What Happens Next

XV. PowerPoint

"Yes Dr. Reid! We would love to have you back on. We can't start you now, of course, but you're more than welcome to work a guest speaker in the meantime. I'm sure a multitude of classes would love to hear your thoughts."

"That's great. Thank you so much. Thank you," Reid spoke excitedly into his phone, "actually that gives me an idea. I would love to speak about the importance of mental health in the Bureau, and why young agents should begin therapy before they really need it. Do you think I could give a lecture on that?"

"That sounds like a wonderful idea Doctor, I can call you back in the next few days with potential dates and times, how long do you think you'd need before you're ready?"

"I could have a presentation set up in the next two weeks. I'll send it over when I'm finished?" he asked, excited by the positive feedback he was receiving. 

"Sounds perfect. We'll be in touch. We are very excited to have you back," the woman hung up the phone, her voice cheery, making it obvious she was grinning ear-to-ear.

"Thank you. Talk to you soon," Reid replied, his grin matching that of the woman on the phone. 

He ended the call and dropped his phone onto his brand new kitchen table. It was small, fitting his tiny kitchen nicely. He looked around his bare apartment, hoping for the arrangement to be temporary. He had chosen the cheapest option only partially because it was the most readily available; he also feared he would not have a job in time to pay rent that cost any more than the place he chose. 

He looked out over the half wall into his living room where the pull out couch him and Max had chosen not to throw away sat as his only furniture piece in the room bedside the TV stand. He walked excitedly over to the pulled-out couch and sat, sprawled out on the bed, and began developing his PowerPoint for his presentation. 

The material came easily to him, and he finished inputting preliminary information in a matter of hours. He checked his watch, noticing he had just enough time to make it to an NA meeting. He knew the meetings were important, but he felt ashamed of himself; afraid to admit he had failed again, and that he hadn't been to a meeting since he had gotten out of rehab.

He stared at the white popcorn ceiling, imagining the paint dripping from above his head, down to the floor around him. He wondered how one could a ceiling with a texture like that without making a huge mess, or destroying their tools. He figured he could look it up later. 

The brunette rose from the white cotton sheets he had been sitting on top of, and admired the outfit he had chosen. The gray Washington D.C. hoodie he had purchased on the day he met Max hung loosely on his tiny frame. He decided he would sacrifice his punctuality to make himself presentable for the meeting, and he changed quickly into an off white button down with tiny blue polka dots, and a red tie he had laying on the floor next to his bag. 

He ran to his tiny bathroom and turned the worn plastic knobs, quickly dipping his hands in the water. He slicked down the frizz in his hair and shut the tap off quickly, bouncing out of his apartment. He locked the door behind him and ran down the nasty blue carpeted stairs, escaping his complex only minutes before the meeting was due to start.

He opened the heavy wooden church doors and slipped into the room quietly, as not to disturb the speaker. He found a cheap plastic seat next to a man who frequented the meetings for the last fifteen years. He had eight years of sobriety under his belt, and he had no intention of changing that. He smiled at Reid and placed a supportive hand on his knee. He patted it once and returned his hand to his own lap. 

"Welcome back Walter," the man smiled.

"Hi Harrison," he whispered back. 

Michael Harrison Frankoviac was the man's full name, but he pitched to the group that they call each other by their middle names. It was a way for them to feel connected while preserving their anonymity. He felt as though their middle names were a sort of shield that allowed them to say things that the people who held their first names could never say. Reid didn't believe it, but he played along in good fun anyway. He liked the man very much. He gave him hope.

Reid didn't speak at the meeting, but he listened intently. Afterwards he found Harrison by the refreshments table, which was stocked with a plastic container full of homemade cookies, and a half empty plastic shell of water bottles. Harrison took a cookie and held the container out to Reid. 

"No thanks," he said, holding his hands up in the air. He could shake hands, but he still could not eat anything homemade that he hadn't seen prepared, let alone anything he hadn't touched first.

"Right. Germ freak," Harrison joked, replacing the container on the near-empty plastic table.

"Yeah," he laughed nervously. 

"So how've you been?"

"Uh, not good," Reid admitted, pressing his lips together, and drawing his hands together to fidget with his nails. 

"Uh huh," Harrison nodded, knowingly. His green baseball cap slipped on his buzzed, graying head, and he adjusted it quickly, taking a moment to scratch his dark salt and peppered beard.

"I always thought that with all my education, I would be. . . I guess I thought I was too smart to OD, but uh," he breathed sharply through his nose, "here I am."

"I know the feelin'."

Reid nodded, turning to leave the conversation before he had to face any more of his problems. 

"Hey," Harrison called, drawing him back, "you called your sponsor?"

"I don't-" Reid closed his mouth, regretting allowing himself to speak as soon as he did so, "I don't have a sponsor."

"I see. Well if you're ever thinking of reaching out," He reached out his hand, offering Reid a business card.

Reid accepted the card with a nod. He stared at it, observing the orange construction company logo in the center of the card. Listed below the logo were his business phone number and his cell.

"Thanks," he nodded again, looking shyly to the man in front of him. 

Harrison placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled, the faint movement of his lips nearly masked by his facial hair. He didn't speak, he simply lifted his hand from Reid's shoulder and tapped the card in his hand before turning away. 

Reid walked to his car, flipping the card between his fingers as he would a quarter in a magic trick, as he moved toward the vehicle. He checked his phone before buckling his seat belt, noticing a text from his daughter. 

"Check your email"

He did. In his inbox sat a PowerPoint file containing anything one would need to know about the Vaquita. He smiled, tucking his phone into his pocket. He buckled his seat belt and drove home excitedly awaiting accessing the information his daughter provided to him.