Work Text:
2005
Reid frowned at his coffee mug, smoothing down the SPENCER label with his thumb. It kept peeling off after going through the dishwasher, which was irritating. The BAU didn’t have their own label-maker and he kept having to borrow the one from White Collar.
Meanwhile, JJ clicked through to the next slide, which depicted two photos of the bloody corpse of a young girl.
“Aimee Windsor, nineteen,” she told the team, who were assembled at the round table in the conference room. “She was found with her throat slit in Theadore Wirth Park in Minneapolis this morning. Her underwear was removed but there was no sign of sexual assault. It’s the third murder with this MO in the last month, so the local PD’s called us in.”
“Where were the other bodies found?” asked Gideon.
JJ was about to reply when the lights flickered, and the room started to shake.
No, not shake.
Warp.
Before the team could process what was happening, it was over. And there was a strange man standing next to the conference table.
He was tall and lean, maybe thirty, with dishevelled brown hair and stubble, wearing a dark suit. He looked oddly familiar.
The man blinked and looked around. “Woah.” He looked up and his eyes widened. “Why is there a ceiling?”
Hotch had stood up. Gideon rubbed his jaw, looking intrigued. JJ froze. Elle glanced at everyone else to gauge their reactions. Morgan put his hand on his gun. Reid twisted his fingers together.
“Who are you?” asked Hotch authoritatively.
The shaggy man blinked. “Thomas!” he said, pronouncing the “h”. “Did you get work done? It looks great. I mean, I wouldn’t know what it’s like to need something like that because I have the glow of eternal youth, but you were looking pretty haggard. I didn’t want to say anything.”
He surveyed the rest of the team. “Oh wow,” he said, staring at Reid. “Look at you. You’re like a worm with hair.”
Reid frowned. That was uncalled for. “Who are you?” he asked testily.
This time, the man answered the question. “It’s so weird to meet people who don’t know that. I’m kind of a celebrity. I wouldn’t say ‘massive’, because I’m so modest, but most people would.” He paused for effect. “I’m THE Matthew Gray Gubler.”
There was a beat of silence. No one reacted.
“Matthew GRAY Gubler,” the man tried again. “The Gube.”
Nothing.
“From TV’s Criminal Minds?” he tried.
“Why do you look like hobo Reid?” asked Elle.
The man – Matthew – glared at her. “I haven’t missed you,” he told her snarkily. “Paget’s nicer. She gives me wine gums when I get snacky.”
Reid stood and slowly approached the other man.
“Reid,” cautioned Hotch, moving forward.
“Spence,” said JJ, concerned.
Gideon held out a hand. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
Morgan gritted his teeth and rose as well, not taking his hand off his gun. Gideon’s curiosity would be the death of them all. He wished the older agent’s investment in Reid translated to protective instincts.
The resemblance between the two was uncanny. Matthew was clearly older, a little more dishevelled despite the smart suit, a few wrinkles and a slight softness to the jawline that Reid’s near-emaciated form could never create. But there was no denying the fact that they were practically identical.
Matthew studied Reid as well. “I forgot how skinny I was before the surgery,” he said, poking Reid’s cheekbones. Reid slapped him away, irritated.
“Surgery?” asked Gideon.
“For achalasia,” Matthew told him, still staring at Reid. He tried to touch the other man’s hair but again, Reid knocked him away.
“Achalasia,” Reid announced, eying Matthew warily. “A rare disorder of the esophagus caused by damaged nerve cells that prevents food from being able to pass into the stomach. Generally considered incurable but can be treated with botox injections or, in severe cases, a Heller myotomy to sever the sphincter muscles.”
Matthew shrugged. “My agent just said, ‘Snippy snip, yum yum food’,” he told them. “I don’t have time for all those words.”
Reid noticed the concerned looks of his co-workers. “I don’t have achalasia,” he told them. “I just… forget to eat sometimes.”
That didn’t seem to reassure them.
“Where are you supposed to be?” Reid asked Matthew, hoping to change the subject.
“Here,” answered Matthew. “Well, on set.” He pointed up. “Again, weird that it has a ceiling.”
“I think I know what’s happening,” said Reid. “This is amazing. Interdimensional travel.”
