leftinbasketforfbi | A prerequisite for being in the BAU is the utter refusal to listen to doctors.

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A prerequisite for being in the BAU is the utter refusal to listen to doctors.

Reid wasn't exactly mad. He was more resigned. He had known that Rossi would probably leave before the doctors okay'd his departure, but he was still somewhat frustrated by the stubborn Italian. Would it kill the man to just take care of himself? (He wondered if that was how Hotch felt every time one of them were gravely wounded and then showed up to work two days afterwards.)

Reid drove up Rossi's driveway, but he had to pause at the wheel after he stopped, swallowing hard. The last time he had done this, he had ended up having to shoot a man and keep Rossi from bleeding out before paramedics arrived.

He took a deep breath, then opened the car door, stepping out and shutting it behind him. It wouldn't help anyone if he dwelt on that experience.

Reid knocked on Rossi's front door. Even if Rossi wouldn't take care of himself, Reid could make sure he was alright.

(Continued from here.)

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The very idea of it being transference caused him to frown. And then the idea that Reid believed that was all that could possibly explain this caused that frown to deepen into a scowl. He wasn't sure what irritated him more, though he damn well was going to disprove both.

"I don't do transference," he said, with complete certainty, and leaving no room for argument. "You being there did not suddenly make me fall in love. That's crap; it's fleeting and not real. And what I feel is genuine, and I've felt it a hell of a lot longer than just the last week."

(( OOC: LOL he so is. And that is why we love him. ))

Reid stared, struggling to comprehend the words being said. He had absolutely no idea how to react.

"...Why?"

That had to be the most stupid response to a love confession out there, but it was the only thing that came to mind. Reid... well, after his various experiences, it just couldn't process that someone may love him. And if someone did... well, what could possibly possess someone like Rossi to give him a second glance?

He would have laughed, but he held it back for two reasons: Reid might misinterpret it, and he had to tread carefully; and he didn't want to aggravate his stitches. He did actually try to take care of himself, stubborn though he was about accepting help from others.

As it was, a sound like the beginning of a scoff passed between his lips.

"I had nothing better to do, so I though, 'What the hell?'" As often happened when he was sarcastic, he sounded completely serious. Of course, he wasn't. But then he also knew Reid wasn't always the best at interpreting sarcasm, so he couldn't let that remark linger for too long without clarification.

"Because there's a lot to love, Spencer." He tested it again, saying his first name. It felt right, especially now. "You wanna analyze, like there's something about it that doesn't make sense. It couldn't be simpler or more clear to me."

"Your sarcasm is not helping right now." He could at least recognize that that was sarcasm. People didn't fall in love because they were bored.

He nervously ran a hand through his hair. "I don't understand. It doesn't make sense to me." It was weird to say. Spencer Reid was used to understanding everything put before him in a matter of moments, but this... this was just not processing. It was a little embarrassing how completely off guard this took him. "How long has this...?"

Edited 2012-06-09 14:20 (UTC)

The sarcasm wasn't much of a help, not in this situation. It was natural, almost instinctive, to the point that he didn't recognize the impact it had until Reid called him on it.

How long? That was a good question. He stood, slowly, needing to get himself a drink; he did that sometimes, not always answering a question right away, or not answering it at all. Sitting on the couch the entire time they discussed this was making him feel restless, though. He moved carefully, returning back to the couch, though he didn't sit down immediately.

"A few years," he finally said. "There's no exact moment, it just...evolved." If he really thought about it, he suspected these feelings had started to develop around the time he'd stuck around in Vegas with Morgan, to help Reid solve that murder from his childhood.

It was his turn to ask a question. "Tell me why this doesn't make sense to you." He had his suspicions, and some of them were true, he was sure, but he needed to hear it from Reid.

"Years?" Years? Rossi had loved him for years? Why was he only just--

Well, he was probably only just finding out because of the way he was now reacting. Reid quietly scolded himself, trying to force himself to be calm.

But he was asked a question. He shook himself out of his dazed stupor, automatically citing the answer as he would cite a statistic. "Empirical evidence suggests I'm not exactly desirable. Empirical evidence suggests you are. You're an attractive, articulate, and charismatic man who could really have his pick of a partner. That you'd be interested in me doesn't really add up."

He chuckled lightly, carefully for a moment. He had a pretty good self-image, and (he wouldn't deny) something of an ego; he didn't think he'd be bad catch, personally, though there was something particularly flattering about hearing Reid say that. For obvious reasons.

"First of all, I won't deny that," he started lightly, taking a seat on the couch again. He leaned forward this time, resting his elbows on his knees. His body protested the movement a little, but he was determined to heal faster than everyone said he should.

"Second, listen to me, Spencer: you are desirable. Listen to yourself: if I could have anyone, then what does it tell you, that I want you?"

"That you don't have the best taste in men?"

Clearly, that was the only sensible explanation.

Reid leaned back, his brow still furrowed, but he forced himself to at least acknowledge one thing: David Rossi, as unbelievable as it was, loved him. He might not understand why, but he had to accept that it had happened. The man he had admired afar for years actually loved him.

