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Dec. 11th, 2010 02:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jasongideonWho Jason Gideon, Spencer Reid- cameo by Hotch
What Spencer’s rescue
When Magic bendy time
Why Had to happen sometimes.
AN Disturbing images but only if you squint.
There are moments that go quick; like the reports of pistols, goodbyes (the action of lost, if not the ritual of letting go), or the lost of beliefs. This idea that things leave you gradually, bit by bit, like happy memories or wilting flowers is a story someone thought it; perhaps to make the process of grief a little less real, or make it more defined because words in a textbook about humanity makes more sense than the experience.
Adrian Bale had a smile to match his charm. That was Jason’s first thought as he watched the so-called Shrapnel Killer exit the building. The smile was small and self-effacing, as if he was loathed to receive a compliment, and the compliment was the small army of bomb experts and BAU team surrounding the building.
‘You sure about this, dad?’ Coyet muttered, without sparing the glance in Gideon’s direction. ‘What if he tries something?’
‘He doesn’t have it in him to attack me face to face. But if he wants an escort out…sure, we can give him one.’
‘Still don’t trust him.’
Gideon didn’t even bother to acknowledge Coyet’s rebuttal. He simply reached over; pinching the younger man’s elbow because he knew it aggravated him and started towards Bale. His hands slid into his pockets noncommittally and surprisingly when he reached Bale- the unsub ringed his arm around his as they began to walk away. He nodded to his team as one by one they passed him to enter the building.
‘Hey, Gideon?’ Bale started quietly, tightening his grip around Gideon. Like a kid afraid of being lost in a crowd. One day, Jason would figure out why children of absent fathers found him. ‘Did you mean it when you told me this job doesn’t surprise you anymore.’
‘Yes.’
Bale’s smile brightened into one of a child with straight A’s. ‘Surprise.’
It happened quick. So quick. Like a starting pistol. At first, Gideon thought it was a backfire- as Bale had yanked him to take cover.
He is only vaguely aware of Hotch’s presence behind him, and the sounds of the chaos surrounding him aren’t registering as he works through the gaping floorboards like he has in a dozen homes in the past four years. Some of the team goes left and right- disappearing down hallways to follow gunshots and the smell of chemicals. He pulled out the ear buds first thing choosing instead to ignore the noise and follow his route.
Spencer was very still on the bed. There was a lot of blood.
Everywhere.
There was blood everywhere; soaking the sheets and sprayed across the Audubon prints Sarah herself had put up because she said of all the rooms in his apartment the bedroom was the least welcoming. She was still staring up- at Frank- at him even though there was nothing behind her eyes. It. She was gone. Quick as a flash. It might have taken Frank minutes but she was gone in a moment.
It only took a moment for him to realize.
Gideon could feel Hotch’s impatience through the stifling humidity of the room. Spencer is on his side, and there are wounds in his hands the size of carpentry nails. Four years has given Gideon a new set of eyes, a new understanding of that feral, distant stare. He drops the gun.
Someone tries to pull him off, and ‘Steven’, he says, over and over like a litany; it takes him an eternity to form the name and an eternity for the words to reach the agents trying to pull him off. Steven. Over and over again, like this moment doesn’t end.
When he touches Spencer’s hair; pushing back the greasy, sweat stained hair back; Reid flinches and curls against himself. His naked legs pushed against his own chest. Gideon counters by stepping onto the bed, blocking Hotch’s view of the bed just as the SSA yells down the hall,
“He’s alive, Jason!”
Someone keeps blocking the shot. There are a dozen different heads darting back and forth into view. His eyes are blurred but his hands are surprisingly steady. It’s his training. It’s the fact that cut open from belly to chin; Gideon is still an Agent and he’ll take the shot if he needs to.
Frank has stopped in the middle of the street, turned back and smiled that good ol boy smile he flashes. It’s small, a bit effacing and lying; a little like Gideon’s own. He waits for the shot, because he knows if there’s ever a time for Gideon to take it- it’s now. He can stop feeling in a moment.
And all Gideon has to take is a moment before it’s gone like a flash.
“Spencer, it’s Gideon.” Gideon finds himself saying instead- pushing words into the silence of the room- cutting through the smoke and humidity; the chaos and burning. “It’s us. We’re here. We’re getting help. Just stay with us. Alright?”
He pushes up his knees until they touch Reid’s knees, with his arms curled around Spencer’s shoulders and neck as if he’s keeping them still. His eyes are open and unfocused. There’s a lot of blood, and tremors.
“We’re here. Stay with me, Spencer…stay with me.”
“You sure, dad?” Spencer’s voice is timid and quiet; fearful of being lost in the din.
“Stay with us. We’re getting help. Spencer, Spencer, stay with me.” Over and over, Gideon says it, like a litany to keep the moment going.