“Woah woah woah,” said Matthew. “Slow down.” He stared at Reid. “Inter. Meaning……… inside.” He frowned. “Dimensional. Meaning…… Don’t help me! Dimension. Dimension. Oh man, I know this one…. Dim… meaning dark…”
Reid looked both horrified and fascinated at the same time. “I think he’s me,” he told the team. “I mean, me from another universe.”
“I’m not you,” corrected Matthew. “I just play you on TV.”
“Wait, our lives are a TV show?” asked JJ.
Matthew turned to her to answer, but then shrieked and covered his eyes.
“Oh my god. I’m gonna puke. Is that a dead person???”
JJ looked at the screen behind her. She and the rest of the team had forgotten about it. “Uh, yes?”
“Oh god.” Matthew braced his hands on his knees, dry retching dramatically. “Oh god.” He glanced up at the screen again, then resumed his position. “Is that her dead vagina???”
“Just breathe,” said Hotch, coming around the table to pat Matthew on the back in a fatherly way.
“I need bleach for my eyes,” moaned Matthew, flopping around. “What’s wrong with you people? The blood looked so real. Oh my god.”
“I wasn’t buying it at first,” said Morgan. “But this guy’s definitely an actor.”
“I need hazard pay,” moaned Matthew.
-_-
A few minutes later, Matthew was laid out on the couch in the break room with his feet up and a wet cloth over his forehead. His requests for a seltzer water and cheese platter had been denied.
The team was in the bullpen trying to figure out what to do. They still had a case, but apparently the universe was bending. It was hard to know what to prioritise.
The elevator dinged, and a little ‘squeak squeak’ sound entered the office.
The team turned and saw a young man, late twenties from what they could see behind his long floppy hair, hobbling in on crutches.
The man stopped when he reached the desks and swept his hair back. He looked at the team with a relieved expression.
“Thank god,” said the Reid doppelganger. “I need your help.”
[commercial break]
The Reid clone shifted awkwardly on his crutches as the team stared at him.
“Another one?” commented Elle. “I hope he’s more fun than the other guy.”
The new man’s gaze fixed on her intensely. She found herself straightening up. He was like Reid, but filled out, older, less flighty in his movements and more commanding in his gaze… It suited him.
“There have been more of me?” he asked.
“Just one,” answered Reid, stepping forward. “He said his name’s Matthew, and,” he grimaced, embarrassed. “he plays me on TV.”
“Fascinating,” breathed the stranger. “I’m- sorry, I should clarify. I’m Dr Spencer Reid, but from another dimension. Obviously. Or maybe not. I might be from an alternate timeline, or maybe the same timeline but further into the future, though coming here would have caused the timelines to diverge anyway…”
“Like Back To The Future?” asked Morgan before he could stop himself.
The Reids looked at him blankly.
“It’s a movie.”
The older Reid shook his head. “We haven’t seen it.”
The Reids looked at each other.
“This is incredible,” said the younger Reid. “Everything I’ve read about time travel suggests that we should be very careful about what you touch and how you interact with this dimension, because your atoms are unstable and even the slightest wrong move could cause the universe to collapse.”
He said this matter-of-factly as both Reids reached out their fingers towards each other.
“Don’t!” shouted Hotch and Morgan. JJ gasped. Elle and Gideon looked intrigued.
Two long, thin index fingers met.
Nothing happened.
The fingers retreated and poked each other again, three times in quick succession.
Nothing.
The lights didn’t even flicker.
“Fascinating,” breathed two absolutely idiotic geniuses.
Dr Reid reached out to touch his younger counterpart’s hair. “I forgot how much gel I used to use,” he remarked. Reid scowled. Was every version of himself just sent here to criticise his appearance?
“At least I don’t look like a bohemian surfer,” snapped Reid, flushing. He was no good at insults.
“Can I sit down?” asked Dr Reid, shifting on his crutches. “I got shot in the knee and I’m not really supposed to stand for long periods.”
Morgan immediately stood and let the older Reid sink into his chair with a muttered thanks. He took the opportunity to examine this older version of his co-worker.
