Finally, Someone Who Understands (Criminal Minds Fanfiction)

Tangible

She stepped up to the SUV she came in and set her hand on the door. However, she couldn't step in, tears already beginning to well up in her eyes. Emotions were never a problem on the job. But then again, the job doesn't usually involve your brother, you idiot. She then thought of the incredulous look on Reid's face when she decided to speak up about her brother. And why Reid's reaction to the whole ordeal even bothered her, she didn't know.

To her, the seemingly tangible feelings sucked. Everything just sucked. It was just the deal with her brother anymore. It was the build-up of long held thoughts and things she had never allowed herself to feel. The moment she first had to shoot someone. When her husband left her and her children, with no promise of ever coming back. Trying to figure out what to even do with Reid, considering she always played the "I'll never let anyone get close to me" role. The sheer rawness of everything mesmerized her. And in that vulnerable moment in Balboa Park, she broke down and cried like a baby.

So there she stayed, now sitting against the front passenger tire of the damn car, wishing she could be alone. She shook and sobbed and groaned against the salty tears, however, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Everyone who didn't know her thoughts, which was everyone, would've thought she was crazy. If only they knew, she thought. After a few moments, she heard the shuffle of someone sit down beside her and pull her into a half-hearted attempt of a hug. At first, she had no clue who it was, but the constant smell of old books reminded her incredibly quickly that it was that damned Spencer Reid.

-

"So is it done?"

"Boss, would I leave something like that unfinished," the man joked.

After a stern look from the older man, the younger silenced himself. "It should be done. Because any link to me will mean the end of you. I hope you understand that 23."

23 sat down at the large conference table in the office. "You know, I never understood why you call me by a number, as opposed to my name."

The Older looked down at him.  "Because, if someone were to find out your real name, then this whole thing would be blown. But if you go by a number, then we'll have to hope that not everyone can look through the alphabet to find you."

Mumbling, 23 added, "So damn cryptic all the damn time."

Older slammed his hands down on the table, inches from 23's own. "Were you saying something?"

23 yelped slightly and jumped back, raising goose bumps on his arm in slight fear, and rolling his chair back a few centimeters. "No sir. But now I will say something to you. When do you want me to go out and do it again?"

"I haven't decided yet. Assuming this ragtag group of yours doesn't figure you out, then maybe in the  next two days or so," the Older pondered. He fixed a loose strand of black hair that had fallen into his eyes. He then adjusted the cuff to his suit. "I'll figure something out for you 23. Don't worry."

"Maybe it'll be good this time, instead of a kill to cover our own asses."

"Maybe, if you hadn't let those moronic cops make it so far into investigating you, I might add, then we wouldn't have this problem in the first place. Haven't you ever considered that?"

Leaning back in his chair, 23 adjusted his own shirt sleeves and tie before replying, "I have. But this whole situation and contract business makes me wonder what you stand to lose should this plan not work out. What was even the original goal of this whole thing anyway?"

"I stand to lose nothing. You should know that. You do my dirty work, then my own hands don't get dirty. If you talk, it's your word against mine. And I'll be frank, I have much more power here than you do. So which version of events would people believe? And the goal was much bigger than anything you ever were. It is also something I would like to keep to myself."

"Since when have you gotten this mysterious, sir?"

"Politics does that to a person. You should know that better than most 23. I had the election swung so you could be put where you are now. You should be thanking me."

"I would thank you, and I did. Until I realized that you were a cold-blooded murderer and extortionist. Then the ballgame changed."

"Fine then. I'll change it again. Tonight, you go for that pretty little cop of yours. Daniels. Don't kill her, but make her understand what fear is, and that maybe she doesn't need to be working this case like she thinks."

"But what if she finds out it was me?"

"Then you take fall for it. You break my plot, and I'll kill you myself."

With a sigh, 23 finally agreed. "Yes sir."

-

"Reid, what the hell are you doing?"

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, and tucked a hanging strand of hair behind his ear. "Well, I'm trying to make sure my friend is okay, which is pointless because I can see she isn't. And secondly, I'm trying to determine whether or not she is going to be able to continue working this case because of a personal bias against a particular suspect. That is what the, um, hell I'm doing."

In between tears, Calla broke a sad smile. She wiped a hand across her cheek, attempting to get the streaks off. She pulled herself up to sit at a better angle against the tire. "Well, you're right. She isn't okay, and she does have a personal bias. Because what normal human wouldn't have a personal bias against their brother?"

Reid huffed slightly and turned to get a better look at Calla. "I know I can sit here and try to profile you. I can also try to tell you that you don't need to be here right now, and frankly you don't. But I do know that telling you any of that will do you no good. So you have to help me help you out, if that is correct term. What can I do to help?"

Calla, having finally calmed down, turned to Reid. "Why are you so intent on helping me?"

"Because, we all try and naturally protect the ones we care about. How about we get back to the station and start pinning useless things on a board and see what we can come up with out of that?"

Reid stood and held a hand out to Calla. She graciously accepted and was brought to her feet. After wiping away some stray tears and tucking in loose pieces of hair, she turned to Reid and addressed, "You, Spencer whatever your middle name is Reid, are a genius."

"Well, firstly, I'm not telling you what my middle name is. And technically yes I am, with an IQ of 187 and all."

For the first time in those minutes where she thought for a split second that the world was ending, she cracked an inkling of a smile.