84. Understanding

Rating: K+

Author: rogueandkurt

Spoilers: Set shortly after 'Penelope'. Some spoilers for 'LDSK' and 'Revelations'.

So, I haven't posted anything here in almost two years, in large part because I stopped watching 'Criminal Minds' entirely after the S5 premiere and even now am only an occassional viewer at best.

This fic, however, has been sitting on my computer for a couple of years now. I started it shortly after 'Penelope' aired, but I could never get it to work properly, so it went through a dozen or so rewrites before being abandonned and forgotten.

After a lot of distance and one final rewrite, I'm finally satisfied with it.

Disclaimer: The characters and events referenced are property of CBS.

"Trust the one who has gone through it."

-Seneca

"Reid? What are you doing here?"

The light in the hallway is dim, but it's enough to see the hesitation on his face as he contemplates his answer. She stands in the doorway, running through all of the possible reasons for him to visit this late at night. It's not a very long list.

"I thought you could use some company," he says after a moment, a small but sincere smile fighting for its place upon his lips. "Can I come in?"

It's her turn to hesitate as she briefly wonders if there's a way of refusing him that won't result in the rest of the team showing up on her doorstep. There isn't. She shrugs and steps back, pulling the door open with her.

He quickly steps inside, as if worried that she might change her mind if given too much time to reconsider. Maybe she would. She closes and bolts the door, aware that he's profiling her track pants and baggy white sweatshirt behind her back. Her hair is messy and uncombed, and she's forgone her makeup, and she's been around profilers long enough to guess what conclusions he's drawing. She crosses and uncrosses her arms as he watches her, her expression carefully neutral.

"Help yourself," she offers vaguely, gesturing towards the half-eaten box of pizza sitting open on the coffee table. The apartment is darker than the hallway, and she knows he'll read into that as well.

He politely declines, instead sitting stiffly on the edge of her brown suede armchair. She follows his lead, finding a seat on the adjacent couch and casually pulling one of her legs underneath her. Cradling a mug of lukewarm tea in her small hands, she watches him from under her bangs.

He clears his throat. "How was the review?"

She shrugs again. "It was fine."

Her voice is steady and calm, and if she didn't know what he did for a living, she'd almost believe he was buying it. Any of the others would probably call her out for it, but not Reid. Instead, he gives a weak smile and tries again.

"I remember my first shooting review," he confides, his fingers twisting in his lap. "I was so nervous that I spilled coffee all over my report."

She nods, but doesn't return his smile, and an awkward silence falls.

"You'll be cleared, no problem," he assures her. "Everyone knows it was a clean shoot. Hotch and Rossi both vouched for you and the whole thing was caught on the Bureau surveillance. The review is just procedure."

"Hotch wants me to talk to the in-house psychiatrist."

She looks up in surprise - she hadn't meant to say it out loud - but Reid only nods.

"Dr. Entworth," he says knowingly, and she can see he's pleased that she's finally responding. "I've spoken with him before. He's a bit intense, but he'll give you a fair evaluation."

She feigns disinterest, her eyes falling briefly to her tea.

"Why are you here?" She repeats, a small warning in her voice. She's not interested in being saved tonight. He shifts uncomfortably.

"I- I told you, I thought you might like some company—"

"No offence, Reid, but I'm not really in the mood for a big heart-to-heart," she interrupts, running a hand through her tangled blonde hair.

He blinks, mildly off-put, but says nothing.

She sighs.

"Why does everyone think I can't handle this?"

She hates how defensive she sounds, but years of standing in front of cameras keeps the irritation off her face as he shakes his head and frowns.

"No one thinks that."

She scoffs, turning to look at the television in the corner, still playing 'Late-Nite Thirties Classics' on mute.

"JJ...You killed a man. It's all right if you're not completely okay with it yet."

"Did you come here to profile me?"

There's anger in her voice and he flinches a bit, his eyes falling to the mug in her hand.

"I came here because you're my friend and I thought you might want to talk."

"Well, yeah, because you're really big on sharing, right?" She returns sarcastically.

She feels a flash of victory at his wince before the guilt sets in. Maybe the jab about Georgia wasn't playing fair, but why should he be the only one who gets to keep secrets?

He shakes his head and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, looking ill at ease but no less determined.

"...I really wanted a gun," he reveals, a self-deprecating smile appearing briefly on his face. "Profilers aren't required to carry them, but I still made myself sick practicing for my test. I- I thought not having one would make me less of an agent. I mean, everyone at the academy made such a big deal about it - like a- like a status symbol. I was convinced that carrying one would be like... proof that I had a right to be here."

He's looking at the floor and she watches him closely.

"When I failed my qualifications, all I could think about was how much everyone would tease me - how no one would take me seriously anymore. I even told Gideon that without a gun I looked like a teacher's assistant." He smiles ruefully, but there's a sadness in his eyes she can't place. "I wasn't really thinking about what it meant to carry a weapon - what it would mean to fire one."

