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[basinbrat.livejournal.com]

Title: Drabble Time
Author: Basin Brat
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I like the pretty lies.
Characters: Reid-centric in the drabbles, Garcia and J.J. in the longer piece.
Summary: Five true drabbles (100 words each), and one longer vignette. Six fics for the price of one!
Author's Note: Prompts from staringout and Texts From Last Night



(865):He used one end of the towel to wipe the cum and I used the other end to wipe the tears

Spencer couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. Perhaps his eidetic memory refused to keep track of the tears.
He was sure he would remember this.

A police station bathroom in Miami.
A bitter, needy hand-job, the whisper that Spencer couldn't come on Hotch's suit. The release. The slam of the stall door as Hotch left quickly and silently.
The flood of tears.

Then Hotch was back, with a slightly dirty towel, to wipe the stickiness on Spencer's belly. And with a look on his face that was suddenly tender, Hotch offered Spencer the other end to dry his eyes.



+ write about the new kid

In the summer around his cabin, Gideon watches the baby birds take to their wings.
Occasionally, when one flies too high, too early, Gideon will find it. And if he can't return the fledgling to it's nest, he will care for it, nurture it, until it is ready to leave.
And when it is ready, it flies away with a little piece of Gideon's heart.

He strokes the hair of the man-child sleeping next to him. Gideon knows he cannot keep this fledgling; but also knows that he will lose so much of his heart, the day Spencer leaves him, ready to soar.



+ write about the last piece

Click.

Click.

Spencer revels in this. He doesn't care that he's spending Friday night alone. Again, his brain helpfully supplies. He tells himself he needs to unwind from his work week, and doing jigsaws is a great way of doing that. he sees nothing except the pieces, no images of dismembered girls, grieving families, grinning killers. Just his hands, the cardboard.

He doesn't see the supportive smile, the gentle touch, the worry, the happiness shared and doubled.

He comes to the end of the puzzle. But that one, last piece, is missing. Instead of a picture, he has a hole.

His phone buzzes. It's Morgan.



+ write about the mistaken assumption

Spencer was nervous about introducing her to them. Not that there was anything wrong with his new girlfriend - he thought Myra was wonderful, obviously. But the team had spent serious time making fun of his inability to get a date, and Myra was a little eccentric.

He hadn't expected this reaction. They stared at her like she had two heads. Spencer felt embarrassed both on behalf of his girl, and his suddenly socially inept team.

"Okay, what?" He hissed when Myra was in the bathroom "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing..." J.J. answered hesitantly. "We were just sure you were gay."



+ write about the worst fear

Spencer feared one thing more than the dark. Spencer feared the whispers, the feelings, the little jerks and leaps of emotion that were not his own.

"Schizophrenia is hereditary."

Sometimes the whispers gave him insight, set him on new paths, mind whirring and whirling and so excited he could not sleep, forgot to eat.

Other times they made him shiver. Other times they pointed out the way Hotch's eyes flashed, how Rossi and Emily whispered and looked at him.

And occasionally the voices pointed out the obvious. If he was hearing the words, feeling the feelings... Then he was already too late.



(210):I need your advice and before you say it, no, it cannot be solved by a blow job
(917):You clearly don't understand the power you wield with your mouth

On Monday mornings, Garcia came in early. She went into her little office, woke up her computers and waited. A few minutes later, J.J. would come in, with two of the most sickly creations Starbucks had to offer - with extra whipped cream - and the best time of the week for both women would begin.

Girl time.

They would giggle and discuss what they had got up to over their weekends, the strange habits of their significant others, their team. They would pick the exact pair of jeans that Morgan wore which made his arse look the best; blushingly confess their thoughts when Hotch gave him one of his, er, penetrating stares (cue furious giggling); and make bets on when Reid was going to make his first tenuous steps out of the closet (guesses ranged from: Never, he was actually conducting a scurrilous affair with Emily; to Reid waltzing in that morning wearing a feather boa and singing tracks from ABBA.)

Then Garcia would show J.J. some of the more delicious things she had found on the web, and J.J. would bring out some of the tacky toys and souvenirs she had picked up from her visits to New Orleans.

Occasionally Emily joined them, in the club because she was a BAU girl too, but not in the real club because she didn't have that weeks Starbucks creation, but if any of the guys had poked their heads round the door, curious to the cause of all this giggling, they were summarily dismissed unless it was urgent, like a case, or visuals of Reid in that feather boa.

Sometimes they asked one another for advice, though J.J. rapidly stopped doing that, because Garcia was probably the worst agony aunt in existence.

"I need your advice and before you say it, no, it cannot be solved by a blow job." J.J. had sighed once.

"You clearly don't understand the power you wield with your mouth!" Garcia had responded, then rapidly had to push J.J. out of the way of the keyboard as the snorted coffee out of her nose.

But Girl Time couldn't last. As Garcia chewed on the edges of her now empty coffee cup, she knew that J.J. would be getting fidgety, checking her watch, that the new week would have to start, that they were unable to escape it forever.

But that week, Garcia would hold onto that image of J.J. laughing coffee out of her nose all over the floor, using it to block the images of death and torture that flashed up on her many screens.
And J.J., flying back to Virginia after another solved case, would concentrate on Garcia's giggles instead of the recorded screams of young women who had looked just like her.

Anyone on the outside might have thought Girl Time was no more than vapid silliness. For Garcia and J.J. however, they knew each Monday morning was the only thing that got them through the week.



Cross-posted to BAU_fic