Chapter Text
“Um, sir?”
JJ cautiously peeked her head into Hotch’s office and he had far too much to do that he didn’t even bother glancing up. “Yes, JJ?”
“I just received a request to pass on to you,” she said, shifting awkwardly on her feet, “for profiler to go undercover.”
That wasn’t really outside of the norm, as many of them had gone undercover over the years, Morgan came off less like a cop and more like hired muscle, Gideon could play at a put-upon dad, but Hotch exuded too much cop aura as Hayley had once told him. Elle had started in undercover and who knew if that’s where she had gone back to -he didn’t have it in him to probe- and he knew that Emily had a limited history in undercover ops.
The only one who had never done undercover work was Reid.
He put down his pen. “What’s the reason?”
“Apparently there’s been a few strange deaths and a lot of suspicious injuries in the Reagan Federal Penitentiary in Texas, but no one is willing to talk about what’s going on.”
He held a hand out and she extended the file to him. “Isn’t that a bit overkill, sending in an undercover profiler?”
“It sounds like they’re suspicious of the guards being involved and they want someone that can fly under the radar,” JJ said uncomfortably and Hotch’s eyes fell on Reid’s name under requested personnel. “Reid’s the kind of person that most don’t even expect to be in the FBI.”
That was true enough, but he also didn’t have any training in going undercover. He’d had to be granted a special exception to go in the field because of how much of a resource his brain was despite his lack of ability in anything related to athletics.
Hotch had no idea how Reid would feel about it, though. He knew that it was different when Morgan went undercover because he trusted that Morgan knew what he was doing, but he also became much more subdued when he was on them.
It was Morgan that definitely would have a problem with Reid going undercover especially in a prison.
He worked to avoid grimacing. “You have a case to present to us tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, sir,” JJ said, vaguely thrown off by the change of subject.
“Have the team come in a little early at seven so we can discuss this situation.” He tapped a finger against Reid’s picture clipped to the file.
“Yes, sir,” she said before leaving him to his thoughts.
Spencer was wheezing. “Can we give up?” he puffed out, legs shaking with strain. “And by -huff- we, I mean -huff- me.”
Derek, the complete freak, was jogging lightly at his side, barely breaking a sweat while Spencer was red in the face and breathing hard. He laughed. “C’mon, pretty boy, you were the one that said you needed to get into shape to chase down unsubs!”
“I never said that,” Spencer decided. “We’re breaking up.”
That made Derek laugh louder. “Yeah, right. My family adores you too much to let you get away that easily.”
Spencer’s face flushed for a whole different reason and he stuttered badly, which Derek always found cute, something that did him no good.
He’d been invited to Christmas at Fran Morgan’s place this year and had felt comfortable enough to accept, which had made Desiree practically shriek as she shouted “MAMA, SPENCER’S COMING WITH DEREK FOR CHRISTMAS!” which was suitably baffling.
It was only July.
He groaned, bracing his hands against his knees, trying to force breath into his lungs. “I’m gonna pass out,” he wheezed.
“Deep breaths, you’re doing great, baby, you lasted five minutes longer than last week.”
If Spencer had any breath left, he would’ve given a delirious laugh at that, but as it was, he gave him an aggressive thumbs down that made Derek laugh before his phone gave a little buzz where it was strapped into the band wrapped around his bicep.
“Tell me we have a case,” Spencer gasped. “I need an escape.”
Derek pulled out his phone and frowned. “No case,” he said, making Spencer groan. “Hotch wants us in at seven tomorrow, apparently.”
“Why?” Spencer asked, baffled, finally raising up from his hunched over position as he regretted his choices in partners romantic and exercise (unfortunately for him, his were the same man).
“JJ didn’t say…race ya back, lover boy?” Derek grinned replacing the phone back in the band.
“Race yourself,” Spencer said sourly, but then Derek was taking his hand and dragging him with him.
There wasn’t a single change in Reid’s expression during the discussion, even as Gideon’s mouth twisted in discomfort, with Emily glancing between him and Hotch nervously, JJ shifting awkwardly, Garcia frozen in her chair, but the only sign Morgan gave was a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Reid? In prison?” Garcia nearly squeaked.
“You can say no,” Emily said immediately. “I’m sure there are other agents—”
“Other profilers?” Reid asked, his doubt plain. “How would it work?”
The question was posed to Hotch and he was clearly expending every effort to not look at his partner, a consummate professional.
“You would be completely on your own for this, you won’t be known as an FBI agent because the point is that no one knows you’re there gaining intelligence.”
“Would I be wearing a wire?”
“An unconventional one since you get stripped down upon entrance into the prison,” JJ swept in, even though she clearly didn’t agree with it. “I think they’re debating about either going with a watch or hiding a wire in something like a bracelet but you’d have to be pretty careful with it because water—”
“Will render it useless,” Reid understood. More likely they'd go with the watch. “I’ll do it.”
“Reid, hang on—”
“Spence, are you sure?”
“You’ll have to be playing at being someone who isn’t you—”
“I can play a part,” Reid said sourly. “I’ve had more than enough experience dealing with someone in a schizophrenic break; I can definitely emulate that.”
The others froze up but Morgan let out a wounded sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t do that to yourself,” he said to Reid hollowly.
They had stopped celebrating Reid’s birthdays at work, something Hotch hadn’t really noticed at the time, but maybe that was something that Morgan had pushed for, since Reid was in the age-range for when schizophrenic breaks happened. He’d been lucky so far but it was clearly a very present concern, one that Morgan was more privy to than others.
“That was a poor joke,” Reid allowed after a moment, “but I can do it.”
