SquidgeWorld Archive

"Morgan was right, you do look like a drowned rat."

"Morgan really needs to get a new shtick," Spencer muttered irritated and a bit under his breath, climbing the old, polished wooden stairs to the second floor of his building. "That one's getting old enough to order a plot, be given last rites and buried."

Gideon chuckled behind him as the younger man navigated the lock to his apartment and preceded him inside. There he moved to place the handful of mail retrieved from a box in the lobby onto a small door-side table for later perusal, dropping the ever-present satchel he carried down beside the door and trying valiantly not to drip all over the hardwood floor. He really needed a rug here.

At least the early summer downpour had struck fairly close to the old brownstone that Spencer called home. And more importantly, at least to Gideon, had waited until Gideon was in the car before opening up and drenching the younger man who hadn't been so lucky. Despite being only a foot or so away from the car, Spencer had been soaked in seconds; trousers and white dress shirt sticking to him like a second skin. The dark tie he wore just looked plain uncomfortable and his shoes squelched when he walked.

"Would you care for anything?" Clearly torn between being a good host and getting out of those wet clothes as soon as possible, Spencer stood halfway between the door and the kitchen, frowning.

"Go change Reid," he told him kindly. Waving him away, Gideon announced in a firm tone, "I'm sure I can find and raid the fridge on my own."

"If you're sure..." That earned him something between a smile and a frown and Jason couldn't help but remind him, deadpan, "Drowned rat, Reid."

*That* earned him a scowl and a muttered, "so not funny" as Spencer trudged off down the hall, presumably to his bedroom where he could shower and change.

Shaking his head in fond amusement, Gideon tore his gaze from the retreating back and went in search of a glass of water. As if they hadn't had enough water already.

His thirst quenched and the glass placed upside down in the otherwise empty sink he realized this was the first time he had been in Reid's apartment, and, as such, was an insight into the younger man not to be wasted. He was curious. Just what kind of man was Spencer Reid away from the office?

Well, the kitchen itself appeared to be fairly ordinary; nothing new or state of the art; nothing so old as to be falling apart. Clean and bright, brickwork and false tile linoleum accented by whites, creams and pale butterscotch with only an abstract geometric design in red and brown on the lone dishtowel.

Still it was clear Spencer didn't spend much time preparing elaborate meals in here. No excess of pots and pans for one. A couple of takeout menus attached to the refrigerator for another. Clearly Reid had other thoughts on his mind than another degree, this time in the culinary arts. But then, why would he? Jason wasn't aware of too many young bachelors who found spending hours in the kitchen as enjoyable as oh, say, a root canal.

Back in the tidy living area, Gideon noted the warm tones in caramel and tan of the walls, taking in the medium wood furniture that gave the otherwise crowded space a sense of comfort rather than closing in on him. Accents of brown and darker tan, littered with the occasional pop of red in a pillow here and there. The only surprising thing in this room of practical furniture was the cream-colored leather sofa. On closer examination, the *expensive* cream-colored leather sofa and one in very good condition. Not normally something the older profiler would have associated with his modest young colleague. Interesting.

Books, of course; no surprise there, either in the staggering diversity or the sheer number of volumes to be found. Books and journals and heavy tomes lined three of the four walls on sturdy shelves in a clean, organized jumble that somehow left plenty of wall space for the occasional black and white photograph.

Jason stepped closer to admire those. One, of what looked to be the brightly lit nightscape city of Las Vegas set against the sunset backdrop of the desert, was quite clearly taken by a professional photographer. Despite being devoid of color, there was enough shape and contrast, both in the natural landscape as well as in the city itself that color didn't matter. In fact, color might have only detracted from the overall clean edge of the composition.

A second shot was also outdoors though less easily recognizable; merely a lake, trees and the bright white of puffy, fair weather clouds contrasting against the gray of what had to have been an intensely blue sky. Lake Meade or somewhere similar perhaps. This one seemed to have been taken by the same hand that had captured the first. Spencer himself? Or someone else. Possible; he didn't have enough information to hazard a guess, one way or the other.

There were a few more casual shots framed about and Gideon abandoned the larger 8X10s to wander over to those, picking each up in turn, fingering the simple silver frames before placing each back in their spot.

...Spencer smiling broadly and holding onto another young man with wild spiky hair and a devilishly mischievous expression...

...Spencer obviously caught off guard and about to turn, talking to another man, a bit older than the first. This one had dark hair as to be almost black, cut short, and square, chiseled features that easily carried the wide, welcoming grin...

...A second, closer shot taken just after that one; this time Spencer was facing the camera with an equally wide, welcoming smile and one arm slung over the other's bare, leanly muscled shoulders...

Jason smiled, a small twist of the lips conveying the mixed feelings he had about that. On the one hand it was so good to see evidence of a happy, open Reid; easy and comfortable in his surroundings and the people he was with. On the other, those people weren't his team and Spencer hadn't quite yet gotten to that point here in Virginia.

Well, in time. Jason would see that the younger man had all he could possibly need in order to make himself a home here with hi...them. A home with them.