This Reid was filled out, with thick (if slightly greasy) hair and a good complexion, which relieved Morgan. He often worried whether his younger teammate was taking care of himself, growing thinner by the case and seeming to exist on a diet of sugary coffee and donuts.
This older Reid was still slim, but his short sleeves (which was so weird – Morgan hadn’t ever seen Reid in less than three layers, let alone flaunting visible elbows) displayed healthy lean muscles and even a slight tan. Morgan hoped this meant that Reid was finally treating himself better, and maybe even taking some time off.
Of course, it could just mean that they’d had a recent case in a warmer climate, but still, it was good to see the kid with some meat on his bones.
“You were shot?” asked Hotch, concerned. “Should you still be in the field?”
“Are you okay?” asked JJ, stepping forward.
“I’m fine,” Dr Reid dismissed with a wave. He looked at Hotch with a strange expression. “We’ve had people injured much worse come back with less complications. I’m okay, just unlucky.”
“Do you know what’s happening?” asked Gideon. “Do you know what’s causing all this?”
Dr Reid, for the first time, seemed wrong-footed. He stared at Gideon and opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out. He blinked rapidly and recovered, but Morgan and Elle exchanged a pointed look. Reid worshipped Gideon, and basked in his attention. He jumped at any opportunity to impress his mentor. What the heck was that?
“Uh, I’m not sure,” said Dr Reid, sounding uncertain. He cleared his throat and got a bit of his flow back. “I was on the metro on the way to work, and suddenly everything seemed to… flex, somehow. I thought it was just a trick of light, but then everything on the train changed. The people were different, even the seat covers weren’t the same.”
He didn’t sound scared to be in a completely different time, which spoke to either his ability to compartmentalise or his inability to accurately measure the severity of situations.
“I got off at my usual stop,” Dr Reid continued, because of course he had, “and found a newspaper with today’s date. I knew – well, I hoped – you’d all be in the conference room discussing the Buchanan case, so I came here.”
“Buchanan case?” asked JJ.
Dr Reid blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Uh, Eric Buchanan, he’s the killer. He lives at 143 Milford Drive. The victim’s underwear is in a box in his garage.” He winced. “Sorry. Might have messed with the timeline there a bit.”
Hotch excused himself to call the Minneapolis PD, mind trying to come up with a plausible explanation to issue a search warrant that didn’t include “tip-off from a time traveller”.
“Anyway,” continued Dr Reid, “That’s all I really know. I was hoping you might be able to-“
“I don’t want to sound demanding,” interrupted Matthew, emerging from the breakroom, “But I feel like I asked for water a while ago and my tongue is still dry.”
“You literally just came from the break room,” said Elle. “There’s water right there.”
“Tap water,” corrected Matthew. “Do I look like some kind of Shemar Moore who can ingest any old thing and maintain perfect abs and a beautiful smile? This,” he gestured to himself, “takes work. I’m delicate.”
Dr Reid stood, with the help of his crutches, and squeaked his way over. “I take it he’s Matthew?” he asked Reid, taking in Matthew’s… everything.
“He is standing right here, and his hands don’t have a cheese platter in them,” replied Matthew. He looked down. “Eugh, I remember those crutches. My pits got so chafed. I had to make Dayne in makeup rub hypoallergenic cream on them three times a day.”
Dr Reid looked down as well. “What’s in your pants?” he asked. Matthew shifted. “Are you stealing the salt and pepper shakers?”
Matthew opened his mouth to reply, then kicked Dr Reid’s crutches out from under him. “Tactical retreat!” he shouted, sprinting back into the breakroom and slamming the door behind him.
JJ rushed over. “Are you okay?” she asked, helping Dr Reid to his feet. Reid watched as she subtly squeezed his older counterpart’s bicep. He glowered.
There was the familiar sound of clacking heels. “What’s all that shouting about?” asked Penelope, entering the bullpen. “What are you still doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be all, ‘Wheels up in twenty’ like, twenty minutes ago?”
“There’s been a development,” Gideon told her.
Her eyes flicked to JJ, who was handing Dr Reid his crutches. “Who’s-?” Her mouth fell open as the older Reid flipped his hair back and looked at her. It didn’t actually happen in slow-motion, like a shampoo commercial, but that’s how she’d always remember it.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathed.