Emily was still frowning, though. “Is there a reason why someone like Morgan can’t go?” she asked Hotch. He certainly wouldn’t have looked out of place in a prison yard, but Hotch wasn’t certain if that was related to his tough-guy persona or his race; neither assumption Morgan appreciated, going off the eye twitch. “Or even you?”
“The inmates that have died in the prison all have one thing in common; they’re the opposite of Morgan and I in terms of physicality,” Hotch said carefully. “The only one of us to fit all their requirements is Reid. Agent Callahan with Undercover Operations will be the handler, so to speak…Garcia will monitor the signal from your listening device and relay all information to Callahan…if you’re completely sure, I’ll let her know that we’ll be proceeding.”
Reid shook a hand off, running it through his hair and Hotch could almost see it, a version of Reid with his hair unkempt, face scruffy, a flutter of anxiety in a prison he had no reason to be in. “Go ahead.”
Gideon stood up forcefully, expression closed off and stormed out before anyone could pull him back.
Startled, Reid looked after him before he let out a heavy sigh. Gideon was his mentor, so Reid knew better than most that there were times he was treated like he was delicate just because he was so young. The situation with Tobias Hankel and Reid requiring a temporary leave of absence as well as a mandatory psych eval and drug screen following his kidnapping hadn’t helped things.
Hotch had learned just from observing and knowing the pair as he did that Morgan had a tendency to meet Reid where he was at. Yes, he’d asked Garcia to work from home during the assignment that Reid was experiencing the worst of his withdrawal because it wasn’t as though Morgan could just stay with him, but he didn’t call excessively or hover in a way that would make Reid testy.
Quite the perfect match they were, he couldn’t help but think as Reid stood to follow after Gideon without a glance towards Morgan.
“Look, I know that no one is happy about this assignment,” Hotch said, “but we still have a job to do.”
“Yeah, but you’re sending someone in with no undercover experience into a prison without backup,” Emily pressed.
“I’m sending a profiler, it’s a bit different.”
“You can say no, I can send an email that says you’ve changed your mind.”
Reid tried not to be annoyed about it, but they all liked to treat him like a kid. “Garcia.”
“I’m just worried, okay!” she burst out. “Monitoring you on this op is going to give me so much anxiety—”
“They can assign someone else to it—”
“No way,” Garcia snapped. “How else am I going to be able to keep an eye on you? Did Derek try to talk you out of it?”
She was the only one outside of Hotch that was aware of their relationship.
“I’m literally the only person for the job, there’s nothing to talk me out of,” Reid said.
He also thought it was a bit of test for him from the bureau higher ups. A lot of exceptions had to be made for Reid to even work in the field, and then there’d been that mess with Hankel and Reid’s recovery. Put Reid outside of his comfort zone and see how he did.
Joke’s on them, Reid thought to himself, I do my best work under intense terror.
He knew that no one liked it, honestly, he didn’t like it all that much either, but Reid had gotten too comfortable at the BAU, time to change things up a little.
Garcia sighed and knocked on the door and it opened almost immediately and a kind-faced woman with brown eyes and hair greeted them. “You must be Penelope Garcia and Dr. Spencer Reid.” She extended a hand and Garcia took it.
“Reid doesn’t do handshakes,” she told her conversationally as Reid waved.
“Ah,” she said in understanding, “well, I’m Agent Kate Callahan, it’s nice to meet you, shall we get started?”
“Please,” Reid said, following her into the office.
Kate had heard a lot about Dr. Reid, the FBI’s resident genius, but she’d honestly expected someone with the kind of credentials he did to be at least arrogant about it, but he didn’t bring it up once, only asking about the logistics of the operation.
She worked primarily with the Sex Crimes Unit subsect of Undercover Operations, but this case was different and clearly they wanted someone with a lot more experience to work as Dr. Reid’s handler.
“I’m surprised they’re not just sending the BAU to investigate these inmate deaths,” the doctor mentioned, looking over the file with speed that made her stare. Was he that much of a quick reader?
“It’s suspected that a number of prison guards are on the take, but we’re afraid of spooking them without iron-clad evidence—”
“Like an FBI agent’s testimony.”
She smiled. “Exactly. I won’t lie, there’s a lot of ways for this op to go wrong, but it would be a huge help if you’re sure you want to do it.”
Penelope Garcia glanced to him nervously and Dr. Reid took in a slow breath.
“How long is this operation?” he asked.
“Hopefully it’ll wrap up between three and six months, why?”
“I’ve just got plans on Christmas Day that I’d rather not miss, that’s all.”
Well, Kate could relate to that, having a young niece.
“I know you’re not really reading that, you know.”
Derek looked up from the book in question, Life After Life: Interviews with Twelve Murderers by Tony Parker, one of Spencer’s many to catch how his partner's eyes had softened. “I know,” he said simply reaching a hand out and Spencer took it. “C’mere, you.”
“I love you,” Spencer told him, serious and emphatic as he sat down beside him.
“Don’t say that.”
“Say what? That I love you?” Spencer quirked an eyebrow.
“Don’t say it like you’re not coming back,” Derek said, cupping his cheek.
“Of course I’ll be back,” Spencer said, “I’m joining you for Christmas, remember?”
Derek barely smiled as he leaned in to kiss him.
The kid was a drug mule who had narced on his supplier and gotten a reduced sentence and he certainly looked it.
Thin and twitchy and just the kind of person that was trying to keep their head down to get through their prison sentence without making any waves.
Exactly the kind of person Dale Shavers wanted to see in his little fight club.