Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: HARM

"We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end we become disguised to ourselves."

     — François de La Rochefoucauld.

—

The drive back to the command centre passes in silence. Gideon is the first to leave, while I hang back to grab my jacket from the back seat. I barely notice Reid's presence until I turn around, flinching a little. "What the— What do you want?"

He continues to study me for a while. Finally, he says, "Is something the matter?" I scoff and lock the car, heading across the parking lot with him close in tow. "The way you've been talking to me, glaring at me. Seriously, what is your problem?"

I snap, and my voice comes out much harsher than I'd planned. "I had him. He was answering my questions happily, giving us the information we needed, and then you jump in and screw it up!"

"How? How did I screw it up?"

"The guy was clearly a narcissist. You gotta make it seem like a conversation, not an interrogation. You gotta flatter him. And ignoring him to talk to Gideon all the time, like he wasn't there? I mean, you totally pissed him off."

He isn't buying it — not that there is anything to buy, as my frustration feels pretty justified. "If that were the issue, you would've yelled at Gideon, too. You're lashing out at me, Sully, and I think I have the right to know why."

I roll my eyes. We're almost at the steps of the building now and I come to an abrupt stop, rounding on him. "Jesus, you act so goddamn faultless all the time!"

Anger rises in me, heat bubbling up through my veins. At this point, I'm not entirely sure why. All I know is that his very existence is getting on my nerves. I don't care about the way he stares at me, the way his brow creases and his mouth opens to snap back at me before he catches himself, letting his frustration fade to a lesser exasperation. His voice is more even when he speaks again, though it betrays the slightest quiver. "Have I done something to offend you?"

His unwillingness to shout back confuses me. I falter, shaking my head as I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "No."

"Well, I must've. Because I can't for the life of me figure out why else you'd be so mean to me." When he puts it that way, I sound pretty out of line. I remain silent. His quick eyes examine me again and he takes a step towards me. "Actually, you've been this way ever since LA. But that's it, isn't it?"

I stammer for a few times, not sure what to say. Is it about that? It can't be. "What are you talking about?"

Arching a thin brow, he crosses his arms stubbornly. "You and Detective Kim didn't work out. And you're upset because Lila and I did. Well, you should know that I haven't called her back."

Getting defensive again, I scoff, "That's ridiculous. What, you think I'm jealous of you and some stupid movie star? That was all transference and you know it — she was scared and you were the closest person to cling to. Could've been anyone. I mean, if it meant anything to her, she could've called you herself. And for your information, Owen and I are fine."

"Yeah, well, not for long," he mumbles, glaring at the ground.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When his eyes meet mine, I detect a hint of scorn. I've never seen that before, not from him. "Face it, Sully, you're hardly an open book. You can barely talk to the team. And my knowledge about you may be limited, but what I do know is that you're not the type for committed relationships."

My heart drops. Speechless, I stare at him, as though trying to will time to roll back and undo everything I just said. But his words ring in my ears. They burrow in, past all the walls I've built up. The first time I try to speak, my throat closes and I choke. "Screw you, man."