Criminal Minds One Shots

Picking Locks

I knocked on the door to Reid's apartment, waiting for him to answer.  I knocked again, calling, "Reid, we've got a case."

Again no answer, so I tried the handle, but it was locked.

"Reid, are you there?" I asked before pulling out my phone and calling him again.

I could faintly hear it ringing inside but all I got was voicemail.  Something was wrong, and I pulled the paperclip off the case file in my bag and unbent it before using it to pick the lock.  I drew my gun when I entered, staying quiet as I glanced around.  It was messy, but nothing all that unusual.  His phone was on the coffee table, next to his bag, and I saw his shoes on the floor, which meant he was home but I didn't see him in the living room.

"Reid?" I called as I stepped into his bedroom.

He was passed out on his bed under a pile of blankets, a bottle of aspirin tipped over on the nighttable and spilling onto the floor.  Definitely not good, and I holstered my gun and leaned over him.  His face was pasty white but his cheeks were flushed red and his sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead and his temples.

"Reid," I said as I shook his shoulder.  He was burning up.  "Reid," I repeated, shaking him harder, and he stirred before jolting awake with a start.

"What--" he asked sleepily as he glanced around the room and down at himself before shoving the pile of blankets off him.  His white button-up was soaked through and stuck like a second skin to his burning body.

"Are you okay?" I asked him worriedly, despite the obvious answer that he wasn't.  He looked sick, really  sick, and there's no way Hotch or any of us would let him work the case if he was this sick.

"Yeah, I just had a-a headache.  I'm-I'm okay.  What's, uh, going on?" he asked, slightly disoriented as he slid his legs over the edge of the bed.  He stood up but then his legs gave out and he collapsed on the floor.

"Hey," I exclaimed, trying to grab him before he fell, but he crumpled on the ground and stayed there.  I put a hand on his forehead even though heat was already radiating off his body.

"There is no way you're working this case.  I need to call Hotch, come on, get back in bed," I instructed.

"No, McDowell, I'm fine," he said, grabbing onto the edge of the bed to pull himself to his feet.  He had to stop and rest, sitting on the edge to catch his breath.

"You're covered in sweat and you can't even stand by yourself," I pointed out as I hit speed dial for Hotch.

"McDowell, did you reach Reid yet?" Hotch answered.

"Yeah, I'm at his apartment.  There is no way he can work the case, he's sick," I told Hotch.

"No, Hotch, I can work the case," Reid protested, barely loud enough for me to hear him.

"How sick?" Hotch asked.

"I don't know, he's got a bad fever and he said he had a headache," I said, glancing at Reid with his head in his hands before lowering my voice, "Hotch, he was passed out cold when I got here.  He didn't even hear me knock.  It's bad."

"All right.  We're already down an agent with JJ on leave so we can't afford to have you stay with him.  Get him settled before you leave and I'll have Garcia check on him.  Tell him to get his rest," Hotch instructed.

"Okay, I'll meet you on the plane," I said and then hung up.  I stuffed my phone in my pocket and told Reid, "Hotch says you're off the case.  Now come on, get back in bed, you need to rest," as I pulled back the blankets for him.

He sighed and listened, sliding his legs under the covers and then undoing a few buttons on his shirt.

"When's the last time you took medicine?"

"Um," he stared and paused before replying, "A couple hours ago, I think. Before I fell asleep last night, maybe?"

"Reid, it's the middle of the afternoon," I told him.

He looked up at me, confusion apparent in his glazed over eyes.

"Okay, here," I handed him four aspirin I had taken from what remained in the tipped over bottle and a half a glass of water left sitting on the table.

"Two, I'm only supposed to take two," he objected.

"I know, but it's been at least twelve hours so you can have more now," I lied.  I just gave him that many cause I knew it'd knock him out and hopefully make him feel better a little sooner.

He took them, not arguing anymore about it, and then leaned against the pillows.  Sweat was running down his temples in beads, so I removed two of the four blankets piled on his bed and told him to take off his shirt, leaving the room to get him more water and a wet washcloth for his forehead.

When I came back he had his shirt tossed to the side, and I wiped off his forehead and made his drink all the water before he lay back down, and he was almost asleep when I walked out the door.  I left it unlocked though, I doubt Garcia knew how to pick a lock like I did.