...What does one do after realizing something like that? Reid really had no experience to work with.

"I... I might not understand, but I'm not complaining..." It was said tentatively, the closest thing he could bring himself to admitting his own feelings without some time to screw up the courage. Even with Rossi laying his feelings bare, Reid had to fight years of conditioning to do the same. If high school had taught him anything, it was that one should never admit to having a crush on another person, lest they be lured to the football field and stripped naked before being tied to the goalpost.

"Sometimes you don't understand. You just feel it, and you know."

He wasn't sure exactly how to navigate their path from here; in all of his previous relationships, there had never been this kind of complete uncertainty, or the other person almost trying to talk him out of it, like he needed to just come to his senses and suddenly he'd realize he was making a mistake. That just meant he'd have to work a little harder at proving he knew exactly what he was getting himself into, and what he wanted.

At least they had one major hurdle out of the way: Reid wasn't opposed. That was a far cry from admitting to his feelings, or being ready to plunge headfirst into a relationship, but it was a start.

The timer suddenly dinged on the oven, signaling that the casserole was ready.

Rossi smirked, and sighed softly. "Not the most ideal first date, especially since I didn't do the cooking." A little light-hearted observation couldn't hurt right now.

If Rossi was unsure, Reid was utterly clueless.

"W-we're on a date now?" His hands twitched uselessly on his knees. "Okay. Okay, I can work with that."

He stood up from his chair. It was courteous for the guest to help with the meal, right? Well, courteous or not, he was going to do it. "You got stabbed. You have an excuse to not do the cooking. Let me get it out of the oven.

He didn't even wait for a response before he started walking to the kitchen, chewing his lower lip. "If you feel strongly about it, you can cook next time."

Next time.

"Not much of one," he murmured.

Once Reid stood up, Rossi attempted to do the same, but his body wasn't just stiff this time; there was a tug of pain, so he thought better of it and stayed where he was.

Next time was encouraging, despite the clumsy way they were navigating this.

"I'll surprise you with something."

"Better than most of my first dates."

Seriously. Most of his first dates usually ended disastrously. He flashed a shy smile over his shoulder, taking out oven mitts before pulling the casserole out of the oven.

"We should probably wait for it to cool down a little."

If this was better than most of Reid's first dates, the bar had been set far too low. It gave him an advantage, though. And it gave him a good perspective on just what Reid had experienced in the way of romance so far, and that experience was completely unacceptable in Rossi's view.

"Just wait until I'm feeling better," he smiled back.

It would be too warm to cut into just yet.

"You wanna eat at the table, or on the couch? We could watch a movie." If this were a proper date, there wouldn't an option: they'd be at the table. But it felt good to stretch out a bit, and though it was more informal than he would have liked, it was also practical.

And after the rather intense conversation they'd just had, a movie might be a nice distraction.

There was a reason Reid had judged himself inadequate for any romance a long time ago. Rossi may have had three wives and God knew how many partners under his belt, but Reid's experience was much more... limited.

"A movie could work." That was something people normally did on dates, right? "What do you have to watch?"

It felt surreal. Was this really happening? Was he seriously nursing a budding relationship between himself and a teammate?

"What don't I have?" It wasn't an exaggeration, really. He had a large den, and a few equally large cabinets lining the walls, all filled with DVDs. As one could expect, most of the movies were film noir, older classics starring the likes of Bogart, Hepburn, Grant, various psychological thrillers, a few Charlie Chaplin movies, and even the Marx Brothers; his taste in comedy was more narrow than most people's, perhaps, so his selection was limited.

"Tell you what, since I didn't cook this time, you pick the movie."

It felt equally surreal to him, though he did at least have more experience with this. He recognized, too, that it would be up to him to guide a lot of this, in the early stages. Predictably, he didn't have much trouble with being the one to take control, and guide Reid.

Reid was happy to hand the reins to Rossi. He wasn't incapable of taking control, but he knew when he was out of his element, and Rossi was more likely to know what he was doing.

Various questions ran through Reid's mind--what about the fraternization rules? Were they going to even try to hide this from a team of FBI profilers? How would the rest of the team react? How long would this last? How far would it go? Was he making a mistake?--on and on while he walked to the cabinets with DVDs, looking through the titles.

"How about The Haunting?" The 1963 Robert Wise version, of course. Reid, despite practically living in one, loved horror movies, especially particularly psychological ones.

They were all valid concerns, and all things that Rossi had been thinking about; he'd had plenty of time to think in the last week, after all. The other reason he hadn't said anything until now was precisely so he could consider all of those things. He knew that if Reid reciprocated, he would be completely out of his element, and having two people equally uncertain about what to do next wasn't the most desirable situation. So he'd wanted to be sure he would be confident enough about this to be the steady voice of reason and certainty.

"Sounds good," he agreed. Despite what Reid had said earlier about getting the casserole, Rossi stood up slowly anyway, and headed towards the kitchen. It wasn't even conscious on his part, he was just so used to doing things on his own, in his house, that even being injured didn't deter him. Besides, Reid was busy getting the movie ready. He reached for the plates, wincing at the movement, and putting a hand to his abdomen. He paused before setting down the plates and reaching for a spoon to serve the casserole with.

