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

"Maybe I don't, but I will anyway." Reid walked in, carefully putting his messenger bag down beside the door. "You know you shouldn't be out of the hospital yet. If any of your stitches come undone, you'll need to go back there again."

Although he knew that Rossi would probably be fine. The man had worked for the FBI for years, retired, then worked for the FBI for years again, and he was still alive and kicking. Still, irrational as it was, he felt the need to hover.

He made a vague gesture with his hands, as if saying he was fine and he didn't need to worry, and dismissing the very idea itself. He at least acknowledged that he was stubborn; he'd always been fairly self-aware, and capable of change, though his stubbornness wasn't likely to ever change and they all knew that.

"Garcia made this...casserole thing," he sounded dubious as he looked, pointing at it on the kitchen counter. But he hadn't been home for a few times, and even he was willing to admit he wasn't up for grocery shopping by himself yet. "I was gonna put it in the oven if you're hungry. I don't know how much real food is in it, but I haven't had a chance to restock yet."

Rossi without stubbornness wouldn't be Rossi. "Are you sure that's not your inner foodie talking?" Reid smiled at him, wandering into the kitchen. "I'll have some if you're eating too. Did Garcia stock you up with enough food for the week?"

Because Lord knows, she did that for him when he was shot.

"This will definitely last a week, whether I like it or not. And there was a promise of more to come." He didn't sound enthused about that, but he understood that she did it out of love, and he wasn't ungrateful, no matter how much he grumbled. "She made it a point to tell me she was withholding cookies because she's still upset with me." For not telling anyone.

He slid the casserole into the oven; carefully, because he didn't need to add insult to injury by tearing his stitches. And then he sat down on the couch, moving slower than he would've liked, because of his leg. He needed to say something, though, before much time had passed. And for some reason, it was easier to say it when there was physical distance between them.

"Reid," he started, quietly, "what you did...it was damn crazy and dangerous sticking around with that madman. But you didn't leave. So I'm grateful and pissed at the same time."

"You're lucky she's just keeping the cookies instead of vowing to hack into your computer to keep track of you from now on." Reid considered offering to help Rossi cook the casserole, but he knew that Rossi wouldn't accept any help, so he stayed quiet, sitting down in a chair across from Rossi.

He frowned, giving a nervous shrug. He never really knew how to deal with being recognized for the things he did. "Well, I couldn't just leave you there. You know that. I didn't know if you were hurt or not."

"I wouldn't put anything past her."

Th way Reid handled the gratitude was completely expected; as much as he teased the younger agent - a variation of affection - he also made sure he got due credit and praise. Reid just never seemed to accept it well; of course, Rossi's policy was 'I don't give a damn; you need to hear it, so you're gonna hear it.'

"I get that, and I would've done the same thing. But this is you, and if something had happened--" The words were there, it was just difficult to give them power, to give any of these feelings power. "I get it. I just don't like it." He would've felt that way about anyone else on the team, but there was more to it with Reid. And he hadn't made that very clear.

"It's you, Reid. If it needs to be said, I like having you around, dammit."

Reid averted his eyes uncomfortably, squeezing his knees. It was at times like this that he wished he knew the finer points of social interaction, and that he was more capable of handling other people's affection and appreciation of him. He wasn't exactly sure what made him special, but he assumed that it was what made him special with the whole team--he was the youngest by far and everyone wanted to protect him.

"Believe it or not, I like having you around too. If I could do it all over again, I'd do the same thing." He forced himself to look at Rossi, making eye contact. It felt wrong to try staring down a man with such a strong Alpha personality who he respected so much, but it had to be done. "I mean that."

He smiled softly, and maybe there was a twinge of uncertainty behind it when he nodded. "I know you do."

He also knew what it meant for Reid to just look at him like that, and he showed his gratitude silently by holding Reid's gaze gently, forcing the darker feelings of worry and anger out and replacing them with understanding, and genuine affection.

He laughed, then, though there was no humor in it. "Maybe I'm crazy."

(( OOC: Have you read this series, by the way? So good! I haven't been able to read it all yet. ))

Reid finally averted his gaze, satisfied that he had gotten his point across and uncomfortable with staring Rossi down any longer, despite the fact he picked up on the affection. It... felt nice to see that. He liked the affection, as subtle as it was. "You just figured that out? I'd think that the whole 'hiding a stalker from your team' thing would have convinced you."

