corduroy dreams - rex orange county

"Here's the team. Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss." JJ pointed to each agent in turn, all of which greeted me warmly and offered me their hands. I accepted, trying to breathe as I shook their hands. I hadn't slept in over 20 hours, having taken the first flight out to D.C. from my home in California and caught a ride into the office as soon as I got the call. The feeling in my chest when JJ offered me a job at the BAU was indescribable. I was fresh out of college. Moreover, five years ago the only occupation I could realistically entertain was as a petty thief or drug addict.

"Maya will be following along through the first couple cases to learn the ropes," JJ explained.

"Great to have you here," Hotchner said with a curt nod.

"Thank you so much, sir," I replied.

"Please, call me Hotch." I smiled. Hotch walked away to return to the endless stacks of files and paperwork on his desk.

"Where's Boy Wonder?" Morgan asked.

"I'm here," came a voice from a few feet behind me. I turned on my heels to see a lanky man with wild hair carrying several cups of coffee awkwardly. I reached out, took one out of the crook of his elbow, and passed it to Prentiss, who accepted gratefully.

"Thanks," the man said, and handed out the rest of the coffee cups. I was surprised to see there was one for me.

"You're Dr. Maya Davis, right? I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I've read some of your work. Your Harvard thesis on the connection between native language and expression of abnormal pathologies. It was incredibly fascinating." I tried not to blush, surprised anyone would go to the trouble of reading my old papers.

"Thank you."

"It's true. He wouldn't shut up about it," Prentiss replied.

"That's high praise," Morgan confided, "Pretty Boy over here is a real live genius. Graduated high school at twelve and all that." I quirked an eyebrow at Reid and he smiled sheepishly.

"Well, Maya might give Reid a run for his money," JJ said, "She's got a Ph.D. in Cognitive Psychology, Sociology, and Literature. Two from Harvard, one from Stanford." I waved a hand dismissively.

"That's nothing. It's all on paper. I've heard so many stories about what you guys do here. It's amazing."

"You'll be a part of it soon," Rossi promised.

"Let's head up to the conference room. I'm about to present our newest case," JJ said.

JJ described the murder of three women in a town in Nevada. They were all brunette, with long hair, and high power jobs. Likely a sexual sadist. I nursed my coffee as I watched the BAU mull over the facts of the case.

"See you on the runway. Wheels up in thirty," Hotchner said when the team had finished their discussion.

"You can come with me," Reid said.

"Thanks," I responded, "I don't know where anything is yet." I threw my empty coffee in a trash can from a few feet away.

"Nice," Morgan said as he passed behind me on his way out of the conference room. I smiled. Everyone here was so nice. Hotchner was a little intense, and Rossi's years of experience were pretty intimidating, but everyone was so welcoming.

"Who knew I'd fly all the way across the U.S. just to fly right back," I laughed as I found a seat on the fanciest plane I'd ever been on. Reid sat beside me.

"Oh, are you from Nevada?" Reid asked.

"California. You?"

"Nevada," he said, a little bitter-sweetly.

"I'm surprised you didn't know where she's from. Haven't you researched her blood type yet?" Prentiss joked from across the aisle.

"I'm not a stalker," Reid said defensively.

"I'm O positive," I interjected, "For future reference."

"That's the most common blood type, right? I'm—" Prentiss started.

"A positive," Reid interrupted. Emily smirked.

"Supposedly type A positive people are cooperative, smart and passionate perfectionists. They find it important to get along with others and tend to bottle up their feelings."

"Ouch," Prentiss said, "A little on the nose."

"Supposedly also the most attractive to mosquitos," I added.

"Is that true?" Prentiss asked no one in particular. Reid nodded thoughtfully.

"That's why I'm always getting stung," Prentiss muttered.

"So where exactly did you grow up?" I asked.

"Las Vegas. You?"

"San Francisco. Did you like it?"

"The weather is nice," he replied, suddenly distant. I decided not to push it. Instead, I curled up in my seat and took a nap.

God, they were good. I followed Prentiss as she interviewed the latest victim's husband. In five minutes she figured out the connection between the victims and knocked the husband off the suspect list.

"This should be a quick case," Prentiss commented as we left the house. My phone rang with a call from an unknown number. I picked up.

"Hey! New girl, Maya, right?" said a cheery female voice.

"Sorry, who is this?"

"The finder and fixer of all things interwebby. Is Emily there?" I put her on speaker.

"Garcia?" Prentiss asked before she heard anything.

"Garcia?" I echoed quietly, "The tech girl?"

"Tech girl? I am the tech queen," the voice from my phone corrected.

"What have you got?" Prentiss asked.

"The residue found on the victims was oil."

"Motor oil?" I could hear the clacking of computer keys.

"Olive oil."

"The catering service. All of the victims worked for different companies, but the companies used the same catering service," I said.

"I just sent you a list of employees from the catering service," Garcia asserted.

"You're a godsend," Emily said.

"I know. Nice to meet you, Maya!" The call ended abruptly.

"Not all cases are that straightforward," Hotch told me on the plane back to D.C.
"I know, sir," I said.

"But you did an excellent job. You're living up to JJ's high praise."

"Thank you, sir, It's a privilege to be here."

"Let me know if you need anything. There is one thing, though." My heart stopped.

"Yes, sir?"

"I thought I told you to stop with the 'sir'."

"Yes, s— Sorry," I said. He cracked half a smile. I had a feeling that was a lot coming from him, stoic as a statue.

"Don't worry about it." He stood up and went to talk to Rossi.

"How was your first case?" Reid asked as he slid into the seat Hotch had vacated. We were twenty minutes from touchdown.

"Pretty good. Everyone here is so nice," I said. He nodded.

"Can I ask you a question?" His hair always had a slightly windswept quality, a sense of movement. It suited him; he was never still, always pacing or, more often racking his brains for the solution that he always produced some enough.

"Sure," I said.

"How'd you get referred to the BAU? JJ mentioned Gideon had put in a word when he was still working here." He was trying to seem nonchalant, I could tell, but clearly he needed to know the answer. I wondered how long he had been waiting to ask me. Maybe that's why everyone was being nice to me.

"Oh." I paused.

"You don't have to tell me, obviously. I'm just curious." He tucked his hair behind an ear.
"No, it's fine. I, uh, I pickpocketed him." Reid's head cocked to the side.

"I was younger and he was in town for some lecture. I passed him on the street and stole his watch. I thought I had gotten away with it, but he yelled after me. I would have run, except he told me I forgot something." I could still remember the encounter, but memory made it hazy, more like a dream, or a story someone else had told me.

"When I came back, he profiled me, told me my life story. It made me angry. So I profiled him back. I must have got a decent amount right because he laughed and gave me a BAU card, told me when I needed a job to call and tell them I had Gideon's support behind me." Reid blinked slowly as if pulling himself out of the haze of my recollection. Then he sat a little straighter and swallowed.

"You worked with him, didn't you?" I prodded gently.

"Yeah, yeah. We were, um, we played chess together." It was a bit of a cop-out, but for the second time, I got the feeling I shouldn't pry too far too fast into the life of Spencer Reid. Everyone in the BAU seemed to have a past littered with tragedy and pain, all buried.

"No one else knows that Gideon recommended you, by the way. But I don't think they'd be surprised," Reid added after a pause. That one subtle reassurance, that veiled compliment. I'd hold on to that for years, especially once I realized it's gravity. Then, I just smiled.

"You play chess?"

"Yes. Do you?"

"No, no, I'm horrible at board games."

"I can teach you if you want. There are several schools of thought regarding chess game theory, but essentially they boil down to a few simple concepts—" I cut him off.

"I'd like that."