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Gideon.
Gideon knew he was skillful enough to have noticed it either way, probably early, when Reid had still been a bit of an enigma to him which would have prompted him to watch him more carefully just to figure out if he was cut out for the life Gideon was trying to give him. But instead he found out because he’d trespassed into Reid’s life, which wasn’t exactly a conversation he was willing to have with the kid.
He should’ve known it was dangerous to seek him out after hours, when the campus was filled with students not rushing to class but standing in groups, laughing, smoking, making plans for that night, being young. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Reid to be young, but Reid was young in a different way. He’d seen that much. Younger than the rest, and thus more insecure. Not a drinker. Not necessarily shy but unwilling to put himself out there enough for it to seem natural. But somewhere along the line he must’ve started making friends that Gideon hadn’t seen, because Gideon usually wasn’t around for those types of interactions. It was a sunny Friday, the warmest one of the season so far, with sun rays striking through the tree crowns, leaving the campus distorted by the light, blinding Gideon enough that he walked into the crowd without seeing Reid at first.
His feet stopped in their tracks before he had time to think it through, think that Reid was interacting, that Reid was busy and unaware he was being watched, but what he saw was enough. A profiler’s curse, to see so much by seeing so little.
Reid leaning back against a wall. Reid laughing at something his friend was saying. Reid looking so utterly mesmerized by him that Gideon knew immediately and found he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know, not when he was actively bringing Reid into something where that could be a problem.
It was the first and only time he felt a sting of regret about steering him in this direction of life. Knowing he would be forced to keep people at a distance, in many ways, for many reasons. When he saw him again the next week, noticing his sleep deprived demeanor, all he could picture was Reid staying up too late with the guy, heads leaned together, reading or watching a movie or maybe even socializing with others. Together, the two of them, always together in whatever version of this fictional night Gideon made up.
When he thought of it more deeply, which he only allowed himself to do during weak moments, he realized Reid had seemed both happier and slightly more distracted recently.
They would never talk about it.
Hotch.
Hotch found himself almost uncertain of being alone with Reid once Gideon left. Afraid of overstepping, of taking his place without meaning to, of Reid despising him for doing so. He seemed to momentarily have forgotten that he’d formed a relationship with the kid beyond Gideon’s, that Reid probably only appreciated the support, quiet as it was.
He wasn’t sure how Reid interpreted his behavior, which was displayed in terse tension and a fleeting lack of eye contact. Really, to anyone else it probably wasn’t visible, but he knew better than to think his team didn’t notice. They always noticed. They just didn’t always say something.
Hotch wondered, as he ducked his head as naturally as he could, if maybe his desperation to not overstep was making things worse, and so he started watching him instead, only to try to figure out how to act. That was how he caught it, tucked between the most unsuspecting interactions, frequent enough that he couldn’t un-notice it, though rare enough for those who weren’t watching to miss it completely.
Reid, usually awkward and prone to rambling, would sometimes shut down around men. At first Hotch thought it was because he felt intimidated - it was mostly masculine men who felt the need to underestimate him - only he quickly realized most situations didn’t call for that type of reaction. And then he saw it. The nervous skin picking. The flickering eyes. In the right light, the slight flush of his cheeks. Not all the time, not with every man, but every once in a while Hotch would catch those types of reactions, and he’d be an idiot not to realize what they meant.
He tried to stop, after that. Tried to let the kid keep his secrets, because as far as he was aware Reid wasn’t out to anyone on the team, but it became increasingly difficult once he’d noticed it.
“What can I get started for you?”
While in the midst of a particularly grueling case, Hotch took them all out for breakfast. For morale, but also because he knew they’d need all the fuel they could get to be able to handle the next few hours. The diner was small, neon signs lighting up an otherwise dull and rainy street in an equally dull and rainy town. As he leaned back while his team started ordering, his eyes flickered toward Reid out of habit. He had his head ducked as if he was observing the menu closely, only Hotch knew that he knew exactly what he wanted. He dragged his gaze to the waiter. A young man, a few years older than Reid, with smudged eyeliner and a kind smile. Hotch wouldn’t say he knew what Reid’s type was, but he could tell his presence flustered him. It was almost sweet had it not thrown Hotch into a slight panic to witness, each moment a reminder that he knew without Reid’s consent or knowledge.
“And what about you?” the guy asked the youngest agent, his smile melting into a smirk when Reid stammered out his order.