Turning away from the photos, Jason's eyes skimmed the myriad of volumes of poetry, history and psychology that were to be found. There were also books on math, physics and - of all things - art, sculpture and metalwork.

A good sized canvas painting done in reds, gold and indigos hung over a television all but hidden beneath more shelves and Gideon couldn't help but wonder, given the discovered resource material, if Reid might not be the artist behind the broad, abstract lines and arching swirls. The piece looked to be exploratory; an experiment in bold color and random grace. Another glimpse into the hidden depths of Doctor Spencer Reid?

Gideon could see that. Spencer standing over a blank white canvas, paints lined up on a side table, horsehair brush held in one hand, easel in the other; his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he frowned in concentration...

Further on, folded neatly over the back of the lone chair, was a tightly crocheted blanket; obviously old, well-worn and well cared for. Tasteful blocks of chocolate, caramel and cream, the soft, pale blues were the only colors out of harmony in this room of warm tones. A darker blue pillow lay at the base of the afghan in the seat, also out of place. An effort to draw a cherished bit of his past into the rest of his life, perhaps?

Gideon brushed his fingers over the hand knitted heirloom, pleased to note that the thick cotton material was as soft as it looked. Silky really, it would feel good against bare skin stretched out underneath, in front of a fire on a cold winter's night. He could imagine the firelight, warm heat and pressure on his skin, bathing Spencer in flickering light of red and gold...highlighting the fair skin and high cheekbones against the darkness that was the world outside...

The buzzer sounded, deep and shrill, startling Gideon out of his musings. Drawing him guiltily back, reminding him of the fact that the very young man he was daydreaming, fantasizing about was no more than a room or so away.

The buzzer rang again and this time Gideon was focused enough to realize it was the lobby buzzer from downstairs. Figuring Reid was still in the shower, Gideon took a deep breath and pressed the button. "Yes?"

"Package delivery for a Spencer Reid?"

Thinking for only a moment, Gideon ordered, "Send it up." Crossing the short hall to the back bedroom, Gideon knocked lightly on the partially cracked door, sticking his head in to call out, "Reid you have a package."

"Thanks." Reid's voice called out from the bathroom, "Could you sign for that? I'll be out in a second..."

"Sure."

Opening the door, Gideon took the clipboard and signed his own name, saying nothing at the strange look that turned knowing at finding a strange man in what was supposed to be another man's apartment. Trading pen for package, Jason still said nothing as the delivery man left, taking the stairs down two at a time.

Holding the plain brown cardboard box, Gideon cut a careful line through the tape on two sides and down the top, removing two flat, sharply smelling boxes in pale blue. Partylight - candles?

Another thing he wouldn't necessarily have associated with Reid. A more thorough glance around the living room turned up nothing in the way of additional candles, of any kind.

His curiosity peaked, he read along the edge of the box, finding the scent. "Lotus blossom and plum?"

"To me it smells like tea leaves and perfume. It reminds me of my mother." Newly dressed in clean, dry clothes, wet hair combed back for now, Spencer joined him with a sad smile he didn't bother to hide. Gideon was caught by it, feeling his own heart ache with sharp melancholy of the memory before the smile grew and became something happier. Something more. "The way she would hover over me at the kitchen table, checking over my homework and brewing afternoon tea. Reminding me that coffee was the devil's brew and that all good college professors worth their tenure drank tea."

"How old were you?"

"Mm seven, I think."

"You burn one when you're missing her." Gideon felt his own smile grow in response to Reid's, unreasoningly grateful that the younger man could still find something good from his memories of his mother, gone from him now as assuredly as if she had died years ago. He was aware that Reid would fly back to Nevada whenever their hectic schedules allowed him the chance; a visit to a woman who rarely knew he was there. The days following such visits always saw Reid unhappy and out of sorts.

Of course he burned them; they reminded him of his mother, alive and whole at a time when Reid was a young boy, surrounded by the love and support of a caring parent. Schizophrenia was such a sneaky, sadistic disease. Robbing not only its victim of life, but stealing also from those loved ones around them.

For once not knowing what to say, Gideon offered what little he could, pitifully aware that it could never be enough. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's no problem," Spencer denied and Gideon could see that it truly wasn't. "Just don't tell Morgan, " he asked with a heavy sigh. "I'll never hear the end of it."

"I won't," he promised. It was the least he could do.

A wry, barely there flicker of acknowledgement was all he got before Reid took the large box from Gideon, clearly changing the subject. "Just let me put this away and we can head back to the office."

"Ok." Spoken softly Gideon nodded his acceptance, watching with a keen eye as Spencer once again moved down the hallway out of sight. Letting the moment go. He didn't have a choice, really. Reid rarely gave up much of himself and such intimate glimpses of the man outside of the office were to be treasured. Not rushed or taken in any way. It was enough that he let Gideon see them, fleeting and bright as they were. And Gideon was already feeling a bit guilty, having taken his snooping search around Spencer's private home life and using the small bits and pieces he had found to further fuel his fantasies about the young man.

The problem was that those bits and pieces were becoming necessary; vital. As addictive to him as any narcotic out there and Jason was very afraid he was so far beyond being hooked that he wouldn't know where to begin to break free.

Or if he should even try.