Title: Looks Good On Paper
Author: diagonalist
Pairing: Reid/Gideon
Rating: FRM
Summary: How Gideon learns that Reid plays chess, and what follows.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
A/N: thanks to my wonderful betas ntamara and swtalmnd, the latter of whom deserves all the credit for making me do it with American spelling and giving me the title.

***

"I think we all deserve some rest after this one," Hotch said, rising.

"Rest?" Reid said doubtfully. "I think I read a journal article about that one time."

"You've read articles about everything."

"It was so long ago, I can't remember what the definition of rest is."

Hotch grinned, a sudden boyish showing of teeth. "If you've actually managed to forget something then we must be working you too hard. Get some sleep." He clapped Reid on the shoulder and moved further back into the plane, heading for one of the free couches.

Rearranging himself so that his back was propped up against the wall, Reid tried to fidget himself into a comfortable position. A twitch of one shoulder, a shift of a hip; nothing worked. It wasn't his body that was uncomfortable, that was the problem. His mind was still fully engaged in the case, going over the evidence, bringing up images and pictures of every step of the way. Helpful for when he wanted to write up his report, but inconvenient when he was trying to relax.

He started picking out the prime Fibonacci numbers, and it was a soothing task because he'd done it before. Not a challenge so much as recalling something and testing it for truth. 2, 3, 5, 13, 89, 233, 1597, 28657, 514229…

The absence of noise in his surroundings became a distraction, and Reid opened his eyes to find Gideon asleep across the aisle. Levering himself up on his elbows, Reid could see over the top of the seats that everyone else was sleeping too.

Great.

He shrugged back down into his previous position, legs tucked up next to him, and contemplated the man across from him. Only rarely did he admit to himself how often he thought about Gideon. Usually he rationalized that it was for comfort – he liked thinking of Gideon looking at him approvingly. Watching him. Touching him, on the shoulder or in a brief one-armed hug. But then there were nights when he woke up sweating, aching, and all he could remember of his dreams was Gideon's dark eyes holding his, or Gideon's mouth claiming him. He tried not to think about those nights when he came into work, because he feared Gideon could see it all on his face.

Staring at Gideon while he slept probably wasn't a good way to deal with his little fixation. Reid turned his attention back to the little notebook that he took everywhere with him. He could remember most everything that he wrote in it, but it still helped him put his thoughts together at the end of a case.

Notes on the father, on possible motives, on decrypting the messages the killer had sent. Crime scenes.

A couple of blank pages. Reid blinked at them in surprise, they must have been stuck together. He would never have left them empty deliberately. Irritation at their presence buzzed mildly through his veins; he tried to close the book and ignore them but felt their incongruence gnawing at him.

With a small huff he flipped the book open again, pulled a pen from his satchel, and drew a line right across both pages.

There.

He leaned back and closed his eyes with the satisfaction of a job well done. His mind drifted, and formed a matrix of squares. Black and white. Moved a pawn forward one place.

A few minutes later he frowned as he realized the line that he'd drawn hadn't been centered on the page. It had left the book unbalanced. As black moved a knight to capture one of white's pawns, Reid drew another line a little higher in the book. Of course, there were still minute inconsistencies, and he longed for a ruler. Another line, and now he began to play with the spaces in between, subdividing them and making patterns.

White had already won. Black didn't know this, and just kept on playing naively into the trap being built for it. It possibly even thought it was winning as a white castle was taken.

Reid paused to analyze the extremely ordered mess he'd made on the paper. It was all straight lines and angles. What did that say about his mind? He added in a few curves, making them deliberately imperfect.

Check.

His fingers tapped in agitation against the table edge as he stared at the doodle. It had become overcomplicated, a mesh of designs that didn't fit together. He should have left it alone when it was simpler.

Check-mate.

Reid looked up and was startled to see Gideon sat opposite him, watching him. He hadn't even noticed Gideon wake up and move over there.

"Thinking deep thoughts?" Gideon asked seriously.

"What?" Reid fiddled with the edges of the pages, turning back the corners. "Oh. I was, um, playing chess." He glanced away for a second, wishing there was someone to support him in this assertion.

Gideon looked puzzled. "On paper?"

Reid frowned in bewilderment until Gideon pointed a finger at his notebook. "No. In my head." Which probably sounded even weirder.

"Were you losing?"

Reid stared at him for a moment, trying to assess how serious Gideon was. Guessing that Gideon was teasing, a reluctant smile twitched at his mouth. "No, but then the very idea that you might lose indicates you identify with one side over another. As such, your style of play would favor it and the bias make it less likely to lose anyway."

"You're saying it's impossible to lose to yourself?"

"Depending on your perception of the idea of loss, yes." Reid nodded slightly, running the theory through his head again.

"Then why do you play?" Gideon pressed. Presumably asking what the point in an activity was if there was no challenge and no stimulation. Asking why Reid played alone.

"It… relaxes me?" He hated analyzing his own motivations. The reason he played alone was that people got annoyed after he beat them so easily. But he couldn't let them win, it felt wrong. After a while there was no one willing to play.

