Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 51. Humanity's Dregs

Rossi had no words.

He listened to what Hotch considered an admission of deep-seated failure in himself, and heard only a white-noise of hate for the man’s biological father. Rossi stood, brushed at his clothing while he stalled for time, deciding how best to approach a grown man with damage so rooted he might never truly recover.

He believed Hotch had let go of his relationship to the senior Hotchner that drunken night at the doctor’s home. But he hadn’t yet accepted that the hurt that had been done to him wasn’t his fault; that he didn’t deserve the hand he’d been dealt as a child.

Rossi cleared his throat and moved over to where Hotch sat on the couch.

The younger man’s head was lowered, working at being expressionless.

He always hides. And it never works for him, poor guy. Rossi’s smile was wry and mirthless. But he does continue to find innumerable ways to do it.

Rossi sat beside him; close enough so their shoulders were touching. He tilted sideways just enough to bump Hotch. It was a subtle way of telling him his hiding place of blankness and avoidance of eye contact had been discovered. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Hotch’s only response was to swallow and continue studying the carpet as he leaned over, elbows on knees. Rossi copied his position and bumped shoulders again. Harder.

“Aaron, I know you probably think you’re too old for this, but sometimes it’s the only thing a father can do when he sees his kid in pain.” And with that, Rossi swept both arms around his friend’s shoulders, cinching them tighter and tighter until Hotch was forced to release and allow himself to be affectionately engulfed and controlled. Rossi shifted, repositioning until he could rest his chin on top of the dark, still bent head.

There. Now you have a new place to hide. A father’s arms.

It was instinct that made Rossi rock. And when Hotch gave a deep sigh and even let himself be caressed a little, Rossi counted it a victory.

But Hotch couldn’t let himself relax for too long. He was an adult, after all. When Rossi felt him try to straighten, he let him up, rubbing his back instead, giving him a moment to collect himself before…

“Aaron, I lied to you.”

“Wha’d’you mean?” The baritone voice had a slight crack in it.

“I said I wouldn’t take you to any more cemeteries.”

Hotch blinked at the older man in honest confusion.

“Where’s Hotchner senior buried, Aaron?” Rossi’s face was as grim as it had ever been. “I  want a chance to tell that son of a bitch exactly what I think of him.”

xxxxxxx

Are you sure you’re okay with this? Reid was hovering, reluctant to step out the door and start his normal workday. I feel like I should be going with you. Especially the first time.

Ana stood on tiptoe, Melinda securely in her arms, and pecked a kiss onto the tip of her husband’s worried nose. It’s fine. You forget. I lived in New York. It’s my home turf. And I’m sure Dr. Evanston understands when one parent has to hold down a job. She nuzzled into his chest, letting him feel her grin against him. Besides, how else would we pay for a fancy, big-city doctor if we didn’t have your health insurance? Huh? Answer me that, Mr. Genius Man.

A few more nuzzles in tender, ticklish places finally wiped the concern from Spencer’s face.

Now get out of here and earn our daily bread, husband-and-provider.

Reid laughed and leaned down to return Ana’s kiss. Then he did what had become a daily morning ritual. He snuggled his nose against his daughter…he had become used to its being grabbed and twisted…and gazed into eyes that promised to be the same honey-brown as her father’s.

Reid was making himself available telepathically. After all the consequences attendant on touching Hotch’s mind, he was loathe to make first contact with Melinda. Both he and Ana could monitor her and glean general feelings, but the precise communication they enjoyed with each other hadn’t happened yet. Reid didn’t want to influence anything that might already be in progress in her psychic development. So he presented himself and waited for the day she would reach out on her own.

Ana watched her two favorite people stare each other down. When the tiny fist came up and mauled the nose so temptingly within reach, she laughed and disengaged little fingers with an expert touch. Go. She’s not going to do it today, Spencer. Ana frowned. Although…I think we should make the effort to talk out loud around her more. I mean, when you think about it, Melinda hears us cooing at her, but she rarely hears her parents speak like normal, non-ESP-er people. What do you think?

Reid considered his daughter with grave eyes. I think you’re right. That’s how babies learn to talk and it’d be awful if we were depriving her of the example, the stimulus she needs to begin to put the whole language thing together. She may be ‘listening’ mentally, but we don’t know that for sure. He nodded at his girls and made the switch to speech. “You have a very smart Mommy, Mellie-bear…” But then all verbal accuracy fled as he snuggled his face into Melinda’s stomach and made happy-Daddy snuffles.

xxxxxxx

The lab that was finally honored with Bescardi’s presence was large, multi-functional, and conveniently located in Manhattan. It served the needs of the majority of clinics, hospitals and independent practitioners throughout the city’s five boroughs. Thanks to the effusive recommendations of her former Lake Placid supervisor, Mr. Simon, Bescardi was promoted from janitorial and errand-girl work to duties which embraced filing and record-keeping.

It galled the ex-doctor to plaster on her billboard smile that proclaimed ‘Oh, thank you!’, when what she wanted to do was lash out and ask her ‘superiors’ in withering tones if they had any idea who she was…had been…before justice went awry and locked up one of paranormal research’s brightest and best.

But with the ever-present incentive of a probably-psychic baby born of psychic parents spurring her on, Bescardi let her stomach roil in acid while she grinned and bowed and dropped lab test results into their proper folders.

It was all so mundane. But at least she had a computer and a work station all her own.

And there was ample time to browse through the medical records of complete strangers, a pastime that only served to increase Bescardi’s contempt for the bulk of humankind.

Stupid cattle who lead themselves to the slaughter! Eating too much. Drinking too much. Smoking too much. Breeding when family history should tell them to abstain!

She shook her head and wondered, not for the first time, if humanity deserved someone like her: a dedicated professional who was willing to do whatever it took to further work that would ultimately benefit even the dregs, the bottom-feeders of mankind. She was amazed at her selflessness, even as she dreamed of the accolades and fame it would achieve.

Yes, the Records Department was not worthy of her. It offered nothing of value.

Until the day a name caught her eye. A patient of one Dr. George Evanston, pediatrician.

Records for one M.C. Reid, infant.