It was simultaneously teasing and serious. Reid may not show it like everyone else, but he was upset that Rossi had hidden something like that. Maybe if he had talked about it, he wouldn't have ended up in the hospital.

((OOC: *grabby* I'll be reading it now!))

Edited 2012-06-08 03:10 (UTC)

"Not that part," he grumbled. He couldn't say that he regretted his actions, as foolish as they seemed in retrospect. He'd felt justified in his reasons for withholding the information; initially, he hadn't believed it was really all that serious, and then of course, he would have done anything to protect anyone on the team from getting hurt. His approach, were anything like that to ever happen again, would be different next time, certainly. He would've wanted anyone on the team to reach out for help, and as stubborn as he was, he had learned the value of letting people help him, too. Just because he wasn't good at asking, or even at accepting it, didn't mean he would deny it.

When he shifted on the couch, the movement tugged a little uncomfortably at his stitches, and a hand went instinctively to his side. It was painful, but almost opportune, given what he was about to say. It gave him an extra few seconds to think about how he wanted to say this.

It had been a very long time since he'd felt anything resembling this level of...attachment, love, for someone else. It had been so long, in fact, that it was difficult to recognize the feelings for what they were. He was sure, given everything, that he'd spent the better part of a year resisting those feelings so well that they'd never even risen close to the surface. There were so many reasons to think that nothing could ever possibly come of it, not the least of which being that Reid was almost impossible to read on the subject. He was so skittish, so unsure of himself in that arena that it would make it hard to invite anyone else in. Giving any of these feelings power was the worst thing he could do; he wasn't exactly the most sentimental guy, but he did believe in listening when your brain and heart were in concert. He had baggage, and he'd been hurt, and there was no conceivable reason why he should let himself even think about something more than friendship again, but keeping quiet didn't feel right to him. Even if he fumbled his way through this, it was more important to have it said. It would do Reid some good, if nothing else, to know that he could be loved, in a way perhaps he never let himself contemplate very often.

"About you," he finally said, breath hitching slightly as he shifted again.

(( OOC: I love the story where Reid gets sick. :3 ))

Reid frowned when Rossi touched his stitches, but that was his only reaction.

"I don't understand."

That couldn't mean what it sounded like, clearly. Rossi was right: Reid didn't contemplate the possibility of being loved like that very often, if ever. I didn't even recognize it when he felt that way about others because he had conditioned himself to never hope for romance. After all, he was a socially awkward genius who rambled about any given topic and profiled serial killers for a living. There wasn't much desirable there. Obviously, Rossi was just not articulating himself well (which was odd in and of itself, but hey, the man had just gotten out of the hospital) and he meant something else.

((OOC: I'm really liking the one with Rossi's family. :3 ))

He wasn't used to being uncertain when it came to love or attachment. As he'd learned from experience, he sometimes fell into it for the wrong reasons, but he always had some conviction at the time. This was different for a lot of reasons, and he needed to be careful.

But Reid couldn't read the subtleties in what he was saying; he'd come this far, and he wouldn't pull back now.

"Here's the thing: I love everyone on the team, but with you, it's completely different. It's not platonic." There, he'd said it, and there was no ambiguity to his words. How Reid accepted it was another matter.

(( OOC: Mmm yes, that one's awesome. So many good scenes. ))

...Well, Rossi had managed one thing, at least. He'd completely shorted out Reid's huge brain.

"...Excuse me?"

He had no idea how to respond. No one had outright told him that they were in love with him before, especially no one that he had secretly admired from afar for so long. He didn't look unreceptive to the idea (he was far from unreceptive, he would have to admit), just really, really confused.

"...Are you sure that's not transference?"

It was really the only explanation he could think of, since it did not process that someone might actually love him for him. It seemed strange that a man with nerves of steel who had been working with serial killers for decades would actually be affected by transference when a teammate saved him, but it was the only thing that made any kind of sense to Reid.

(( OOC: I love the interpretation of Rossi's family. Also, for someone so smart, Reid's an idiot sometimes. ))

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."

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