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The vibrating of his cellphone on the hotel’s nightstand was what finally woke him up. He didn’t want to answer, not after the case they’d just dealt with. He’d been up for nearly seventy hours straight, and only asleep for about forty minutes. He was absolutely exhausted.
The only reason he bothered even attempting to ignore the call coming in was that it was from his other phone.
After three rounds of hearing the buzzing while trying to get back to sleep, he finally gave up. Without opening his eyes, he reached out and grabbed the phone, flipping it open with more force than strictly necessary. “What.”
“I’m in your apartment,” the caller said, accent coming through stronger than ever. “Where are you?”
“I’m on a case. Get out of my apartment, Booker.” He snapped the phone shut, fully intent on going back to sleep. The phone’s text tone buzzed before he was able to toss the phone away.
I’m staying in your apartment until you get back, petit frère.
That woke him up. If he told any of his… other family to get out of his apartment, they’d do it. They knew what he dealt with on a daily basis, and that he sometimes needed to process the nightmares alone. That his request was being ignored meant something was wrong. Very wrong.
Spencer Reid sat up in his too small bad in a tiny motel a thousand miles away from home and worried. He wasn’t going to be getting back to sleep any time soon.
It had only been five years since he woke up in a tiny shed in the middle of Georgia, after going into cardiac arrest following a seizure. In those moments between darkness and clarity, he saw flashes of people he’d never seen before. Three days later, those people showed up at his apartment in Virginia with the fantastical story about him being immortal. For the young profiler, that went over about as well as could be expected. That is, he didn’t believe them at all.
At least until one of them pointed out that he should be in withdrawals right now, with the amount of Dilaudid that had been injected into him only a few days prior.
He wasn’t in withdrawal. He felt normal. So did his bruised foot, which had healed remarkably fast. The same with the concussion and the dehydration.
Considering he had even told his team about being injected with Dilauded, he was willing to at least listen.
The group of immortal warriors stayed with him for the three days he was home, before finally returning to work. He made it clear to them that he couldn’t just leave. His job was too important to himself, as well as his team. He was making a difference, or so he hoped.
Andromache, or Andy as she demanded he call her, told him to cut ties. That wasn’t about to happen, not yet.
In the five years since that fateful moment, he’d seen this other team, this second family of his, about twice a year. Sometimes all together, sometimes only one or two. With his work schedule being so fluctuating, he never went on missions with them, instead helping from afar if possible.
The last time he saw everyone was the year previous. He had flown to Malta to see Joe and Nicky get married for the thirtieth time, telling the BAU that he needed a well deserved weekend off. After the ceremony (officiated by Booker, because he lost a sucker’s bet to Nicky for the first time in the decade), everyone went their separate ways for some time off and away.
Reid didn’t expect to hear from anyone for at least another month.
But now Booker was in his apartment, alone and unsupervised, while he was sleep deprived. His alcohol stash was going to be decimated.
Reid looked back at his phone once more. Booker called him “little brother.” He only did that when he was especially lost, either in memories or at the bottom of a bottle.
He had to call someone. Someone not named Booker. Andy would probably blow him off, considering her reluctance to use modern technology was worse than his own dislike, which she was entitled to, given her age. Nicky would probably answer, but honestly, his best bet was Joe. Joe and Booker were closer.
The phone wasn’t in service.
Reid tried Nicky, since generally he wouldn’t be far from Joe. Same result.
He tried Andy. Nothing.
He had to chance it. Drunk Booker was still Booker. Perhaps he could at least keep him from the good wine until he returned to Virginia.
“Ten minutes,” the Frenchman slurred as the call connected. “I figured it would take them longer to explain.”
He was drunk alright. Okay, the genius could deal with this. “Booker, what needs to be explained?”
“I messed up. Bad.”
There was a pregnant pause. “And? Usually you’d give me more than that to work with. What happened?”
The silence continued to stretch.
“Booker? Please tell me you didn’t pass out on me.”
After a few minutes more of silence, Reid hung up the phone and carefully tapped out a message.
I’ll be back in Virginia by two. Please don’t leave until I see you. You’re worrying me, brother.
With that sent, and not a reply returned, he moved over to his laptop. If his family was involved, there was probably news about it.
He started with the European headlines. Pharma Exec. Steven Merrick Found Dead in Apparent Suicide...