Gideon smiled. "You need to get out more." His voice was not unkind, but still Reid's hand curled into an unhappy half-fist. How many times had Reid heard variations of those words, from parents, from kids at school? "Next time I'll bring my chess board along."

Caught off guard, Reid stared at Gideon with his mouth open. "I-"

"What?" said Gideon gruffly. "Haven't you ever played chess outside of your head before?"

"Yes," said Reid, but he wasn't thinking about that. He was thinking that playing chess with Gideon would be good; time just for the two of them. Plus Gideon was sure to have lots of strategies Reid didn't know yet. "Yes," he said again, and smiled. "I'd like that."

They sat for a few minutes in comfortable silence. The sounds of the plane washed over Reid, and he almost thought he might be dozing off-

"What do you have there?"

"Hmmm?" Reid followed Gideon's look. "I keep notes on the cases, for referring to."

"You must have been really angry with those notes, then." Gideon reached out and snagged the book. "Tell me, Dr. Reid, what do you see in this inkblot?"

"I see an inkblot." Gideon looked at him for a moment, as if he knew all of the patterns and connections Reid could make out in a glance. "That sort of psychiatry isn't generally accepted now anyway."

Gideon gazed at the pages. "Well, as long as you don't see a pool of blood or a vision of Christ, I think you're fairly all right."

Reid wet his lips. "What do you see?" he asked. It felt like such a personal question, but then Gideon had asked him first.

"I see…" Gideon trailed off, and his eyebrows drew together. His voice took on a deep and mystic tone. "This is your life line. You will be going on a very long journey."

Reid twisted around to see the darkness outside the plane window. "That part's already accomplished," he said dryly. "Do you see a tall, dark, handsome stranger in my future?"

Eyes unreadable, Gideon said, "Were you hoping for one?"

Reid felt his face flush bright red, and his eyes stung in sudden embarrassment. "That's not what I – I mean, I was just, it was a joke. I thought we were talking about fortune telling," he rambled defensively.

"We were." Gideon gave an easy smile. Obviously Reid had made an idiot out of himself by blowing that way out of proportion.

"Right," he muttered.

"I'll let you get some sleep then. I could use another day or two of it myself."

Left alone with his thoughts, Reid eventually dosed off. The couple of hours he napped didn't seem to help relieve his exhaustion much; he was still blurry-eyed when they landed.

Disembarking was the usual controlled panic, with everyone scrambling to get their stuff off the plane. Elle was convinced Morgan had stolen something of hers, and was ransacking his packs. From the overly innocent expression on his face, Morgan had clearly hidden it where it wouldn't be found.

"Hey."

Reid jerked his head around to find Gideon standing close to him. "Hi," he said, cramming his papers haphazardly into his satchel. He would have to sort them out later.

"You all right?"

As always, Gideon's concern sent a rush of unidentified emotion through him. "Yeah. Just tired."

"You want a lift home?"

Reid opened his mouth to answer just as Gideon put his hand on Reid's hip, as though to catch his attention. The word morphed into a choked gasp, because the touch was so unexpected but felt so good, and Reid ducked his head down and caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

He had to take a moment before his mortification at his own reaction faded enough to answer the question. "Yeah." His throat felt tight; he cleared it. "That would be good. Thank you. I have to go-" he gestured a hand and turned to flee.

Of course, avoiding Gideon only worked until it came to getting in the car, and then he was limited to a distance of two feet. Reid could practically feel Gideon analyzing his behavior.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" Considerate as always.

"I'm fine." He was, technically. There was nothing wrong with him other than some inappropriate thoughts and an inability to control his reactions.

Gideon didn't ask him again, but Reid knew that didn't mean anything. Just as Reid's mind couldn't stop thinking, he knew that Gideon's couldn't stop trying to figure people out.

Reid thought about what Gideon had seen – his blushes, his embarrassed savoring of Gideon's touches - and knew there was no way Gideon didn't know how he felt.

Gideon's hand kept brushing against his leg as he shifted gears. Reid held his breath each time, and tried to reason himself out of hoping. He was misinterpreting things; Gideon was just trying to reassure him. Gideon was like a mentor to him, and didn't want him to feel rejected. That was all.

Then Gideon's hand crept onto his leg, just above the knee, and stayed there. Warm and solid.

"Oh," said Reid, and his voice came out breathy. He would have been embarrassed about it, but Gideon's hand squeezed lightly and sparks ignited in his stomach.

They rode in silence for the rest of the journey. Reid's mind was pretty much running around in circles along the lines of ‘Oh my God!' Gideon knew that Reid liked him. Reid might not be the most socially astute person on the planet, but even he could interpret what Gideon's hand on him meant.

Familiar territory appeared outside of the window, and he broke out of his daze. They were almost there. What should he say? His last attempt at this sort of thing had been… never actually. All of his previous partners, not that there were many, had come on to him; he'd never had to make a move on anyone before.

Once they were parked, Gideon's hand left the handbrake and came back to his leg, fingers running lightly over his knee.

Reid swallowed heavily and moved his hand down to rest on top of Gideon's. "Would you like to, ah, come in?" Gideon didn't say anything, and in the darkness Reid couldn't see his face. "Coffee," he blurted. "Come in for coffee."

