Title: The Persistence of Memory
Author: Rhysenn
Rating: FRT (or PG-13)
Pairing: Hotch/Reid, Gideon/Reid
Summary: The aftermath of his and Hotch's encounter in L.D.S.K is more than Reid expects.

***

It’s not until he reaches home does it finally hit him – and Reid barely manages to close the door behind him before sinking to the floor. He buries himself in the corner between door frame and his luggage; shuddering breaths wrack his body and a cold sweat breaks across his skin.

It’s (kick) front sight, (kick) trigger press, (kick) follow through!

He remembers the door’s not locked, he’s gotta lock the door – he struggles to his feet and shoots the bolt home. Hotch’s voice still echoes in his ears; Reid curls in on himself and the pain’s real, as real as the memories.

It’s (kick) not that (kick) hard! A (kick) Dalmatian could do it!

Reid vaguely wonders why Hotch said Dalmatian. In fact, border collies are supposed to be the smartest breed, and there’s been no documented research that Dalmatians are good at anything related to firearms.

Perhaps, Reid thinks bitterly, that’s exactly Hotch’s point.

Pathetic.

The panic swirls dark circles around his consciousness, and Reid forces the image of Hotch out of his mind as he squeezes his eyes shut, tries to breathe.

Breathe.

But he can’t get Hotch’s voice out of his mind, and those things, those things Hotch said about him...

It’s not Hotch’s fault, Reid knows – Hotch has no idea, and Reid thinks Hotch would never have done that charade if he knew. At least, Reid wants to believe so. And he holds on to that, because that’s what he needs to do to get past this. He needs to keep it together like he did today, even when Hotch came over and said, sheepishly, I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly.

And Reid just pretended like no one’s ever said that to him before, and he looked at Hotch and managed a smile and said, You kick like a nine year old girl.

What Reid couldn’t possibly have said was You kick nothing like my ex, even when he was sober.


* * *


This is going to hit you – and when it does, there’s only three facts you need to know.

Reid remembers Gideon’s words to him on the plane – and once again, he thinks wryly, Gideon is spot on even without knowing the truth.

As he sits on the sofa, sipping slowly from the cup of hot tea steaming in his hands, Reid thinks about the three facts Gideon told him. Lingers on the last one, on how Gideon’s proud of him; although that makes Reid think that if Gideon knew some of the things he did, some of the things he forced himself to do just to make the hurting stop –

– if Gideon knew, he wouldn’t be so proud of him after all.

Reid sits cross-legged and stares at the window even though the curtains are drawn. He doesn’t turn on the lights, and the apartment is dim with the faint paleness from the streetlamps down on ground level, seeping between the gap of the curtains and through the light-colored fabric; and the soft darkness all around hides the pain the same way it used to hide the bruises.


* * *


The next day Reid sits back in his chair and tries to concentrate on the briefing at hand. They’re on a new case and headed to San Francisco in a couple of hours; Hotch is talking about some other unsolved murders in other states that may be related.

Reid has always liked Hotch’s voice. It has a rich, steady tone and Hotch is always articulate and fluent and professional – and on many occasions before Reid has let himself space out a little, stare at Hotch as he speaks and imagine Hotch’s voice saying other things, other words.

But now he can’t.

Reid stares down at his report, fiddles with his pen, makes tiny meaningless notes like "stolen car" and "murder weapon" and "ski mask," and when the meeting is finally over he gathers his notes and heads towards the door.

"Reid," a voice behind him speaks. "I’d like a word, please."

Reid turns – Gideon is standing right behind him, an inscrutable expression on his face. He indicates for Reid to stay, and they wait for the others to file out of the meeting room. Hotch casts a questioning glance at Gideon on his way out; then Hotch’s gaze shifts to Reid, and their eyes meet for a split second before Reid quickly drops his gaze.

After the last agent leaves, Gideon goes over to close the door. Then he turns around to face Reid, and the look in his eyes softens a little.

"You all right?" he asks.

"Sure," Reid nods automatically, "of course. I’m fine – no reason not to be."

"Well," Gideon says, "it’s just that you spent the entire briefing staring at the first page of the report."

There’s nothing accusatory in Gideon’s voice, but Reid still feels a flush of heat on his face. He lets out an embarrassed laugh.

"You know," Reid offers a smile, hopes it looks genuinely wry. "Killing a man... you did say it’ll hit me."

"Yes I did." Gideon’s expression doesn’t alter. "But this is not about killing that man – is it?"

Maintain eye contact, Reid wills himself. Keep your voice level. "Why do you say that?"

"If it’s guilt or some form of trauma you’re experiencing relating to that shooting," Gideon pauses, and looks directly at Reid. "Then why is it that you can’t look at Hotch?"

Denial is the first defense. "That’s not true, I do look at Hotch."

"Exactly. You usually do. But you didn’t today."

"What difference does it make?" Reid can’t hold back the mild outburst; he’s startled by how much emotion is wrought into his voice. And he feels stupid as soon as the words are out because he doesn’t even need to be a profiler to know that it makes all the difference.

Pathetic.

Reid waits for Gideon’s reprimand.

"The role play is sometimes a necessary part of doing our job," Gideon finally says, his voice completely neutral.

"I know," Reid says quickly. "I know that, and I assure you I have absolutely no issue with how Agent Hotchner conducted the –"

"That being said," Gideon continues, "ignoring the effects doing our job may have on us is not the way of dealing with it."

Reid stares miserably at the floor.

"You mustn’t tell Hotch." A pause. "It’s not his fault."

"It’s not Hotch I’m concerned about."

Reid bites his lower lip and doesn’t say anything. Silence fills the room; from the corner of Reid’s eye he can see Hotch outside with the other agents, getting ready. He wonders what Hotch is thinking, wonders if he guesses what’s going on.

"Was it the assault?" Gideon finally speaks quietly. "Or the words he said?"

Reid flinches inwardly; the case report, he realizes, Hotch put it all in the report. Oh god. He squeezes his eyes shut, the heat of shame burning on his cheeks.

"Both," Reid whispers, and it’s the truth.

"You don’t have to work this case, you can take a few days off," Gideon says, and Reid thinks that only Gideon can make being judged unfit for duty not sound like the most mortifying thing in the world.

"No, please." Reid looks up, meeting Gideon’s eyes. "I can do this. I want to, I just... " He trails off, and there’s a desperation in his voice as he continues, "I need to be doing something, I just need something to keep my mind focused."

Gideon looks at him, and Reid thinks Gideon’s probably the only person who can really understand.

"All right," Gideon says. "We can talk about this later."

Reid nods tightly. His throat feels too constricted to speak. Gideon reaches out and puts a hand on Reid’s shoulder.

"Anytime you need a break," he says. "You let me know. No matter what."

Reid nods again. "I will."

Gideon looks at him pensively; then he gives him a smile that’s both warm and encouraging, and Reid thinks about why this is what he needs to do, about the good people whose lives will be saved, and the third, most important thing of all – and at that moment, Reid doesn’t even need to hear Gideon say it.

He knows.




- fin -

***

Next story in series - Darkness From Cold.