Reid sighed. This should have been the coolest day of his life – proof that time travel AND interdimensional travel aren’t just theoretically, but PRACTICALLY POSSIBLE! Interacting with versions of himself from other times and universes! – but he was starting to feel overshadowed by his alternate selves. He smoothed his hair behind his ear self-consciously and adjusted his cuffs.
“Penelope, this is Dr Spencer Reid from the future,” he introduced professionally, because he was a grown-up professional. “We haven’t actually established when-“
“Twenty-ten,” said Dr Reid, limping over and giving a genuine smile for the first time. “Hi, Garcia. It’s good to see you.”
“Look at you!” she marvelled, stepping forward to cup his face. She squished his cheeks, which he allowed. She ran her fingers through his hair. “My baby’s all grown up! Look at your hair. Oh my gosh, you’re so handsome.”
“Her baby”, who apparently wasn’t handsome, pursed his lips. Morgan gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Reid,” said Elle. “You’ll get there.”
“Shut up,” he muttered. JJ gave him a motherly smile which was just the worst.
“I’m not sure how much longer this will last,” said Dr Reid, gently extricating himself from Penelope’s grasp. “The universe is probably trying to reset itself, so I might either disappear and be sent back to my own time, or I’ll just cease to exist and the universe will start the timeline over again.”
The team, minus Reid and Gideon, looked at him in horror. Penelope clutched his arms.
“Doesn’t that bother you?” asked Morgan.
Dr Reid shrugged. “I can’t really control it either way.”
Morgan muttered something about ‘survival instincts of a wet tissue’ and rubbed his face.
“So we don’t even know how this happened?” asked Penelope.
“I might have the answer to that,” announced a familiar voice.
The team looked over. Standing at the entrance to the bullpen, wearing a prison uniform, was yet another Spencer Reid.
[commercial break]
“What happened to you?” asked Elle, staring at the newcomer.
He was older than the other Reids, maybe a similar age to Matthew, but his appearance made it hard to tell for sure. His hair was wild, his stubble almost long enough to be a short beard. His eyes were slightly manic, a little too wide. His prison uniform(!) was wrinkled and there was blood on one sleeve.
“Oh.” The man looked at himself, as if wondering what Elle could be talking about. His gaze settled on the blood. “I stabbed myself to get into solitary confinement.”
Morgan took that in. “Okay, so you’re definitely not Reid. You must be from another dimension. Who are you?”
The man’s mouth pulled awkwardly. “No, I’m- I’m Reid. Dr Spencer Reid, of the BAU. I’m pretty sure I’m from your future.” He gave an awkward wave, looking for the first time like he might actually be a version of their Reid. “Hi.”
Elle looked thrilled. “No fucking way.” She laughed and looked at Reid. “You’re going to prison!” She turned to the newcomer. “What did he do? Jaywalk too many times? Forget to return a library book?”
“Uh, murder,” was the answer. They gawped. “I was under the influence of heroin,” he added slightly defensively, as if that would help explain things.
“What the fuck,” marvelled Elle.
The second-oldest Dr Reid looked perturbed. “Did you say heroin?” His grip on his crutches tightened.
Prison Reid looked at him with understanding. “Forcibly injected,” he assured him. “I’m clean.”
Dr Reid exhaled. “Good. That’s… well not good, but… Good.”
Reid was NOT liking the picture this was painting of his future. “You said that you might know how this happened?” he asked, trying to wrestle some control over this situation. He was feeling very overshadowed right now.
“Yes,” replied Prison Reid. “It… might be my fault. I cut the prison’s supply of drugs-“
“Of course you did,” muttered Morgan.
“-and apparently one of the prisoners was using contraband materials to build a time machine. I think his goal was to go back in time to prevent himself from being arrested, but the drugs had an unexpected effect on his brain. Most of the prisoners just got deathly ill-“
“You made them deathly ill?” asked Reid, horrified. Prison Reid ignored him.
