Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 62. Sight

For a moment Morgan was rendered speechless.

He pulled back, frowning. “Your son… He’s your son?”

Rossi nodded, returning his attention to Hotch. He hadn’t expected his claim of paternity to be accepted at face value. But one side of his lips quirked upward at the corner. It had felt good to say it out loud.

Morgan craned his neck around Rossi’s shoulder and Reid’s bowed head to scan the Unit Chief’s face. Rossi was more compact. He looked comfortable, at ease in his own skin, which had a mellow, olive tone; an homage to his Mediterranean heritage. Morgan thought Hotch, on the other hand, sometimes looked so angular that his bones were trying to push through his skin…skin which was several shades paler than his supposed father’s. Other than both men having dark hair and dark eyes, there wasn’t much similarity.

And if you go by the eye and hair color…hell, I could be counted a relative!

Then he remembered the timeline when the relationship between the two senior agents had shifted to something other than simple friendship. They’d both just returned from the place Morgan liked to think of as Supernatural Freak-Town.

It’s that place. Nothing normal comes out of that place. He pulled back even further and regarded Rossi with a jaundiced eye. If they’re related, and they learned about it there…

Morgan decided to shelve attempts to probe any deeper until he was sure he wanted to know whatever strangeness might be lurking around the corner. But the deep-rooted concern in Rossi’s posture, his whole demeanor, struck a responsive note in Morgan’s heart. He sighed and gave the older agent’s back a companionable pat in passing.

Rossi felt his inquisitive colleague retreat. He let the other side of his lips quirk upward at the almost palpable bewilderment he sensed in the man. But it was only a brief ghost of a smile. It disappeared when his hand, resting on Hotch’s waist, felt another tremor pass beneath it.

xxxxxxx

“Hello?! Hello?!”

It sounded like someone whose phone never rang; someone who answered with a combination of dread and surprised curiosity, unsure whether the ringtone presaged good news or bad; unsure what possible reason the instrument could have for shrilling at one, demanding its receiver be picked up.

“Hello. Is this Millie’s Bed and Breakfast?” Prentiss knew it was. When Garcia declared the establishment’s number found, you could bet your bottom dollar the information was reliable. But the voice on the other end was puffing and sounded unsure of its own identity. Prentiss wanted to give the little proprietress a moment to compose herself. Otherwise, even Rossi’s simple message might stand a good chance of being hopelessly muddled before it reached its destination.

“Uh…Yes! Yes, this is Millie’s.” A heartbeat’s pause, then an almost indignant demand… “Who’s this?!?”

“It’s Emily Prentiss, Miss Millie.”

Silence.

“I was a guest several months ago?”

Breathy silence.

“You taught me how to crochet?”

Uncomfortable silence. Possibly a precursor to hanging up.

Prentiss sighed. Time to admit defeat and deploy the spur to Millie’s memory she’d been hoping to avoid.

“It’s Emily…” She swallowed, trying not to choke on the next word, nor to be overheard by anyone else in her proximity. “…Emily…Princess…”