Odd Fish, Chapter 4/?

[coffeebuddha]

Title: Odd Fish
Author: coffeebuddha
Rating: PG-13/FRT
Characters/Pairings: eventual Morgan/Reid, Hotch/Garcia, minor Rossi/Prentiss, mentions of JJ/Will, large supporting cast made up of unsubs, victims, and recurring characters
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
Contains: Boys kissing boys, boys kissing girls, girls kissing girls, girls kissing boys, old west slang, historical inaccuracies, historical accuracies, murder, sex, people with guns, a woman in pants, drinking, and period appropriate reactions to homosexuality.
Summary: Spencer Reid moved to the small cow town of Beayue, Texas a few months ago in an attempt to run from his problems, but things take a sour turn when he ends up being accused of murder. AU set in the old west.

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three

 

***

Diana Reid had always told Spencer that it was the little moments, those small, forgettable instances, that really shape a life. You decide to stop for a drink at a new cafe and meet the person you end up marrying. An overheard conversation in a library might change your political and religious beliefs. Taking an extra five minutes of deliberate on which jacket to wear can start a chain of events that will cause a major turning point in your life.

Spencer doesn't agree. To him, the small, forgettable instances are exactly that. The turning points in his life are major, shattering moments. Gideon telling him to meet a nice girl. Lila telling him that it wasn't going to work. Him telling his parents that he was boarding the next train out west. Penelope fetching Morgan and saving his life. "We found something of yours on the boy."

Spencer's breath is caught in his throat, choking him until his eyes smart with tears, and he forces it out with a loud whoosh and pulls it back in with a shudder. His chest tightens and his fingertips feel cold when he takes the scrap of fabric that Morgan's holding out to him. It's a small, white square, plain except for the curly, swirling S.R. embroidered at the corner. Spencer traces the initials with a shaking finger and nods at Morgan's questioning look.

"It's mine," he says after a long silence. He's sitting on a low, hard wooden chair, so short that he's almost folded up on himself, and Morgan's perched on the edge of his desk, towering over him. A frantic desperation claws at his chest when Spencer looks up at him, and he rushes forward, trying to explain.

"It doesn't mean anything. You know that, right? I'm always losing or loaning out my hankerchiefs. I've probably left half a dozen in Rossi's alone. Anyone could have left this at the murder scene, Morgan." He leans forward in his chair, his knees nearly against his chest, and twists the thin cotton between his hands so that he won't reach out for Morgan. "I didn't kill anyone. I didn't even know what had happened until Reverend Hankel told me, and that's the honest truth."

Morgan just stares at him and Spencer measures the achingly long stretch of time by the heartbeats pounding in his ears. Finally, Morgan sighs and nods. "Look, I believe you, kid, but you have to look at this from my side too. I've got a dead boy and only one lead."

Spencer blinks hard and stares at his scuffed, dirty shoes. "If you're good at your job, you'll find another one."

He hears Morgan exhale loudly, but doesn't look up, though he does jump a little when Morgan kneels in front of him. Only a little.

Morgan's fingers are firm and solid around Spencer's wrists. He feels suddenly fragile, as if with one dismissive flick or harsh word, Morgan could shatter him to pieces. Unaware of the power that he has over Spencer, Morgan leans closer. Close enough that Spencer can easily see the fine lines around his eyes. He wants to reach out and trace them, somehow absorb the story that they tell. He would, except that his hands are still held captive in Morgan's grip.

"Dr. Reid," Morgan says. He pauses, then says more intensely, "Spencer, I'm trying to help you here. I want to help you. But I can't do that unless you let me. I need you to tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Spencer licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry again. His eyes flicker to the side and he asks, "What do you mean?"

Morgan's grip tightens a little and Spencer's eyes dart back to his face, quickly taking in his tense features. There's a line between his eyebrows and Spencer wants to smooth it down. He blinks and wonders that some part of himself is still managing to get caught up in a meaningless infatuation when he might be swinging from a rope in the very near future.

