, Reid leaned forward and asked, "Would you mind playing it again?"
The driver glanced up at him again. "You like that song." It wasn't a question.
"Story of my-my life, lately."
"If you like." And the song started over.
Reid couldn't be there waiting for Morgan to make up his mind, or to come to his senses.
But he could leave the light on.
Morgan did, after all, have a key.
~~~the end~~~
Previous: Cold Logic
Next: And the World Cried Out
Author: Frogg
Beta: None
Rating: slash, non-explicit
Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Words: 1,115 (without lyrics)
Summary: Morgan breaks up with Reid after a hostage situation goes haywire; Gideon tries to pick up the pieces.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine.
Author's Note: This is a songfic. I usually don't write songfic, but I heard the first single off Jonatha Brooke's newest album on the radio, bought the CD, and promptly fell in love with a different song on the disc. It's the only song to have driven me to tears, literally, ever, and I've been trying to kill plotbunnies ever since.
Gideon tapped the break room door and leaned in. "Reid? Mind if I come in?"
Reid looked up from the paper he was writing on in mild confusion. "Of course, it-it's the break room."
Taking a seat across from the younger man, Gideon glanced over Reid's form, the bandages and posture. He didn't bother looking at the paper sitting on the table; he knew what it was. "How's the arm?"
Reid started, gave a half-hearted bark of laughter. "You know, it'd be a lot better if people would quit asking me that and reminding me that it hurts." He shrugged, frowning at the white bandage covering most of his left forearm. "It hurts. The glass was worse, though. Not sure why, since the gunpowder..."
"The window exploded less than three feet away from you. You're lucky to be alive," Gideon replied, tension creeping into his voice. "Why'd you do it, anyway? You know it's--" He cut himself off at Reid's headshake.
"Do you remember..." Reid stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "Do you remember when I failed my firearms qualification? You told me that it wasn't necessary to have a gun to kill someone."
"I remember."
"After...On the plane after I killed Dowd, I agreed with you. I'd been thinking about it, but I kept coming up with more questions. I mean, we all carry the normal issue Glock...but you carry it as an afterthought. Hotch carries two of them. For Morgan, it's just part of the job. And I can't hit what I'm aiming for unless there are lives in danger," Reid said. "Why the difference?"
"And did you find your answer?"
The pen twirled between Reid's fingers for a moment before he answered. "Yeah. The weapons we're most comfortable with, the ones we would choose to use, are really just a reflection of the...intellectual and emotional qualities which most define us."
Gideon raised an eyebrow in interest. "Example?"
"Your weapon of choice is the profile itself. You use wisdom and intuition." A sly smile twisted Reid's lips before he continued. "For Hotch, obviously his guns - a reflection of logic and self control." Reid shut his eyes briefly then, lips thinning. "Morgan's an expert in hand-to-hand, and uses worldliness and empathy. I think that's what attracted me in the first place -- the worldliness. I've never seen anyone as comfortable with themselves as Morgan." He shrugged again. "The empathy's what broke us."
Firmly squashing the urge to reach out in comfort, Gideon could only nod. "And yourself?"
"I...don't really have a physical weapon. You, at least, get a folder, or a piece of paper with the profile. But then again, I have no idea what would go with knowledge and innocence. Or, well, perceived innocence. I can't really claim to be innocent in any sense of the word."
"No, I imagine not." Gideon paused. "So what does this have to do with you trading yourself for the hostages?"
Reid's ears burned. "I'm an FBI agent, but I don't register as a threat."
"Perceived innocence." Gideon sighed. "We're really going to have to get you some more 'weapons'."
Reid gave him a small, sad smile. "That's not necessary, Gideon."
"Oh?"
"Morgan can't do his job if he keeps blaming himself for my injuries. I can't do mine if he's not there to come back to."
"That doesn't make any sense, but then, matters of the heart rarely do."
Reid nodded. "I knew it would end like this before we started, but I couldn't help myself."
"And you're not going to fight for it, either."
A shake of the head. "There's nothing I can say to him that he doesn't already know. And fighting, here?"
"Sometimes all that's needed is for someone else to say it," Gideon pointed out.
"Well, don't. I don't want him badgered about it." Reid huffed, indignant.
"All right." Gideon nodded once and spread his hands in acquiecense. "What now?"
"Now, I go home and sleep for a week. Then I suppose I'll need to go through the standing offers I've gotten and see which one appeals the most."
"You and Morgan were together for over a year."
"One year, three months and seventeen days." Reid smiled. "I can't afford to be unemployed, Gideon. And the FBI wasn't the only organization wanting to hire me."
"Then do me two favors."
Reid just looked up at him expectantly.
"Keep in touch. And don't close the door on the BAU."
Reid gave him that same sad smile. "I'll try."
"Good."
Reid straightened in his chair then, shifting uncomfortably as his shirt pulled across the bandages Gideon knew to be underneath. "If-if you don't mind, I'll come back in once I've healed more to clear out my desk."
"And after you've slept for a week."
"Something like that."
"Sure. Here," and Gideon rose, circling the table to hold out a hand, watching the fleeting expressions of relief and gratitude cross Reid's face as he accepted help getting to his feet.
Reid swayed slightly, wincing at the pain.
"Do yourself a favor. Take a taxi home." Gideon smiled, then reached down for Reid's satchel and handed it to him. "I'll call one for you."
Gingerly taking his belongings, Reid nodded. "I...I appreciate it. Thank you." And then he was gone, pen and paper the only reminders of his presence.
Gideon sighed and leaned against the table, reading.
"Effective immediately, I, Dr. Spencer Reid, of sound mind and slightly-battered-but-healing body, hereby resign my position..."
Short and to the point.
Gideon could only shake his head and smile.
It had no date.
~~~
True to Gideon's word, a taxi pulled up to the main entrance a few minutes later. Reid slid carefully into the back seat and gave the driver his home address.
"You mind the music?" the driver asked, meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror.
"N-no, not at all." There was a folksy-sounding song playing, an earthy female voice and guitar. "It's nice, actually. CD?"
"Jonatha Brooke, sir."
"Could you restart it?"
"Certainly." A push of a button, and the track restarted.
Reid pushed the pain in his back and arm to the back of his mind, instead concentrating on the sad strains of music.
And you say that you're ok
You say you don't need anything, or anyone
And that you're better off this way
You'll be fine no matter what
What's done is done
And walking through these darkened rooms
Filled with empty promises, and your perfume
I'll leave the light on
I know you'll be back
I don't need to know any more than that
So don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been
I'll be here waiting, just to let you in
And you say that I'm naïve
Love is not a fairy tale
Well maybe so, who would know
Cuz I'm the fool who still believes
That there's a happy ending here
That time will tell and love will know
Even in these darkened rooms
I will keep my promises to cherish and believe in you
I'll leave the light on
I know you'll be back
I don't need to know any more than that
So don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been
I'll be here waiting, just to let you in
I'd rather be a fool now, than a slave to my own pride
I'd rather let you go, just to let you know
That I'm always on your side
So I'll leave the light on
I know you'll be back
I don't need to know any more than that
Don't say a word, don't tell me where you've been
I'll be here waiting, just to let you in
As the last few chords died away, Reid leaned forward and asked, "Would you mind playing it again?"
The driver glanced up at him again. "You like that song." It wasn't a question.
"Story of my-my life, lately."
"If you like." And the song started over.
Reid couldn't be there waiting for Morgan to make up his mind, or to come to his senses.
But he could leave the light on.
Morgan did, after all, have a key.
~~~the end~~~
Previous: Cold Logic
Next: And the World Cried Out