To anyone else this was just Reid being Reid, but to Hotch this was Reid being unsure of how to handle his sudden attraction, which was only amplified by the man’s playful nature, as most waiters tended to adopt. It was fleeting and mostly unserious, but Hotch didn’t know how much experience the kid had - why would he - and with the team present Hotch couldn’t imagine him matching his energy. So he ducked his head and nodded when the man repeated his order, done with the conversation to the untrained eye. Hotch didn’t have an untrained eye. Not anymore.
How he wondered how he would’ve interpreted this, had this been before. How did the rest of the team view this, if they noticed it at all? Maybe they didn’t observe each other that way. Maybe Hotch only did it because he felt he needed to. Because this team functioned in a way where things were left unsaid, but couldn’t always be left unnoticed. Not by him, at least.
If the waiter noticed Reid’s flustered energy he didn’t take advantage of it. Maybe he noticed their suits and dress shirts. Maybe he could tell they were colleagues and that Reid might not be out to them. Hotch realized with a pang that he might not have considered this group to be safe for him to flirt with a man in front of. And maybe that was why Reid wasn’t out, either.
Morgan.
Morgan technically found out because Reid told him, though he’d started suspecting the moment his eyes accidentally flickered toward the younger agent just as the entirety of the fire department started walking toward them. An arsonist case had brought them out to nowhere Georgia, where the humidity had them all sweating enough as it was. Add a whole lot of fire into the mix and the city was agitated, the police force just as much. The firefighters were brought in as a precaution, because they couldn’t afford more landmarks to burn down - or bodies - and because they understood fire better than any of them.
They’d gone to the fire station to talk to them, him and Reid. The men who met them, because there were two of them, were professionally clad, as far as firefighters go, but the men who came after, exiting the airconditioned building to see what the fuss was about, started shedding their shirts almost as soon as they were outside. Morgan was jealous and made a move to tell Reid just as much, but shut his mouth just as quickly as he’d opened it. Reid was, for lack of a better word, blushing as the firefighters approached.
He was quick to cover it. Quick to avert his gaze and calm himself. So quick that Morgan wondered if he’d even seen anything at all.
As they spoke to them, he kept glancing at the kid. He was acting as he normally would, rambling and fidgety, though Morgan felt the way he kept avoiding eye contact with any of them, including himself, was new. The men were all muscles and sweat. Tousled hair. Kind smiles. If Morgan had seen correctly he certainly didn’t blame Reid at all.
They didn’t talk about it at the hotel, where they’d been forced to share a room. They didn’t talk about it as Morgan removed his own shirt after a long day, announcing he would be sleeping shirtless and Reid not reacting in any way particular about it. If he’d seen correctly, he still didn’t feel uncomfortable about showing skin, because Reid was Reid, though for the first time he wondered if maybe Reid felt something about the skin he was showing. If he was making him uncomfortable without realizing.
They didn’t say anything about it. They had separate beds. The window could be opened. The summer nights were pitch dark.
He did say something about it years later though, when Reid told him about Ethan. Technically he was telling him about his type, because Morgan finally got him to open up about the topic of dating and Reid told him of his one ex who he apparently wasn’t entirely dating to begin with.
“So those firefighters,” was all he said and Reid was ducking his head, laughing only because Morgan reached out to tickle his ribs. That was his way of saying it was okay.
Prentiss.
Hotch sent her because he didn’t know about her, which made her believe that he knew something about Reid since he sent him too. The strip club was illuminated by pink lights. It was early, but there were a handful of customers there anyway. Some of the girls were dancing, all fun and games still before the serious crowd turned them much more professional. Prentiss didn’t look at them because she was also a professional. The woman they were speaking to was pretty, though not Prentiss’ type. Hotch didn’t know about her and so he sent her, or maybe he sent her because she was also a woman and would be trusted. But he also sent Reid.
She only suspected because she was so wrapped up in her own secret, but she probably might’ve noticed the way Reid wasn’t paying any of the women any more mind than regular people involved in a case. But Reid was respectful. Reid was scared of intimacy and Reid didn’t date. That much she had gathered. She’d just never thought that half the reason was that he didn’t date women. Though she doubted he dated many men either.
She tried not to watch him, because she was willing the gods that he wasn’t watching her either. He had no reason to suspect. She’d been so very careful her whole entire life.
As careful as he had, she was sure.
JJ.
JJ had known for a while, partly because Reid seemed to have relaxed around her a lot earlier. Once she’d realized what to look for (inadvertently, she might add), it was hard not to notice. The most recent victim to Reid’s rare affections had been a police officer in LA. A man in his early 40s, much too old for Reid if she did say so herself, who was just the right amount of rugged and had just the right type of soft smile to have Reid rambling. It was sweet, though not an unusual occasion. You had to really pay attention to notice the difference. JJ had figured it out years ago.