Reid appreciated Rossi's confidence. It was one of his more attractive traits, and having someone around who knew what he wanted and how to go about getting it was reassuring, to say the least.

He turned around to see Rossi standing, trying to serve the casserole, and he immediately scowled. "You shouldn't do that when you just got out of the hospital! If you sit down for a second, I'll get it." Once again, it felt weird to confront Rossi in any manner, but he was willing to ignore his own discomfort to stop Rossi from acting stupid.

He'd lived alone for so long -- most of them had, really -- that it was more instinct than any foolish need to prove he was healing quickly, or could do it on his own. The throbbing pain in his side was a good sign that he should just sit down and comply. It was just a casserole, after all; he wasn't forfeiting something important.

He shuffled back to the couch and sat down heavily.

"You're getting better at that," Rossi encouraged, with a crooked smile. "Speaking up." He had a dominant personality, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate Reid taking some initiative and being firm as well. That didn't always mean he'd give in, either, but it didn't mean he wouldn't.

"Hmm?" Reid had already re-assumed his submissive body language. Admittedly, it had been getting easier to speak up. It wasn't easy, but he was able to do it. He gave an awkward smile, popping the movie into the DVD player and going to the table to get the casserole. "Well, I have to keep up with a team full of Alpha personalities somehow."

To be honest, he had learned a lot about being assertive without being unkind from his teammates, Rossi included. He wasn't sure how he would fare if Rossi actually tried resisting, but he was sure he'd find out soon enough. He set the casserole in front of the table in front of the TV on top of a place mat, adding two plates, utensils, and a serving spoon. "Now I guess we'll see how much Garcia learned from your cooking lesson."

"Not an easy thing to do," he sympathized. He wouldn't and couldn't change that aspect of his personality, though he had certainly mellowed quite a bit. Part of him did wonder how Reid would fare if Rossi got particularly cantankerous while convalescing. It wasn't that he had it in his head to purposely be argumentative, if the situation arose, but he was sure he'd do something he shouldn't be doing yet -- he knew himself well enough to admit that -- and not be pleasantly acquiescent.

"She promised me there's no tofu in this," he said. Still, there was a skeptical look on his face as he brought the fork to his mouth and took a bite. It wasn't of the same caliber as his homemade lasagna, but it was decent. Better than he'd been expecting. He'd already thanked her, of course, but he'd make it a point to tell her that he enjoyed it, too.

Once the movie started, he felt even more...right about his decision. It was easy to feel that way when they weren't talking, when the movie gave him a chance to think and reflect. Halfway into the film, he let his arm graze Reid's, the slightest of touches, just testing it for now.

Reid shivered at the touch, but he didn't draw away like he often did. He was curious. Curious about how far this would go. Despite his social awkwardness and his generally limited romantic experience, he had had relationships before, and he was at least able to navigate the physical aspects of a relationship without much more than the initial anxiety that always came when a relationship just started.

His indicator of his acceptance was slightly leaning into the touch after a moment of surprise. The movie was being just as suspenseful as it was renowned to be--Reid was busily dissecting the use of various storytelling and cinematic tricks that contributed to the tension, but he couldn't concentrate as much as usual with the presence of Rossi next to him.

He had to be utterly insane to be going along with this. This had to be one of the worst ideas ever. He found he didn't really care that much.

Rossi had seen the movie enough times that he could let his mind wander in and out of focus and still be able to piece together what was going on at any given moment. Even the first time he'd seen it, though, he doubted he'd approached it the way Reid was likely approaching it now, with a desire to examine every facet of the storytelling, and how each element fit together to create such an intriguing story.

Just imagining the way Reid's mind was working had him affectionately amused. He teased sometimes, sure, but he loved Reid's mind.

He hadn't pulled away from the touch, and a part of him wondered what he was thinking now, as Rossi took it a step further, reaching out for his hand.

There was only a small hesitation before he took Rossi's hand. He normally didn't like touching people, but that was more because he wasn't comfortable with getting too close to people he didn't know. He knew Rossi, and his only discomfort with being close came from the butterflies in his stomach.

He couldn't help but be reminded of two teenagers, awkwardly holding hands while watching a movie. It was amusing, since if anything, he was the awkward teenager, and Rossi was moving slowly to accommodate him.

It was reminiscent of one of those awkward, teenage first dates, punctuated with desire, curiosity, intent. Rossi wasn't used to moving quite this slowly, delicately, but he was also fully cognizant of when he needed to, and he needed to right now. This wasn't some blithe fling, there was depth of emotion, love, and that necessitated nurturing and care. It didn't mean he'd always move this slow, though.

He looked down at Reid's hand, stroking his thumb across the knuckles.

More than anything, Reid needed to believe how important this was to him, and he would communicate that as best as he could. He squeezed his hand, then raised it to his lips to kiss the knuckles. Awkward teenager Reid might be, but in contrast, Rossi was a libertine.

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