Chapter 6.: Always a Profiler

Reid's life, just like most people's, had always been full of ups and downs. As a child, it had been mostly downs: his mother's sickness, his father's leaving, being bullied at school… All these and the similar things that weren't fond memories. Not at all. In his young adult life, things had started to change. With moving to Quantico and his job with the FBI he had never even expected before, a new chapter had opened, and he had gained friends who had, somewhere along the way, become his family more than his blood relatives had ever been. And as time went and people came and left, he still knew he'd never forget the first person who had ever treated him like a real person, not just the incredible brains even his teachers had always thought him to be. Not someone to take advantage of when convenient and then put on 'stand by' mode whenever not needed.

No matter what had happened later between them, this, at least, would never change.

That person had been Gideon.

The man's death had been one of the hardest blows he'd had to endure to date, and even now, years later, writing about it hurt so much that Reid had to take breaks all the time in order not to break down in tears and frighten his daughters with his uncharacteristic behavior.

"I'm so sorry, Spencer… I know how hard this must be for you." – Hotch sighed sadly, eyeing his youngest team member with worry. The boy had grown so much recently and yet… he was still too young for a heartache like that.

The genius just nodded, not trusting himself to speak for fear he would start screaming if he as much as opened his mouth. Instead, he let the white rose fall on top of the half-buried casket and wordlessly walked away, ignoring his family's stares that followed him all the way to the car. He would just wait for them there; there was really no need for him to stand around and wait for the dark brown solid walnut casket to fully disappear under the earth, never to emerge again, along with... It didn't matter. The man he had loved like a father wasn't there anyway. He was gone.

It wasn't until ten minutes later that the others joined him at the gate of the cemetery.

"You all right, Kid?" – Asked Morgan carefully.

"I'm fine."

The older agent didn't look like he believed him but wisely didn't comment. He just gently pushed his 'little brother' into the car that would take them to Rossi's where they had been invited to spend the rest of the day, together with Stephen Gideon.

The 'wake', if you could call it that, was a solemn affair with each of them deep in their own thoughts and memories about the walking contradiction that had been Gideon. Nobody could deny that the man had sometimes been an ass to the people around him – answering questions in a gruff, bored way, looking like he couldn't care less what happened to his people then disappearing on them without as much as a goodbye or an explanation… just to name a few instances.

But there had also been another side to him: the side Reid wanted to remember forever. The man who had found a geeky, gangly and very insecure young man at Caltech and saw behind the surface of infinite diffidence and fear. Who had believed the boy could be something more and that it had been time for him to step out of the protective arms of university into the real world to learn more than just what you could pick up from the pages of countless books.

The man who had helped him move to DC – for the first time away from his comfort zone – and settle into his new life. Who had all but held the boy's hand on his very first day in work when the genius had been afraid the much older and tougher agents would make fun of him; or even worse: bully him like he had been tortured his whole life before that. Who had spent whole nights playing chess when nightmares had tortured the youngster mercilessly after the first few gruesome cases and mutilated bodies he had witnessed. Who had set up his very first date when the boy had been too shy to even look at a woman, let alone come up with a plan to invite her anywhere… Even if the 'date' hadn't ended in a way most men would imagine he'd like it to, it had had a far better effect: even now, JJ was one of his very best friends in the world. All thanks to Gideon.

Actually, Reid had a lot to thank him for.

So what if the man had later just up and left? By that time the genius had hardly needed anyone to coddle him… Besides, soon Rossi had come to fill the void. And they had talked things over later and renewed their friendship. Friendship… That had been all that had remained after the long silence from the ex-profiler. Sad, but he wasn't bitter. Not at all. Yeah, right…

He felt more than saw Stephen Gideon sit next to him onto the porch's steps the genius had been occupying for a good half an hour now. He should have known someone would come to find him soon, though he'd never have expected it to be the deceased man's only son. ONLY SON… For Stephen Gideon was Jason Gideon's only son. The only one. The only-

"Hey." – Was all the other young man said.