She tried to keep her face straight as Reid rambled something about whatever had just been said, the officer cocking his head in amusement as Reid kept going on and on, voice higher in pitch, speed unbelievable. That was part of it. Reid felt flustered around this man because he showed genuine interest in what he had to say. As he ended his speech with an awkward introduction, JJ knew he would spend the rest of this case making sure he was nowhere near that officer again if he could help it.
Rossi.
Rossi was uncomfortable. Bars were really not his scene. He preferred a calmer pub, where he could nurse a whisky while absentmindedly watching the TV above the bartender’s head, half-listening to whatever his companion was saying. Early evening, before the bigger crowd. This bar was crammed and the music too loud, but since he was here for a case he couldn’t leave.
He gripped his glass tighter, the alcohol free beer already lukewarm.
It was Pride weekend, to top it all off. And this was a gay bar. Not that that bothered him, except the ethical reality of him not belonging there and intruding in their space anyway. But someone was killing drag queens in San Francisco, and the community reacted like they usually did. They kept each other close. They celebrated the lost lives, like they always did.
“It’s not the fact that it’s a gay bar that makes me uncomfortable,” he told Reid, who was glued to his side even though they should have spread out long ago. “I’m just not much of a partier anymore.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend himself from accusations that hadn’t yet been thrown his way.
Reid turned to him, nodding, though there was something pained on his face which he quickly smoothed over before Rossi could decipher it. “It’s loud,” he said. Rossi knew it wasn’t difficult to overstimulate him and had questioned why Hotch had sent the two of them rather than Morgan and Prentiss, who could blend in more effortlessly.
“They seem so happy,” he continued, gazing at a group who was dancing in front of them. Dancing and hugging and kissing, queer joy at its best. “Despite all the pain and sorrow.”
Rossi looked at them too. “Well, isn’t that all we can do? Love each other no matter what.”
Reid didn’t turn toward him, but Rossi felt something shift and he understood. In that moment he understood. Wondered if he’d always understood, but just hadn’t given it a name.
“Come on.” He nudged his side with his elbow. “Let’s catch this sick bastard before he causes them any more pain.”
Reid nodded wordlessly.
Garcia.
The server placed two drinks before them, though Garcia couldn’t remember ordering any Italian sunrises. She was a couple shots in though, so maybe she’d forgotten.
“Did you-?” she started, but Reid shook his head, equally tipsy. “We didn’t-”
“It’s from those two gentlemen over there.” The server grinned as she pointed.
At the bar, sitting side by side, were two men in their late 20s with huge smiles directed at them. Garcia, who was unused to the attention and feeling as if she was emotionally cheating on Kevin, was entirely too preoccupied to notice the way Reid had stiffened.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she said in distress, turning away from them immediately. “But we cannot accept- well I can’t, but you-” She looked at him, suddenly realizing. “Well, I mean, I don’t actually know which way you swing. And you don’t have to tell me!” she added quickly. “It does surprise me that they bought drinks for both of us, though. How often does that happen? I mean, you can’t know anyone’s orientation to begin with and now that I think about it, we make a lot of assumptions-”
“Hey.” His hand on hers. Comforting her. “No one’s ever assumed I’m a ladies man.”
“But women love you. They do,” she said when he laughed incredulously.
“And I love them,” he said, obviously still not believing her. “But not like that.”
Garcia tried to keep her cool, but the two shots had her flailing her hands anyway. “Oh, boy genius, I didn’t mean for you to come out like this!”
He smiled at her, and maybe he would regret it when he was sober and hungover the next morning, but right there and then he simply leaned closer and promised her it was okay. “I told Morgan a while ago,” he admitted. “I’m not stupid enough to think others haven’t figured it out, but-” He cut himself off. Grabbed the glass seemingly just to have something to do with his hands. “I never know how to tell people. I can never do it on my own initiative.”
She took his free hand in hers. “So maybe this was a good thing?”
He nodded. “I’m glad you know. I wanted you to know.”
She didn’t even consider wondering if her sober self would regret her own confession, because she knew she wouldn’t. “I’m also gay! Or, well, I’m bi, technically. Did I ever tell you that?” She knew she hadn’t. They both knew she hadn’t.
Nearly a decade long friendship. This fucking industry.
Reid laughed and she joined, wondering what was so funny but being unable to stop. The two guys at the bar must’ve given up, because they were nowhere to be found after that and Garcia only felt a little bad about it when she realized they’d not even thanked them. They toasted with their new drinks anyway, to freedom and truth and to Reid finally trying out dating (“You know that’s not going to happen.” “I will make you an online dating profile.” “Oh my god, please don’t.”).