The hand twisted to grasp his own, and Gideon leaned in close to his ear. "Yes," he murmured, and all Reid could hear was his heart pounding.

He fumbled with the keys as they stood at the door, nervous. Gideon stepped in closer behind him, and moved his hands to rest on Reid's hips.

Reid let out a huff of breath. "You aren't helping, you know."

Gideon laughed softly, so close. "Whatever made you think helping was my intention."

"You're just here to be disruptive then?" Reid found the right key again and inserted it carefully.

"I'm here because it feels right."

And there was nothing Reid could say to that; nothing existed but the sudden ache in his chest and a longing to be reassured further. He opened the door and they went inside.

"Nice place." It seemed strange to Reid that Gideon had never been inside his house before. He didn't really know Gideon very well outside of work, but then he didn't have much of a life outside of work at all.

He looked around, saw the bookshelves lining the walls, the assorted memorabilia that he'd accumulated through the years and never been able to throw away. He tried to see it through Gideon's eyes, as he would a crime scene, but something about that analogy was disturbing.

"Thank you," he said, and started towards the kitchen.

"Spencer." Gideon was right behind him still, and Reid could practically feel the heat emanating from the older man. It made it hard to breathe. He didn't trust his voice, expecting it to come out in a boyish squeak, and he couldn't turn around for fear of the expression on Gideon's face. "Spencer, look at me."

Hands, so warm, on his shoulders turning him. Fingers tilting his chin up. Lips, Gideon's lips brushing over his closed eyelids, asking in another way.

Reid let go of the breath he'd been holding in and it came out as a harsh, broken sound.

"Spencer." Gideon sounded patient, sounded as though he would wait for hours until Reid was ready, and in the end that was what made him respond.

Gideon's eyes, when he met them, were kind and caring. Beneath that he saw something he'd never noticed before, a smoldering layer of lust and want, and he wondered how long Gideon had felt this way. How long ago he could have had this, if only he'd had the courage.

If he didn't find the courage now, it wouldn't make any difference.

He thought of a hundred things to say, wry and self-deprecating and double entendres, but what most of them really meant was wait, I'm not sure, I don't know what I'm doing, so he said none of them. Instead he reached up a trembling hand, slid it round to cup the back of Gideon's head, and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn't what he'd expected. He didn't really feel anything. Dry lips, pressed against his, moving slightly. Reid concentrated hard on gently massaging Gideon's mouth with his own, on teasing his fingers over the nape of the other man's neck, because he knew that would feel good. He wanted Gideon to feel good. Reid couldn't feel the fire that was there before, though, and couldn't stop thinking that this was a really bad idea; that he was no good at this and had messed everything up and his stomach was nothing but a huge ball of nerves.

Gideon pulled away, and that ball of nerves dropped a thousand meters or so. Reid wasn't sure he had a stomach left at all, and had to steel himself to look at Gideon. There wasn't disappointment, or reproach, or annoyance on the older man's face at his distraction, just the usual thoughtful curiosity. Some part of Reid wished Gideon felt something about this, and didn't just take it in his usual stride.

"So, coffee," Reid offered again weakly, and walked away. There was no noise of Gideon following him this time, and he knew he'd blown it. The kitchen looked empty and bleak to him compared to the warmth of the room he'd left behind, but he moved quickly to the fridge. "Actually," he said loudly, reaching for the handle, "I'm feeling really tired, so if you wouldn't mind I think I'll-" he yelped in shock as he was spun forcefully and pushed against the refrigerator door.

And then the warmth was there, the sparks were there; the whole universe of questions and answers were contained in Gideon's tongue exploring his mouth and Gideon's thigh pressed firmly between his. He moaned helplessly and clung to Gideon's shoulders as he gave himself up to the kiss.

Deft fingers unbuttoned his shirt without Gideon's mouth ever leaving his own, and a broad hand swept down the centre of his chest, coming to rest on his stomach. Reid rocked his hips forward compulsively, reveling in the firm pressure of Gideon's leg tight up against him. "Please," he whispered, and moved his hands down to clutch at Gideon's waist and pull him closer. "Please."

But Gideon gentled the kiss instead of taking it higher, and stilled Reid's hips with one hand. The other came up to brush a stray length of hair from Reid's face, then Gideon rubbed the thumb over Reid's parted lips, seemingly unable to take his eyes off them. "I thought you were too tired," he said gravely, but his fingers happily circled Reid's hipbone under his loose shirt.

Reid colored, remembering his nervous retreat, and tried to wiggle closer again. "Maybe the coffee helped," he muttered, eyes habitually skipping downwards.

"You didn't have any coffee." Gideon smiled, and Reid felt his stomach clench in happy anticipation.

"Maybe I should be in bed?" Reid's voice lilted hopefully on the last word, and he leaned up to capture Gideon's lips in a kiss. This time it was smooth, perfect, describable only by touch and taste and feel, and Reid couldn't stop smiling all the way through it.

"Maybe you should," Gideon said agreeably. "I'll come with you. I didn't have any coffee either, you know."

***