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“I heard he completed the qualification exam in less than 60 seconds flat. The proctor was ready to take him up to the board, ‘till she realized he got a perfect score—”
“Jason Gideon vouched for him, you know. Going to be the youngest agent in Bureau history—”
“—say he didn’t even exist in the background check. Literally no record to be found of him—”
“—supposed to be a genius, smarter than Einstein. Why else would the CIA take a minor? Bet he learned torture techniques before he learned to legally drive.”
“They said he was a techie, no way they let him in the field—"
“—don’t tell me you actually believe that?”
“Well—”
Morgan clears his throat loudly, and the two agents cut off their conversation from the opposite corner of the elevator. The tallest flushes with embarrassment (Jackson? Jones, was it?) and neither man can meet the profiler’s eyes. He briefly considers what would happen if he calls them out for the gossip, but it’s a passive thought, and the elevator opens to the BAU before it fully forms. Besides, he allows, as he makes his way to his desk, everyone was curious about their soon-to-be newest team member.
Dr. Spencer Reid, Hotch called him.
Apparent genius and ex-CIA. Three PhDs to his title and over 6 years of prior agency experience. 22 years old, assigned straight to the most prestigious unit in the FBI.
According to Gideon: “The most brilliant mind I’ve had the chance to witness.”
His superior had been otherwise tight-lipped about him. They get more from Hotch, but barely.
“He’ll be an asset to the team,” Hotch says. “Strauss backs Gideon’s judgment.”
The new agent’s due to start in 2 weeks to the day. There’s something loaded in his superior’s words...not disapproval, per se.
(It does nothing to dispel Morgan’s concern).
-
“Todd swears she saw Tenet—the CIA director—go into Strauss’s office, and why else would he come by unless it was about him—”
“I heard he was there for hours, left practically storming.”
“Apparently they’re pissed they’re losing their agent, accused the FBI of poaching and everything. Had to get higher ups involved—”
“Lance says Gideon had to get him like 10 exceptions on the evals, bet he’s got some type of narcissism complex that they put up with ‘cus he’s so smart...”
“Probably had him on some fucked up project; now they’re afraid he’ll blab. The CIA gets dirty you know, it’s not like here where we’ve got morals—”
“I heard he’s batshit crazy—”
“I heard they waterboard trainees—”
“I heard he broke the record highest kill-count.”
-
“Morning,” JJ greets, walking towards where Morgan’s pouring himself his second cup of coffee. She glances at the agents in the far corner of the room, who bounce theories about Dr. Reid’s apparent torture technique. Her eyes look both aggravated by the conversation and unwillingly intrigued. They both know how unrealistic the theories are. Yet in a horrible way, it’s nice to know Morgan’s not the only one affected. Derek finishes preparing his mug and lifts it in mock salute.
“One week,” Morgan says, like a toast. JJ hums in agreement.
“To people finally shutting up.” JJ says. Morgan lets out an amused huff. “I swear, they’re worse than the media.”
They walk together through the bullpen, Morgan’s desk on the way to JJ’s office. He catches her quick glance through Gideon’s window. “I’m sure he’s going to be fine.” she says softly, hovering by Derek’s desk for an extra beat.
“I’m sure he will be.” Morgan reassures. But he can’t help looking towards Gideon’s office, all the same.
-
One day before the doctor’s arrival, the kid’s got Garcia spun into a frenzy. Morgan is not-so-subtly sent by Hotch to try and calm her down.
“You don’t get it, I can’t get a single stupid—ugh. I hate the CIA, my sweet sugar six pack, I really really hate them. Penelope Garcia doesn’t come up blank, no matter who it is. I simply don’t, Derek. I get results.”
They’re in Garcia’s lair, the glow cast down from multiple monitors highlighting her frustrated features. Garcia hovers over her keyboard, while Morgan leans back in his chair.
“No one else got a hit in the background, baby girl. We already knew that going in.”
“No one else is as good as me. I don’t care if I’m on some ‘list’ and am not allowed to look through his report,” Garcia says, drawing air quotes, “I’m still the best there is. This is sacrilege, I’m telling you. This is witness-protection level.”
Morgan feels his eyebrows raise at that. Penelope’s quick to backtrack.
