Chapter Text
Observation can alter the reality of a thing. Just as Schrödinger’s theoretical cat had been both alive and dead until observation solidified its state of being into reality, Reid felt as if something similar was happening as he observed Emily Prentiss. She was not as she was before. How could she be? Yet she went to great pains in her first few months back in the Unit to assure everyone that she was the same agent, the same friend that she had been before she ‘died’. He gave her the benefit of the doubt. He had accepted her apology and was slowly thawing the ice in which he had sealed their friendship. He’d even taken out his justifiable anger towards her on J.J. instead, which he simultaneously viewed as a kindness to Prentiss and a slightly unfair jab at J.J.
But Prentiss wasn’t fooling him - not really. She was trying too hard to be herself. She slipped right back into her established routines and interactions as if Ian Doyle had never existed. Maybe the others bought it but he didn’t. And here is where the question lay: was she really changed, or was his focused observation of her creating a change in his perception of her? Most days he was too swamped with case files and consulting requests to give it much thought. But every once and a while a quiet moment snuck up on him and he obsessed over the problem.
At one of Rossi’s now-regular team dinners, Prentiss caught him staring as they stood around the kitchen while Dave attempted to teach Morgan how to make homemade pasta. She strolled over to him, a glass of wine cradled between her fingers, and leaned against the wall next to him.
“You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”
“Sure. How are you doing?”
He stared at her as she fixed the expected smile to her face and told him that she was great. He didn’t say anything back - anything less than calling her out on her deception would have been disingenuous. He watched as the smile faded from her face and imagined that his disbelief was becoming as obvious to her as her lies were to him. It was hard not to feel a surge of satisfaction at this small victory. She was his friend and he wanted to believe that they would remain so, but his definition of the term held no room for lies.
“Any time you feel like telling me about it, I’ll be around.” He said and then drifted off into the group that surrounded Rossi’s pasta maker. She didn’t talk to him again that evening.
…
They were on a case in Detroit. Most of the team was in the field chasing down leads or reviewing the various crime scenes. Reid remained in the police squad room to review handwritten notes left by the killer and to begin a geographic profile. Prentiss was there as well reviewing witness statements and liaising with the locals; a task that was grating on her with every passing day. She was still recovering from the shot she’d taken in California and might have been spoiling for a fight due to inactivity.
One of Detroit’s finest, a clichéd hard-boiled old timer who favored threatening informants and pounding down doors to psychological triggers and unconscious urges, had been giving them a rough time over the case. Like most LEOs he resented their authority and questioned their methods. He had already taken several disparaging shots at Reid which had made about as much impact as spitballs on a tank, and was currently questioning the wisdom of letting a former suspect go because he did not fit three out of the five main profile markers. With J.J. in the field, Prentiss was left to calm the waters.
“I understand that you may not respect our methods, Detective Linehan, but the results will be the same whether we let Boswell go or not: another killing.”
Reid watched as Prentiss fought to keep her body language open and non-confrontational. But her fingers twitched every time the Detective spoke and she was wearing her most ironic ‘compassion’ expression, which put him on alert for trouble.
“You’re telling me to kick a viable suspect while also saying that another murder is a foregone conclusion? That’s some pretty messed up analysis, sweetie, and considering that you can’t tell me for sure that Boswell didn’t do it, I don’t see why I should listen to anything that comes out of your pretty piehole.”
Prentiss’s hands twitched noticeably at the words “sweetie” and “pretty”. She was normally much more in control over her hostility to garden variety chauvinism. Reid spoke up.
“The killer is on a three day cycle, Detective, and will strike again tonight. We are simply saying that sweating Boswell is a waste of resources as it gets us no closer to the actual UNSUB. If you keep him, you will not prevent another murder. Only working the profile will put us within reach of stopping him, and everyone we have working towards that is what we require. We could really use your help.”
“Whatever, Professor.” Linehan dismissed Reid with his finger. “I’ve got ulcers older than you and they probably have more criminal insight as well.”
“His name is Doctor Reid, Detective.” Prentiss warned.
“Listen, Ms. Prentiss, we were on top of this long before you all showed up. So far all you guys have done is take up office space and let ‘A Beautiful Mind’ over there colour in maps. I doubt that you’ve done much real police work so let me break this down for you: you need to get your hands dirty, and that’s what I’m gonna do to Boswell ‘til he tells me the truth.”
“If you just threatened physical harm to a suspect…”
Prentiss’s hand flicked back and up towards her holstered piece. Every fiber of Reid went on alert. Prentiss, what are you doing?
“I don’t answer to you. You got a problem, take it up with my lieutenant. Until then, get out of my way, honey.”
Linehan marched towards Prentiss with the intention of bulling his way past her. Prentiss reached for her weapon and was stopped by Reid’s hand on her wrist. He moved his body between her and Linehan, shuffling them aside as the clueless detective left the conference room and headed towards the holding cells.
“What were you going to do, Prentiss?” Reid whispered.
“He…” Her breathing was rapid and she licked her lips before she spoke again. “He was going to make a move.”
“No, he wasn’t. He’s all talk, and you were about to pull your gun on an active police detective in his own precinct. He worked you like some misdemeanor loser and you let him get to you. What is going on?”
“Get your hand off me.”
“Or what? You’ll shoot me too?” He let go of her anyway but invaded her personal space to grab her complete attention. “You’re losing control and it’s just a matter of time before someone else notices. Think about the consequences of continuing on as you have been. You need to stop hiding this.”
“Reid, you’re my friend and I care about you but you don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you oughta spend less time inside your own head trying to read things into the people that you’re supposed to trust, and spend more time… I dunno, going out and getting laid or something.”
That was clumsy. Desperate, even… She’s trying too hard.
He stepped away and then went back to the map that he had been creating. He kept his tone neutral as he felt her eyes boring into the back of his skull.
“I think that I’m getting screwed over plenty right here.”
His marker made squeaking noises as he shaded in a section of the map. He knew that she stood behind him staring for a full minute before she turned and left him alone in the conference room. He sighed and started to form a new strategy as his hand hung in mid-air with the marker poised between his fingers. After several minutes of stillness, he nodded to himself and went back to shading in his map.