"Hey yourself." – Yeah, Spencer, good going. A very mature and smart conversation there… - "Stephen, I… I'm sorry for your loss." – That sounded even more lame and Reid felt his cheeks burn with shame that he couldn't offer more comfort for someone who had just lost a father. Instead of being sorry for himself he should really start thinking about others…

"Thank you. I'm sorry for your loss too."

"Huh?"

Stephen wasn't looking at him but staring at the huge garden that lay in front of them. It was beautiful, especially at this time of the year. How ironic that the flowers would bloom to their fullest on a sad day like that, almost mocking the grieving group, like screaming: 'See? We are happy!'

"You know I used to be very jealous of you." – Stephen continued.

"Of me? You were jealous of me!?" – This really sounded ridiculous. Why would Stephen Gideon, the real son be jealous of him? Him, who was no one? Not even worth staying for…

"Hated you even." – Nodded the other man thoughtfully. – "I mean: dad came back to me after many years but his thoughts were still with you. Always with you. It was Spencer this and Spencer that all the time."

"Really…?"

"I think I know more stories about you than you do about yourself. Like the time when you calmly walked into a carriage to save the hostages and even took off your bulletproof vest."

Spencer smiled at the memory. He had been so very young back then!

"Well, I wouldn't say I was calm. Actually, I was terrified!"

"As was dad. But he was also very proud. I always wished he'd been that proud of me…"

"But he was proud of you!"

"Yes, of course. But not as much as he was of you. You should have seen his face when he was talking about you…! You were special to him, Spencer. But it's all right, I'm fine with it now. As a matter of fact: I kinda feel like I have a little brother…"

Spencer had no idea what to say to that; it was almost surreal that he was sitting on Rossi's porch, talking to Stephen Gideon about the man that had been a father to both of them – though in two very different ways. To him, Jason Gideon had been a savior. The knight in shiny suit of armor who had appeared at just the right time and had given him something nobody ever had before: trust. To Stephen though… he'd been a father who had left his family behind not to talk to them for years. Oh, Spencer knew what it felt like… He knew very well.

Maybe… just maybe he was better off than the real son. He had gotten something from the man that couldn't be taken from him ever.

Thanks to Jason Gideon, Doctor Spencer Reid had become a profiler.

A profiler… What did that mean, anyway?

To a layman and sometimes even the local police officers, it was a term associated with enigmatic hocus pocus. The profilers appeared, visited the crime scene, looked at photos, talked to witnesses. They used ridiculous words like 'serial', 'narcissistic' or 'modus operandi'; gave a detailed description of someone they thought could be the perpetrator, usually waited around until the 'UnSub' was caught (who mostly fitted their profile), then left as if they never had been there. They didn't linger and didn't take credit. They only turned to the media when it fitted them and only released to the press what they wanted known. They were secretive and had their own methods that nobody fully understood.

To judges, prosecutors and defense attorneys, they were the perfect but somewhat feared witnesses: cool-headed and methodical, they could explain difficult conditions and behavioral patterns like, for example, the obsessive-compulsive personality disorder so that even those who had never heard of it before ended up understanding the basics. The jury tended to listen to them and value their opinion over lengthy and impassioned speeches made by overly eager lawyers.

To fellow federal agents, they were an elite but somewhat mystical team who gave interesting lectures every once in a while. They were also the go-to persons when faced with a difficult task. And they were the ones who worked more than anyone; who never had days off and who were usually seen inside the building after hours with only the cleaning staff present besides them.

To their families, they were the ones who were never at home, who were gone for days at a time and who couldn't talk about their jobs but, because of the nature of their jobs, couldn't really talk about anything else either. Who didn't even flinch when their children got a small bruise or any kind of non-life-threatening injury because their first thought was: 'They're weren't kidnapped, raped and killed by an insane serial killer. It's just a paper cut, for God's sake; they'll be fine! Not like that six-year-old whose body I saw yesterday!' Well, that reaction tended to have a great effect in the family… They were also the ones who sometimes came home in the middle of the night and collapsed in tears when things had gotten too much during the day. Who then, as a result, wouldn't get out of bed for two days because of a gunshot to the shoulder that actually hurt much less than the memory of circumstances that had led to acquiring it (not to mention the mental image of the victim that couldn't be saved or the partner that was much worse off…).

