Chapter Text
At the FBI target range…
Frost adjusted her headphones, took aim, and quickly squeezed off seven rounds.
“NEXT!” she called out to the target adjuster. Her target page was quickly pulled up for her inspection, but she yanked it down without even looking at it. Instead, she considered her new target sheet for a moment, and then put five shots into it. “NEXT!” she shouted again, and was rewarded with a fresh sheet.
Dr. Reid practiced in the cubical next to her, his brow furrowed in concentration and his shots coming MUCH slower than Frost’s. Morgan stood behind him, leaning on his crutches and occasionally offering advice, but scowling at the commotion from next door. Reid’s competency with a weapon had improved over the years, and his pistol certification was never jeopardized, but he still struggled with speed and accuracy. Morgan, feeling stifled with his broken leg, had offered to help him with his pistol exercises as a way to get out of the office.
“You can do this, Reid. Just relax.” Another quick burst of gunfire came from the next cubicle, and he frowned at it again. “I’ll be back in a minute, Spence,” Morgan said, hobbling around the partition that divided their practice ranges, “I want to get a look at Frost’s targets. There’s something funny about how she’s shooting.”
“No problem, Derek,” said Reid, squeezing off two more rounds. He scowled at the target; one of his shots had gone into the paper ‘abdomen’, and would not classify as a lethal hit. Any more like that, and he could lose his pistol certification again. He had to do better…His brow furrowed, and he glared at the target in front of him, tensing as he put two more rounds into it. Neither hit the bull’s-eye, but both shots were acceptable…sort of…
Morgan watched as Frost pulled another hole-riddled target from the chain and called for a new one. Several spent ones lay on the equipment table behind her in a semi-organized pile, and he picked up the top five. His eyes widened as he looked at the spent pieces of paper, then at the shooter, then back to the used targets again.
Barely a single shot was in the kill zone! What the hell???
Frowning, he hobbled back to Dr. Reid’s practice chamber, still holding Frost’s spent targets. “You’re not gonna believe this, Spence, but there’s actually somebody here who is worse than you were when you joined the BAU,” he said, holding out Frost’s practice sheets for the younger man.
“You have to be kidding me, Derek,” Dr. Reid said, holstering his weapon for a moment. He took the proffered targets and flipped through them. “She’s supposed to be an expert marksman, according to Interpol. Of course, she has been on medical leave; her skills could have slipped, I suppose.” He held a sheet up to the light, peering at the oddly spaced group of holes.
“I know that, but nobody’s skill slip this much,” Morgan protested. “Either she misrepresented her shooting ability, or her Interpol supervisor did to get her off his hands…”
“Or we’re looking at the picture wrong,” Dr. Reid offered. “Darn, I really had my hopes up there for a minute,” he commented dryly.
“What do you mean? There isn’t a single shot here in a kill zone, unless you count this one in the femoral artery, and the perp will just bleed out slowly…” Morgan adjusted his armpits on his crutches, straining to see whatever it was Dr. Reid already did.
“This is the Great Bear, Derek, commonly called the Big Dipper. Look,” he held the sheet up to a bulb, “squint at the light coming through the holes, and pretend there isn’t a man outline on the page.”
“Damn…” said Morgan appreciatively. The gunfire from the next cubicle ended.
“Yep. This one is Orion,” said Dr. Reid, putting the target sheet aside and lifting another, “this is Cassiopeia; this is Pegasus; and this…” he made a pained look.
Morgan made a face. “That’s no constellation.”
“HEY,” Frost shouted, “WHO STOLE MY HIPPIE PEACE SIGN?”
Morgan shook his head. “Damn, she sounds mad. You better give those back, genius!”
Dr. Reid slapped the pile of papers into Morgan’s chest. “You swiped ‘em, tough guy. YOU give them back. Besides, you’re handicapped. She’ll have more pity on you than on me!”
“You’re assuming, of course, that I would automatically dismiss a handicapped person as a threat, and that might not be true,” Frost said, leaning on the partition. “Are you boys done yet? I wanted to send those to a friend of mine,” she explained.
"Anybody we know?” asked Dr. Reid, giving Morgan a poke.
“Maybe, and NO, we aren’t dating, we’re just good friends,” she emphasized the last comment to Morgan, who raised his hands in mock surrender.
“I didn’t say…” he started to protest, but she waved him off.
“Oh, please! You aren’t the only profiler in the room, you know. I swear, you’re almost as nosey as Agent DiNozzo,” she added, rolling her eyes.
“Almost?” Morgan clapped a hand to his chest in fake scandal. “I’m almost hurt!”
“Too bad!” Frost parleyed, grinning. “So, can I have my sheets back please?”
“Sure,” Morgan explained, handing them over. “We were just admiring your work; that’s all.”
“I am a little jealous, though,” admitted Dr. Reid. “I struggle to hit the target, and you’re playing with it like it’s a Lite Brite!”
Frost shrugged. “You’re just too tense, anybody can see that. Play with it a little, and proficiency will follow.”
“Told ya, Spencer,” Morgan gave him a look.
“Of course, what you think of your target makes a difference, too,” Frost continued, frowning.
“What do you mean?” Dr. Reid asked.
Frost motioned at the blank paper targets. “You know this is a test, or practice for a test, so you’re tense. You take time to think about what you’re doing—too much time, and it makes you anxious. There are probably ten different things running through your mind while you’re standing here staring at that target…”
“More like a hundred,” quipped Morgan.
“And all those thoughts are distracting you and making you seize up,” she explained. “Try imagining the target as an ‘unsub’ you have to take down; it might help,” she suggested, then paused. “If it’s someone you actually want to kill, so much the better.”
Morgan and Reid exchanged a look at the last comment.
“Did you have anybody in mind?” Reid finally asked.
Frost smiled coldly. “Yes.” She glanced at Morgan. “Could you give us a moment, please?”
Morgan stepped out of the booth, and watched as Frost passed a hand over Dr. Reid’s eyes, closing them even as she pointed his body at the now-blank target. She stepped closer to his friend, murmuring in his ear, and Morgan saw the sensitive Reid shiver. His eyes opened briefly, and he turned to Frost, but she shook her head and pointed his body back towards the target. Morgan strained to hear what Frost was whispering, but could make nothing out. Reid’s pale hands flexed and balled into fists, and a muscle popped in his jaw line; his teeth were clenched. Frost placed a hand on his back, and stepped into the safety zone.
“He’s in front of you, Dr. Reid,” Morgan heard her murmur. “Kill the bastard.”
Reid’s eyes opened, and his gun came up quickly. He pumped five shots into the target, stopping only when the chamber clicked ‘empty’. The shredded target that came to them showed all five shots—closely knit—in the kill zone.
“See? I told you—you can do it.” Brynja patted his arm, picked up the spent targets Derek had borrowed, and went back to her own cubicle.
Derek looked at her oddly as she left. He didn’t really know Frost yet; she worked with JJ most of the time, and they only spoke when she handed him paperwork. He had to wonder, what exactly had she said to Reid?
“Spence?” Derek turned towards his young partner, who had finished reloading and called for another target. The young doctor’s face was grim as he pumped five more shells into a new kill zone; he was visibly upset. “What did she say?”
Dr. Reid looked down at his pistol, focusing on the action of reloading before facing Morgan.
“I’m sorry, Derek, I can’t say. It was confidential.”
TBC