“Not that I’ve ever tried to hack witness protection.That would be a bad thing to do.” She nods a few times in succession, like the matter’s been decided. Morgan can’t help his fond smile. And she wonders how she got on a list.
“At least you got the personnel file, gorgeous. It’s more than we had before.”
That, however, isn’t saying much. The document which hovers on Garcia’s screen is more blacked-out than not; practically every other word is censored.
Dr. Spencer Reid, it mocks them.
DOB: September 10, 1981
Family: [redacted]
Education: [redacted], [redacted]
Dual undergraduate degrees in psychology and sociology
PhDs in [redacted], [redacted], [redacted]
Prior Occupation: Cybersecurity Technology Specialist
There’s no photo to accompany the file.
“He’s got an undergrad with a psychology background?” Morgan attempts to console.
“Name one profiler who doesn't.”
“...he’s a Virgo?” he tries again. Derek’s not sure if he’s got the sign right; his breadth of astrology knowledge is built exclusively from Zodiac case studies and second-hand facts absorbed directly from the tech analyst, herself. Still, this seems to do the trick.
“Okay,” she agrees, finally. He offers up one of his hands; she takes it. She seems to find solace in the steadying touch and Morgan’s glad he can offer her at least this comfort, in this otherwise train-wreck of a conversation. “Okay, he’s a Virgo. I guess I can work with Virgo…”
By the time he leaves her lair, Penelope’s in higher spirits. Morgan, on the other hand—
It’s fine. He’s letting himself fret over nothing. Most likely. Probably. Hopefully.
-
The day he meets Dr. Reid, two things become pretty clear.
First, the rumors had been grossly overblown.
Any test training exceptions made were for physicals; it seemed like a strong bout of wind could knock the kid over. He doesn’t resemble the hardened CIA agent Morgan imagined. Instead, he just looks young. He’s got a rather particular style of academic dress, and his glasses take up most of the doctor’s face. But he appears nice enough, if a bit reserved. He’s tall, thin—tiny, really. He doesn’t come off as much of a threat.
“Everyone, this is Dr. Reid. As you know, he’s transferring from intelligence. I expect you to make him feel welcome.”
They make introductions following Hotch’s statement. Morgan chances a glance at the rest of the team. JJ’s smiling gently; Penelope’s clearly relieved. Elle’s got a glint in her eye, gaze traveling up and down the kid. Morgan doesn’t care to look too much deeper into her interest.
Dr. Reid shakes everyone’s hands, soft but steady, unusually cold. Morgan gives him credit where credit’s due. Personally, Derek had been a sweaty mess on the first day. If Reid’s feeling nervous, he doesn’t show the conventional physiological ticks.
“Derek Morgan, or just Morgan. Looking forward to hearing you spill all those CIA secrets, Doc.” It’s said jokingly. The younger man smiles at the attempt to break the ice, a frog-like sliver of a thing, all lips and no teeth.
“Reid, or Spencer. You don’t have to use the Dr. It’s a privilege to meet you all,” he says, gesturing to the team with his other hand. He’s got a certain intonation to how he enunciates, but his accent is hard to place the location of. There’s something...careful about how he speaks. A precision to his word-choice, like he’s holding a part of himself back.
“JJ will give you the tour,” Hotch tells Reid. With that, the meeting concludes. It’s an anticlimactic experience, for all the beforehand buildup. Morgan would be disappointed if he wasn’t so relieved.
The second thing to become clear isn’t relevant to Reid’s character so much as it is to Morgan’s libido...but Spencer Reid is exceptionally attractive. And it’s like the man does everything in his power to distract people from this fact. It works for a few hours, too. Almost half a day passes before Morgan takes notice, but when he does the realization is like a slap in the face.
The doctor in question sits at his desk, absorbed in his computer. He’s visibly frustrated—mumbling quietly to himself, with his eyes glued to the screen and his mouth unconsciously sucking on the edge of his pen.
And Derek looks at him from across his cubicle, and then he really looks, and then Spencer tilts his head upward just so—jawline on full display, and—oh.Oh.