Reid, of course, knew all about the reputation they had. As a matter of fact, he had helped form it when he had first moved to Florida to open the new department there.

Somehow, it seemed, people got more and more interested in the profilers and what they did generally as the time went and they became more known. As a result of that, they had begun getting invitations to TV interviews and talk shows all the time, which, since the Florida department didn't have a media liaison, most of the time Reid himself needed to attend even though he hated parading himself with a vengeance.

"Doctor Reid, thank you very much for coming to us." – Said the red-haired young anchorwoman with a decidedly fake smile, letting her too-white teeth show towards the numerous cameras pointed their direction. – "It's an honor having you here with us today."

Having had experience with that kind of thing over the years, Reid knew he was expected to say 'It's an honor to be here." and "Thank you for the invitation.", but he wasn't known to say things just because it was polite and/or conventional.

"I drew the short straw." – He said instead, shrugging for good measure. After that, he got to enjoy her startled wide-eyed expression as she stopped in mid-sentence, stunned by his rude comeback. Spencer smirked to himself. Yep, this worked every time. Having the reputation of a real high-functioning sociopath just like Sherlock Holmes, but respected for his abilities nonetheless, he could get away with just about anything short of murder.

"Yes, well. Ahm… As you know, in this show, we try to solve the "Mysteries of History". Today, our topic is the still unknown identity of the Zodiac Killer. Doctor Reid, what can you tell us about the crimes this man committed?"

"Oh, well. He was a serial killer who operated in Northern California for about 10 years between the 1960s and 1970s."

"Is it right that he attacked four men and three women?"

"That we know of."

"Oh! You mean there could be more?" – It was evident by the way she squeaked that she liked news like that, probably because she thought the viewers liked it as well. Everything for higher ratings, right?

"Well, he claimed 37 murders in his letters sent to the newspaper, signed as 'Zodiac', taunting the police. These letters included four ciphers."

"How interesting! Do we know what they mean?"

"No. Only one has been solved. Anyway, of the seven confirmed victims, two survived and even they couldn't give enough of a description about the attacker to identify him."

"Do you believe they'll ever find out who he is?"

"I believe that with today's technology, we have a far better chance than the police had back then. But should it still not work now, then it will later. In my opinion, it's only a matter of time. With the always improving DNA-testing it might be possible to get samples from the letters he sent."

"Do you think, if they'd had today's technology back then, the murders would have been solved and some of the victims saved?"

Spencer thought about it for a moment.

"It's not just the technology that has improved. It's also our knowledge. I think if we had the opportunity to study those crimes and locations now, we could use our extensive experience to build a profile that could eventually lead us to the killer."

"Incredible!" – She was all but bouncing now, her eyes sparkling excitedly. – "So, how exactly does that work?"

Reid had to stop himself from groaning. This would be a long interview…

And it had been. Also: it had been a successful one and many more had followed it. He loathed it with a passion. He wasn't an actor and any kind of celebrity who wished to become a household name; it was just something that inevitable came with the job.

Then there were other things he was not…

"Agent Reid, Agent Reid, AGENT REIIIIIIID!" – Shouted an anchorman who had somehow managed to break through the cordon that had been erected between the sensationalist reporters and the group of three agents currently examining the crime scene. – "Agent Reid, would you like to give a statement?"

"No." – Reid answered simply, without even looking up. He was used to this behavior by now but it didn't mean he despised it any less than before. The genius was crouched next to the place where a little over two hours prior an innocent, still traumatized citizen had found victim number three. Right now, Reid was looking for any clues the CSI might have missed by their initial scrutiny. Because, in his expert opinion, they usually missed something vital.

