Title: Picturesque
Author: Rhysenn
Rating: FRM (or R)
Pairing: Gideon/Reid
Summary: Gideon keeps them close, the pictures that form the mosaic of his life.
A/N: Mild spoilers up to episode 1.14, "Riding The Lightening."

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Vincent Van Gogh once said: it is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to – the feeling for the things themselves, for reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures.

Gideon keeps them close, the pictures that form the mosaic of his life. He watches them constantly, and they watch over him, keeping him sane, helping him remember what’s precious and human and real: the people he found, those he lost, and others he let go.

He clears a space next to Stephen’s picture for a new double photo frame – and in it he places a photograph of Sarah Jean Dawes, along with a picture of her son, Riley.


* * *


When he sees the empty space in his wallet Gideon thinks of Reid, remembers the photograph he gave him. They haven’t spoken about the nightmares since; and it’s already past midnight, but something makes Gideon pick up the phone and dial. Reid answers on the third ring.

"Gideon?" He sounds surprised.

"Did I wake you?"

A weary laugh. "I wish you had."

"I just wanted to ask if you’ve been having more restful nights."

"No, not really." Reid sounds wry. "But you know what? I think I’ve found the best way to stop the nightmares."

"Not sleeping doesn’t quite count."

"Well on the bright side, I’ve started re-reading the Encyclopedia Britannica," Reid continues. "I just subscribed to it online. Did you know that the aardvark is also called an ant-bear, and was so named by the Afrikaans because –"

"If you wouldn’t mind some company," Gideon cuts in deliberately, "I could come over for a game of chess."

There’s a silence on the other end.

"I’d like that," Reid finally answers; and there’s a certain tone in his words that Gideon recognizes, because it mirrors the meaning in his own.

"All right then," he says, and hangs up.

He gets dressed, drives over to Reid’s apartment. Reid answers before he can even knock; Gideon steps inside and the door shuts behind them with a click, followed by another thud as Gideon pushes Reid up against the closed door.

And then they’re kissing, feverishly, and Gideon feels Reid’s hands dragging his jacket off his shoulders as they stumble through the living room and somehow make it into the bedroom, shedding pieces of clothing along the way.

And for the first time in as long as he can remember Gideon doesn’t need to cling to images in his mind – not when he has the reality of Reid lying beneath him, head thrown back and slender neck exposed, his legs wrapped around Gideon’s torso, his body shuddering as Gideon thrusts forward, into him, drawing a gasp from Reid each time. 

Afterwards Reid looks at him and there’s uncertainty in his eyes; in response Gideon leans over and kisses him on the mouth, slowly, tenderly, answering a question that shouldn’t even need to be asked.

When Gideon pulls back there’s a breathless look of relief on Reid’s face, still slightly flushed. Then Reid smiles sleepily, and Gideon watches as his eyes flutter closed and within minutes he’s breathing evenly, fast asleep.

Gideon sits by Reid’s side all night, waiting to wake him when the darkness takes hold; but by the time dawn arrives, the nightmares still have not come.


* * *


They spend the scarce free time they have together at Reid’s place, or Gideon’s.

Gideon takes Stephen’s photos out of his bedroom and finds a new place for them on top of the TV set. And sometimes Gideon feels a twinge of guilt, especially when something Reid says or does reminds him, almost painfully, of Stephen. He knows he shouldn’t be sleeping with someone younger than his son, but Gideon has long since accepted that few things in life happen the way they’re supposed to.

On the rare occasions that Reid jerks awake in the middle of the night, wild-eyed and panting and terrified, Gideon is there – he’ll reach out, placing a calming hand on Reid’s chest, and then he’ll pull Reid close, wrapping his arms around him. Reid will bury his face in his shoulder; and as Gideon holds him tightly and waits for the shaking to subside, in the silence of his mind he wonders when it will be Reid’s turn to walk out of his life.

But until that time comes, Gideon’s not going to let him go.


* * *


Reid lingers behind him as he packs the photograph of Stephen into his overnight bag.

Gideon turns around, just in time to see Reid’s gaze sweep across the row of framed pictures in Gideon’s office. There’s a wistful look in the younger man’s eyes that Gideon doesn’t miss, and he wonders if that’s because Reid knows Gideon doesn’t have a single picture of him.

"Pictures," Gideon says, and Reid glances up; their eyes meet and hold. "Photographs... it’s what I have to remember them by."

Reid looks at him; his expression doesn’t waver, and Gideon thinks Reid understands.


* * *


Pictures, Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, must not be too picturesque.

The plane is quiet, and Gideon sits back and looks up from the case file he’s reviewing. His gaze settles on Reid, who’s lying curled up across the seats opposite him. Reid’s eyes are closed, his brow slightly furrowed; his hands are clasped together and his knees are drawn up close to his chest, somewhat awkwardly, and he’s making a soft, steady breathing sound.

Gideon smiles: because now, the pictures in his life are not all in frames.




- fin -

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