It seems stupid how Morgan didn’t notice before. The striking cheekbones and delicate nose; his pretty curve of pink stained lips. Even with horrible glasses and gel drowned hair, his new co-worker was kind of gorgeous. It could be a problem, moving forward. But Morgan’s nothing if not adaptable.
“You need any help there, pretty boy?” Spencer looks up as if on reflex, before placing the voice to Derek’s face. He looks momentarily startled by the nickname, but quickly wipes his expression.
“Maybe, but it’s not urgent. I’ll figure it out eventually, I’m sure.”
Derek waits him out. Call it a hunch, but something tells him his new co-worker doesn’t like asking for assistance.
A moment of silence passes, then another. Morgan keeps his eyes on the new agent. Then finally: “...I can’t get my computer to download the ViCap open-case statistic archives.” He seems to begin the motion of moving his hand up to run through his hair, yet he stops himself as if only just then remembering the gelled down state of it. His hand lingers awkwardly in the air. “I know it’s here,” he admits, “but for the life of me, I can’t navigate through this system.”
Morgan gets up from his own desk and goes into Reid’s cubicle, still barren and lacking personal effects. “You mind?” He gestures to the machine, already moving towards it. Spencer gratefully moves to let Morgan take a better look.
Morgan keeps one hand on the genius’s back and one hand on the mouse, while they try to find the source of the issue. His colleague doesn’t seem to mind the action.
“And—ah, there you go. Just had to unzip the folder.”
“Oh. Duh. How stupid of me. Thanks, man.” Spencer looks down at his feet. His voice is saturated with good natured self-deprecation. His embarrassment is rather endearing.
“Weren’t you supposed to be a Tech Specialist?” Morgan teases. He can feel a small smile forming on his lips.
Reid, for his part, looks caught between a laugh and a groan.
“Is that what my file says I did? Yikes.” He’s got a smile on his face, though. And who knows? Working with the genius might not turn out so bad. When Morgan finishes out for the day, he’s feeling cautiously optimistic.
(He will look back, eventually, and see Reid’s response for the non-answer it is. For today, he takes it at face.)
-
Reid messes up his first gun qualification spectacularly. Gideon seems genuinely pissed at the fault; Hotch, at least, understands. In different circumstances, Derek might give Reid shit over the failing mark. As it is, he doesn’t know the kid that well. Add that to Gideon’s bad mood...he takes Elle’s words to play nice with more sincerity.
They get a new assignment; an LDSK.
It’ll be Reid’s first case. God—Morgan thinks—must have a dark sense of humor.
“Since you apparently can’t use a firearm, let’s keep you in office, for now. Geographic profile could be relevant with this one.”
An awkward pause follows Gideon’s statement. Even Hotch looks surprised at the level of passive aggression, though he hides it better than the rest.
Spencer, for his part, keeps his eyes on his feet. “Yes sir,” he agrees softly. If anything Gideon looks even less amused. He turns back toward Morgan and Elle.
“So the unsub targets victims between the 3pm and 3:15 officer shift change, suggesting intimate knowledge of law enforcement…”
“How’s boy wonder holding up?” Garcia asks, when Morgan calls a few hours later for an update on LEO background checks. In the single week Garcia’s known the kid, she already managed to develop an attachment. Maybe it was the geeky nature and gentle disposition—but whatever the reason for her affection, Morgan’s glad she gets along with the genius.
Reid himself seemed noticeably overwhelmed by Garcia at first, and (though this is likely just a shadow paranoia lingering in Derek’s mind) it was almost as if the man had been trying to avoid the tech analyst, his first few days. Thankfully, this behavior dropped off around his fourth day, as Spencer became more familiar with the office and the team.
“He’s doing fine, baby girl,” Morgan reassures. It’s the truth, too. Their superior’s behavior aside, the doctor seems to handle himself well. He contributes valuable insight even when he’s cautious—still trying to find his footing inside the group. Sure, Reid won’t meet Gideon’s eyes, and he’s clearly uncomfortable around the local law enforcement. But he manages. He’s hesitant, but he manages.
Local officers don’t give the kid so much as a second glance. The juxtaposition between this treatment and the way Reid’s received by fellow agents is almost comical. While failing his gun qualification had curbed some of the gossip at Quantico, most agents still seemed intimidated by his CIA past and colossal IQ. And speaking of said IQ…
There’s also Reid’s sheer intelligence, for the first time completely unleashed on the case. Morgan has witnessed his reading speed beforehand, has observed his casual knowledge in everyday office conversation.