"Is it true? Is the 'Reaper' back? Do you think this was his work?" – Obviously, the man wasn't deterred by Reid's less than enthusiastic reaction to his presence… Damn.

The newfound team leader slowly stood, drawing himself to full height, towering above the small, mouse-like man holding the microphone. He noted with delight that the man gulped and took a step backward, nearly falling over some trash.

"I never said there was a 'Reaper'. Mr…?"

"Ahm… Gareth McCoy, from the Miami Evening News and-"

"Mr. McCoy then. It's what you call him."

"And what do you call him, Agent Reid?" – The man pressed, not taking the hint.

Reid was getting increasingly annoyed.

"I call him a serial killer. Now, if you'll excuse me: I have a criminal to catch." – With that, he turned his back to the man and continued searching.

In a few minutes, he found what he'd been looking for.

The anchorman, still standing nearby with his buddy holding the camera irritatingly close, exclaimed:

"Oh! You have a clue? Will this lead you to the Rea- I mean: the serial killer? Agent Reid? Do you think that-"

"Out of my way, Mr. McCoy. Agent Brody, please, bag it." – With that, Reid pushed past the gaping reporter, until he was grabbed by his shoulder.

"Agent Reid, a statement-"

The genius reacted instantly by throwing the smaller man to the ground and holding him tightly be his throat.

"Never, ever touch me without warning, Mr. McCoy. Do you understand?"

"Ahm…" – The man gasped.

"I said: Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. Of course sir, I'm sorry…"

"Good."

Of course, this little event had made the evening news and also a few headlines. Reid had gotten dozens of messages about it, mostly congratulating him for his skills – like for example from Dean and Morgan. ('Who knew you had it in you, Kid!?' – Morgan had written, while Dean had declared proudly: 'That's my student! I taught him everything he knows!') But there had also been those who hadn't been nearly that impressed…

"Director, you wanted to see me?"

"Doctor Reid, can you explain to me what happened out there?" – The man asked angrily, pointing at a huge screen that seemed to have that legendary moment on loop, replaying it over and over again. If you asked Reid, it looked each time funnier than before.

"Yes, sir. I thought I was being attacked and so I reacted. It was instinctive." – The genius fibbed. He had the right of self-defense, right?

"Try again." – Well, apparently not…

"Ahm…"

"The truth this time, if you may."

"Okay… He was annoying me…" – He admitted finally.

The director sighed tiredly, apparently not accustomed to dealing with rowdy children fighting on the playground.

"Doctor Reid, you're not known for your excellent diplomatic skills, are you?"

"No, sir. I couldn't say I am."

Well, of course not: he wasn't a politician after all.

As a matter of fact, there were quite a few things he was not.

'I'm not a patient man and I'm also not a good liar. I can't pretend to like someone when I don't and I don't care for appearances. I don't have people skills and I couldn't be less interested in meeting others' expectations.

In private life, I'm a husband to Sydney, a father to Sophia, Ashley and Summer, a son to David Rossi and the late Jason Gideon, a brother to all my old BAU and OCU teammates and to Stephen Gideon, an uncle to Lottie, Henry, Michael and Hank, and a friend to many.

Professionally, I'm a writer, a teacher, an investigator, a team leader but most of all: I'm a profiler. Always a profiler.'

Reid smiled and closed his notebook. That was it. He was finished with his autobiography. Funnily, it hadn't been as difficult to write as he had expected. He would send his assistant (sorry… 'manager') Katie with it to the Publisher tomorrow, but for now-

"Daddy, daddy!"

"Yes, angel?"

"You promised we'd go to the beach today!"

"Oh, really? Did I?"

"YES! Don't tell me you forgot!"

"Well-"

A beat…

"DADDY!"

Yep. The patented Reid-whine. Some things remained the same generation to generation.

The genius laughed and tickled the pouting six-year-old.

"Of course I didn't forget, Ashley! How could I?"

"So, we're going then?"

"Of course we are! Grab your things and be ready in ten!"

"YUPEEE!"

So: for now he had other things to do. He was going to spend time with his family.