What Spencer’s rescue
When Magic bendy time
Why Had to happen sometimes.
AN Disturbing images but only if you squint.
There are moments that go quick; like the reports of pistols, goodbyes (the action of lost, if not the ritual of letting go), or the lost of beliefs. This idea that things leave you gradually, bit by bit, like happy memories or wilting flowers is a story someone thought it; perhaps to make the process of grief a little less real, or make it more defined because words in a textbook about humanity makes more sense than the experience.
Adrian Bale had a smile to match his charm. That was Jason’s first thought as he watched the so-called Shrapnel Killer exit the building. The smile was small and self-effacing, as if he was loathed to receive a compliment, and the compliment was the small army of bomb experts and BAU team surrounding the building.
‘You sure about this, dad?’ Coyet muttered, without sparing the glance in Gideon’s direction. ‘What if he tries something?’
‘He doesn’t have it in him to attack me face to face. But if he wants an escort out…sure, we can give him one.’
‘Still don’t trust him.’
Gideon didn’t even bother to acknowledge Coyet’s rebuttal. He simply reached over; pinching the younger man’s elbow because he knew it aggravated him and started towards Bale. His hands slid into his pockets noncommittally and surprisingly when he reached Bale- the unsub ringed his arm around his as they began to walk away. He nodded to his team as one by one they passed him to enter the building.
‘Hey, Gideon?’ Bale started quietly, tightening his grip around Gideon. Like a kid afraid of being lost in a crowd. One day, Jason would figure out why children of absent fathers found him. ‘Did you mean it when you told me this job doesn’t surprise you anymore.’
‘Yes.’
Bale’s smile brightened into one of a child with straight A’s. ‘Surprise.’
It happened quick. So quick. Like a starting pistol. At first, Gideon thought it was a backfire- as Bale had yanked him to take cover.
He is only vaguely aware of Hotch’s presence behind him, and the sounds of the chaos surrounding him aren’t registering as he works through the gaping floorboards like he has in a dozen homes in the past four years. Some of the team goes left and right- disappearing down hallways to follow gunshots and the smell of chemicals. He pulled out the ear buds first thing choosing instead to ignore the noise and follow his route.
Spencer was very still on the bed. There was a lot of blood.
Everywhere.
There was blood everywhere; soaking the sheets and sprayed across the Audubon prints Sarah herself had put up because she said of all the rooms in his apartment the bedroom was the least welcoming. She was still staring up- at Frank- at him even though there was nothing behind her eyes. It. She was gone. Quick as a flash. It might have taken Frank minutes but she was gone in a moment.
It only took a moment for him to realize.
Gideon could feel Hotch’s impatience through the stifling humidity of the room. Spencer is on his side, and there are wounds in his hands the size of carpentry nails. Four years has given Gideon a new set of eyes, a new understanding of that feral, distant stare. He drops the gun.
Someone tries to pull him off, and ‘Steven’, he says, over and over like a litany; it takes him an eternity to form the name and an eternity for the words to reach the agents trying to pull him off. Steven. Over and over again, like this moment doesn’t end.
When he touches Spencer’s hair; pushing back the greasy, sweat stained hair back; Reid flinches and curls against himself. His naked legs pushed against his own chest. Gideon counters by stepping onto the bed, blocking Hotch’s view of the bed just as the SSA yells down the hall,
“He’s alive, Jason!”
Someone keeps blocking the shot. There are a dozen different heads darting back and forth into view. His eyes are blurred but his hands are surprisingly steady. It’s his training. It’s the fact that cut open from belly to chin; Gideon is still an Agent and he’ll take the shot if he needs to.
Frank has stopped in the middle of the street, turned back and smiled that good ol boy smile he flashes. It’s small, a bit effacing and lying; a little like Gideon’s own. He waits for the shot, because he knows if there’s ever a time for Gideon to take it- it’s now. He can stop feeling in a moment.
And all Gideon has to take is a moment before it’s gone like a flash.
“Spencer, it’s Gideon.” Gideon finds himself saying instead- pushing words into the silence of the room- cutting through the smoke and humidity; the chaos and burning. “It’s us. We’re here. We’re getting help. Just stay with us. Alright?”
He pushes up his knees until they touch Reid’s knees, with his arms curled around Spencer’s shoulders and neck as if he’s keeping them still. His eyes are open and unfocused. There’s a lot of blood, and tremors.
“We’re here. Stay with me, Spencer…stay with me.”
“You sure, dad?” Spencer’s voice is timid and quiet; fearful of being lost in the din.
“Stay with us. We’re getting help. Spencer, Spencer, stay with me.” Over and over, Gideon says it, like a litany to keep the moment going.