The practical application of Spencer’s genius while working in the field—however—is a whole new sight to behold.
“How’d you pinpoint the psychopathology of the unsub to a hero victim complex, so fast?” Elle asks, when they’re closing out the first night.
They make their way together from the station—Elle, Reid, and Morgan—while Hotch hangs back to coordinate with JJ about press strategy and Gideon stays with the detective taking point.
“They published a case study about it in 1993, in The Scientific American. I remember reading it when I was 12.” Reid admits. Except something in the way he states it gives Morgan pause. He’s fiddling the hem of his sweater, voice overly casual. For the first time since joining the BAU, Morgan sees the young doctor look nervous.
It’s like a puzzle piece slotting into place, a mild epiphany in itself. Morgan had guessed, on his first day meeting Reid, that the agent was holding himself back. But the direct confirmation is startling. The kid’s worried he’ll be judged for his intelligence. Probably has been before. It explains so much. Morgan could sigh in relief.
Elle seems to also notice Reid’s guarded demeanor.
“Well. We might not always understand how you learn what you do. But damn, Reid. I’m glad you know these things. It’s gonna put our solve-rate time in half.”
She knocks her shoulder against his playfully. Reid stumbles, not expecting the action. Kid’s really got no weight to him, Morgan thinks. He could use a good meal, or twenty.
The full moon’s on full display above them, illuminating the night in shades of silver. There’s something resembling hope, gathering at the corner of Spencer’s eyes, and Morgan feels a surge of protective instinct.
No, Morgan decides right then. Murky past notwithstanding, the kid’s just hesitant to get burned. It was time to stop indulging further hearsay, and Reid had failed his gun qualification, for God’s sake. He wasn’t some dangerous unknown threat.
(Except not 24 hours after Morgan makes his judgment, the kid kills a man with a single headshot between the eyes, while bruised on the floor, with his hands zip-tied).
-
“You’re going to retest.” He hears Gideon say lightly on the jet, with a hint of steel lurking underneath. Everyone else appears to be asleep. Morgan stays perfectly still and keeps his breath even; lets them think that he is, too. “—and so help me, I don’t care what the CIA has to say on it. You’re with the Bureau, Spencer.” He sounds a mix between frustrated and concerned. “Do you even care if you get hurt because you can’t defend yourself?”
“I miscalculated. Okay?” Reid all but hisses back. Morgan’s got to force himself to keep relaxed in the midst of his surprise. In the now week and a half that Spencer’s been with them, he’s never spoken like that. He didn’t think the kid could speak like that.
“I meant to pass by one mark, but the instructor got—well. He got weird, at the end. Kept putting his hands on my back and trying to move my grip. I really did mess up the last few. I wouldn’t just…fail on purpose.”
The silence at the end of his statement is suffocating. Morgan hears Gideon draw in a heavy breath, then another. He can picture the man with his head in his hands.
“Okay.” Gideon finally says. “Okay. You’ll report him in the morning and go in again. That’ll make the difference look reasonable, at least.”
“Why bother,” Reid mutters.
There’s something jaded in the way he utters it and Morgan hates that Spencer could like this about the whole affair. Reid continues, unaware. “It was tame compared to Op-8. You know I can’t afford the scrutiny right now; I’m not deaf, Jason. I hear the things people say about me, already. This is the worst kind of story to add—I shouldn’t be looked at like that. By anyone, at the moment. It’s the kind of thing that’ll get me recalled.”
It’s apparent Gideon can’t think of a further argument. Morgan doesn’t know what Op-8 is, but it doesn’t take a genius to infer that he’s referencing his former job.
“Just...fine. Let me know if it happens again.” Gideon mutters.
“Yeah.” Spencer agrees softly, distantly. “Yeah, of course.” Somehow, Morgan can tell Spencer won’t say anything despite the assurance. It makes his stomach churn.
(Reid retakes his qualification a week later and scores a 98. The Quantico rumor mill continues to spin. No one on the team mentions it).