"What I mean is that you're out here hiding from something." Morgan's voice snaps Spencer back to the conversation and he forces himself to listen. "It didn't matter much before because most all of us here have something we'd rather forget about. Besides, we like you well enough that we're not going to risk running you off by pressing for answers you're not wanting to give. Reckon a man's got a right to a few secrets. But when lives are on the line, I can't afford to let you keep hiding things. Tell me the truth now and I'll believe you. I can't promise I'll still be able to do the same later.

Spencer swallows around the lump in his throat and stares down at Morgan's hands on his wrists. They're so different from his. Dark where he's pale, calloused where he's smooth and soft.

It hadn't taken long before he'd heard Morgan's story. It had surprised Spencer when he had found out that a black man was the sheriff. Yes, slavery had been done away with over twenty years ago, but it was still unheard of, especially in a small Texan town. But exceptions could be made, especially when the man in question had saved the life of the wealthiest woman in town. Despite her odd ways, most of Beayue was plenty fond of Emily Prentiss, none more so than the then sheriff, David Rossi. He'd been deputized before the day was over, and, when Rossi decided he'd rather be filling shot glasses than loading shotguns, he had seemed like the logical choice to take over.

Spencer shifts his wrists, twisting them just a bit, and Morgan's grip is loose enough that the rough pads of his fingers don't hamper the movement. Nothing says that Spencer has to tell the whole truth. All he'd have to do is tell Morgan that he came out west because of love gone wrong. Maybe drop Lila's name just for good measure. He has the luxury of hiding his differences in a way that Morgan never could have. Morgan won't press him, he knows that. But he doesn't want to lie. Not to Morgan, who's only ever treated him fairly.

Not to Morgan, who, with every passing day, he's more convinced he's falling in love with.

*

Dave's holed up in one of the saloon's back rooms going over the figures for the past month's expenses. He's got a few hours before the main room will start to fill to get it all done. Maybe four if he pushes it and waits until Anderson sends Penelope back to get him because he can't handle all the orders on his own anymore. Dave chomps reflectively on one of the expensive cigars that Emily had given him the Christmas before and makes a few scratchy notes next to a long column of numbers.

The room doesn't have a window and the cigar smoke curls lazily in the air, dimming the already weak light from his oil lamp. The numbers swim and blur together. If he were a less vain man, he might look into getting himself a pair of those fancy eyeglasses, but he isn't. Besides, it's not as if he spends that much time hunched over pages of tiny numbers. No, usually he can rope Reid into helping.

Of course, the Doc being in the jail makes that a bit difficult right now, but maybe if he phrased it the right way? Something about giving him something to do so that he doesn't go batty locked up in that cell? Dave taps his finger against the side of his fountain pen, sputtering out a curse around his cigar when ink splatters across his paper. He's too busy trying to blot the mess to look up when the door creaks open, but he assumes it's the Harris boy with his dinner and nods absently at the table next to him. "Just put it down anywhere."

"What exactly am I supposed to be putting down?" The amused voice is decidedly more cultured and feminine than Harris' cracked tenor, and Dave's head whips up. Emily is leaning back against the closed door, her light tone betrayed by the serious glint in her dark eyes. She's dressed simply in a plain cotton blouse and a twill riding skirt. The fact that the front panel is still buttoned back so that her skirt still looks more like pants than anything else tells him that she probably came straight here after coming in from a ride through her property. He vaguely remembers her saying something earlier about branding cattle.

He's frozen for a second just from looking at her-how embarrassing to be so easily stunned by a girl nearly half his age when he's always prided himself on his skill with women-but recovers quickly, jumping to his feet to offer her a seat. "I was expecting Harris. He's usually in here to pester me with that swill he calls food around this time."

Emily waves away the chair he pulls out for her, choosing to pace the narrow room instead. "I heard about the Jenkins boy and Reid. There must be something you can do?"

Dave sinks back down onto his chair and tugs on his goatee with a frown. Emily leans her hip against the edge of his desk, bracing her hand on top of the paper he had been studying before she came in, and stares at him with those wide, trusting eyes. He has no idea where she got the idea that he can fix all her problems, but he'll be damned before he tells her that he can't and risks her turning her gaze on someone more deserving. Instead, he reaches out and covers her slim hand with his, squeezing lightly.