There's a pause, and she waits, captivated despite herself.

"I didn't feel bad about shooting Dowd," he confesses quietly. "Actually, I- I didn't feel anything at all. I thought it meant that there was something wrong with me."

"Dowd was a bad person," she comments, frowning.

He nods, his voice thick. "So was Battle. But that doesn't mean you won't feel something."

"What's your point?"

This time he does look up at her.

"What you did - it doesn't make you a bad person," he tells her sincerely.

She shrugs. "It's part of the job, right? Battle...He was trying to kill Garcia. He killed all those people."

Reid nods.

"So, it's no big deal," She continues, setting her mug down. "I mean, it was a clean shoot and no hostages were hurt. Case closed."

He raises his eyebrows slightly. "But it's not really, is it."

She traces patterns on the couch cushion distractedly. Thinks about how she needs new furniture. Thinks that she's missing the rest of her movie. Thinks about anything but the body under the sheet.

He clears his throat. "After Illinois, Gideon sat with me on the plane—"

"Gideon's gone, Reid."

He flinches hard at the venom in her voice this time, and she can't deny the satisfaction she feels at the direct hit, even as another pang of guilt runs through her. He lowers his eyes, curling into himself slightly, so much resembling a kicked puppy that she almost breaks her resolve and pulls him into her arms. She sits straighter on the couch, instead, and tries not to wonder at how easy it is to hurt him.

He swallows, clears his throat again, pushes on.

"He- He told me that being confused about how I felt didn't make me a bad person. That it would hit me eventually, but I should remember that I did what I had to do to save peoples' lives."

She stares at him until she realises she's doing so and drops her eyes. She shakes her head. "I don't need you to rescue me, Spence."

He rolls his lips, a frown creasing his forehead. She recognizes that look as one he uses when he's searching for a response that isn't condescending. A few years ago, he wouldn't have known to try.

She sighs, taking pity on him.

"I'm not going to fall apart."

"I know. I know that - it's just... I've been there."

She hesitates - wonders if this is too far a line to cross – before remembering that he was the one who knocked on her door in the first place.

"Reid, when Tobias—... After everything he put you through, didn't you ever think that he deserved it?"

He looks surprised, but considers it a moment.

"I- I don't think he deserved it, exactly," he answers haltingly. "Tobias was sick. He needed help and he didn't get it. I- I wish things had ended differently."

"Even after everything he did to you?" she presses, knowing he'll never give her another chance to ask.

"He— Tobias was kind to me. He saved my life. Charles and Raphael were the ones who hurt me - Tobias was as much a victim as I was. And there aren't many people I think deserve to die."

She lets out a breath.

She's used to the thought of people's deaths weighing on her shoulders. Every case she doesn't take in time, every tossup between two cities in trouble, every moment of indecision could mean another life extinguished. But there are always ways to pass the blame: the team can only handle one case at a time; the detectives leading the investigations didn't push hard enough; the unsub devolved more rapidly than anyone could have guessed - the list goes on and on. When you make your living choosing who to save, deflection is a good thing.

But there's no one else to blame this time.

"What if I don't feel bad about shooting Battle?" It sounds like a challenge, but they both know better.

"He was trying to kill your best friend," Reid replies with a soft shrug. "He was holding an FBI agent hostage. Everyone knows you did the right thing...But that doesn't mean it'll always feel right."

"So...I should feel guilty?"

He gives an awkward, humourless chuckle. "No one can tell you how to feel about this, JJ."

"They always tell you the first kill is the hardest. Does that mean it won't be like this—" She cuts off, not wanting to admit that there might be a 'next time'.

He shakes his head slowly. "Believe me, it doesn't get any easier."

She's not quite sure if she finds that comforting or not.

"You never feel good about it," he continues solemnly, "but, if you give it enough time, you come to accept it."

"...I just keep thinking that this is how they feel," she confides quietly, her eyes on her hands.

He frowns, shaking his head again.

"You're nothing like the people we catch, JJ. If you were, you wouldn't care this much."

She sighs, trying to decide how many more wounds she's willing to pick at in one night. The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

"Garcia told me...that if you stop being affected by things, you lose parts of yourself."

"She's right."

She looks up at him with clear blue eyes. "But how can I do my job if I can't put up with all of the horrible things we face?"

Reid quirks an understanding smile. "There's a difference between feeling emotion about something and letting that emotion control you. I- It's a fine line, but you just have to find something to keep you going. Like- like Morgan renovating houses, or Garcia counselling victims' families."

She doesn't ask how he knows these things about their colleagues; after all this time, he's still the one people go to with their secrets. She wonders who he goes to with the important stuff these days.

"What keeps you going?" she asks softly, thinks maybe that person could be her.

He smiles.

Fin.