“-but for some reason, this prisoner metabolised the substance differently. It made him even more psychotic and he ended up building a machine that actually worked, but not in the way it was originally intended. Once I figured out what he was planning, I tried to stop him, but the device got knocked to the ground and I think it ended up splitting the dimensions somehow.”
Penelope made a squeaking noise. “You’re actually a time-travelling Doctor,” she told Dr and Prison Reid.
They looked delighted by this. Reid tried hard not to be jealous.
“Do you have any idea how we fix this?” asked Dr Reid.
Prison Reid shook his head. “Not in the short term. In the long term, we could try to find him and see if he could replicate his device, but it’s- what is it, 2005? It’s nearly twenty years in the past. He might not be anywhere close to being able to produce that kind of machine yet. The technology might not even be available.”
Morgan looked at Prison Reid. He had dark shadows under his eyes and a grey complexion. His hair was wild. He had a hunted, defensive air about him, like he was braced for conflict. It made sense, since apparently he was in prison, but it didn’t look right on Reid – any version of him.
Morgan vowed that this wouldn’t happen to their Reid. Not on his watch.
The breakroom door opened and Matthew swanned out. “I heard voices. Are we having a party? I only drink organic wine, because of the histamines.”
He stopped at the sight of Prison Reid.
“Interesting. I don’t think we’ve gotten to this storyline yet.”
He walked over and pinched the prison shirt between his fingers. Prison Reid flinched back and eyed him warily.
“Hmm, a bit coarse,” decreed Matthew. “I’ll have to get Serge to line mine with silk.”
He looked Prison Reid up and down. He slowly elevated himself until he was nearly standing on his tiptoes.
“I’m taller than you.”
Prison Reid looked to the other Reids for explanation.
Reid sighed. “This is Matthew. He’s from another dimension, where our lives are a TV show. He’s an actor.” He said the word like a slur.
“A TV show?” asked Penelope. “That’s so cool.” She turned to Matthew. “Who plays me?”
“Kristen or Kirsten Van-something,” he replied vaguely. “I don’t have time to learn everyone’s names. She seems nice.”
“I wonder if she exists in this world,” mused Penelope. “I’m gonna look her up.”
Hotch returned from his office, having explained to the Minneapolis PD that there’d been an “anonymous tip” leading to the Buchanan residence.
He took in the scene. Three Reids and a Matthew looked back at him. Clearly, he’d missed a few developments.
Hotch sighed and tried to triage. He pointed to Matthew. “What’s in your pocket?”
The other man immediately stuck his hand in his pocket, covering the bulge of whatever was inside. “Nothing. I put the salt and pepper shakers back.”
Hotch held out a hand. “Give,” he commanded.
Matthew pouted and handed over the item.
Hotch turned it over in his hands. It looked like a strange remote control.
“I want that back,” said Matthew. “It’s from the prop department. I was going to sell it on eBay. They don’t need it. They have lots of props.”
Prison Reid beelined over. “That’s it,” he exclaimed. “That’s the time machine.”
“Pretty small machine,” remarked Elle. All the Reids glared at her for not comprehending its significance and coolness.
Prison Reid took the device from Hotch very carefully. “We have to be gentle with it,” he said. “Even the slightest touch could-“
Both other Reids reached for the device. They didn’t want to use it. They just wanted to touch it. When would they get the chance to feel a piece of equipment capable of splitting the space-time continuum ever again?
Unfortunately, all three Reids suffered from a soupçon of poor coordination, never more so than when they were excited about something.
The interdimensional remote crashed to the ground.
The lights flickered.
Matthew shouted, “I didn’t do it!” and held his hands above his head.
Penelope’s hair flickered from blonde to blue to red.
A goatee appeared and disappeared on Morgan’s chin.
JJ’s belly warped in size.
Gideon and Elle flickered in and out of existence.
Hotch gained and lost grey hairs and wrinkles.
Reid’s hair went crazy.
The air crackled like sulphur and ozone, with a tremendous flash of blinding light.
[commercial break]
The team’s vision cleared, and they were alone. Only the people who belonged in the BAU in 2005 remained.
There was a stunned silence.
Gideon cleared his throat and stood. “Let’s take an early lunch.”
The rest of the team nodded dumbly. It had been a weird morning.