"I know you're fond of the boy and I don't think he's guilty any more than you do, honey, but Morgan has to follow procedure on this one. There's a judge who owes me a favor who'll give Reid a fair trial if it comes to that. I can send word to him as soon as the telegraph office opens up in the morning, but, beyond that, it's out of my hands."

Emily smiles sweetly and perches on his lap. Her arms circle his neck, her long legs crossed primly at the ankle, and she peers at him through her eyelashes. "Surely that's not all you can do. Morgan respects and admires you, David. I'm certain he wouldn't mind a little guidance from you on this case?"

"Emily..." David trails off helplessly, his fingers curling into the fabric at her waist. Emily rests her forehead against his, their noses bumping familiarly and their lips just a breath apart. All he can see is her eyes-huge, liquid brown filling his field of vision. Her arms tighten around him and his hands slide up her sides, then smooth down the curve of her back to rest at the swell of her hips.

"Dave," she says quietly, "If you don't try to find the real killer, then I will. And I shouldn't need to remind you that I lack your experience in this sort of thing and will probably end up getting myself killed in the process, which I know you don't want. So really, it would be in your best interests to just agree to offer to help Morgan."

Before he can answer, there's a faint rattle and creak as the door starts to swing open. Emily doesn't make any move to get off his lap, but she does pull back and drop her arms from around his neck, folding her hands demurely on her lap. Dave snatches his hands off of her right as Harris walks in, a tray balanced on one hand. His lips part in surprise and his eyes go wide as he glances between the two of them. Dave sighs and frowns at Emily, who just smiles as she finally stands up. She sashays over to the door, patting Harris' shoulder soothingly when he nearly fumbles the tray. This just seems to make him more flustered and he shifts uncomfortably, his eyes fixed somewhere over her left shoulder.

"Don't mind me," she says with a grin. "I was just about to leave. Dave?"

Dave stops glaring at Harris long enough to arch an eyebrow at Emily. "Yes?"

"Think about what I said. And maybe try to get Mr. Hotchner involved too? I've overlooked the missed rent payments because of that nasty business with his family, but what use is having an ex-US Marshall right here in town if he spends all of his time drunk? This might be good for him." Dave opens his mouth to answer her-maybe point out that he never actually said he'd help with the investigation-but she's already turned back to Harris with a wide, you'll-do-what-I-tell-you-and-like-it-because-I'm-Emily-Prentiss-and-I-own-this-town-so-what-I-say-goes smile.

"Be a dear and do me a favor, Harris. After you've finished serving Dave his supper, run by the kitchen at the boarding house. I've told the cook to set aside a plate for Dr. Reid, but I need someone to take it to him. You wouldn't mind doing that for me, right?" Harris makes a strangled, croaking noise and Emily smiles again, oozing the charm her mother had been famous for. "I knew you wouldn't. Thank you, Harris."

With one last wave back at Dave, she sweeps out of the room. Dave watches her go with an appreciative smile. "That's one hell of a woman. Possibly the finest I've ever met."

Harris nervously clears his throat and sets the tray down on the edge of Dave's desk. "She scares me, sir."

Dave laughs loudly and claps him on the shoulder. "That's how you know she's well bred. A truly classy lady should always make you feel like you've done something wrong."

"If you say so," Harris says with an uncertain smile. 

"I do, kid. Someday you'll meet a girl who puts the fear of God into you and you'll see what I mean." Dave folds up his papers and pulls the tray closer to him. When Harris moves to leave, he catches him by the elbow and hands him the bundle of papers. "Since you're going by the jail anyway, drop this off with the good doctor. Just tell him I'd consider it a favor if he'd give them a look over. It's not like he has anything better to do."

***

Things have been crazy. I'm nearly done with classes, so that's good. Unfortunately, I have a bunch of family stuff going on that I won't bore you with, but there's a good chance I'll have to go out of town sometime in the next week or so because of it, so my next update might take longer than I'd like despite the fact that I'm technically about to come into a big chunk of time. As they say, that's life. Still, I'll try to get my act together and get back to making regular posts. Thanks for sticking with me while I flailed and wailed my way through a stressful couple of weeks! You guys rock. <3

If you have no idea what I was talking about when I described Emily's skirt/pants, then you can find a picture here.

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