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readyourimgaines · 4 years

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The Hands of a Doctor

Summary: A character study of Reid via his hands through Morgan’s eyes.

Trigger Warnings: None

Piano-player hands. That’s how his mom would describe the doctor’s hands. But as far as Morgan knew, Reid didn’t play piano. Or any instrument. Just because the doctor didn’t play piano didn’t mean there weren’t uses for such talented hands.

Morgan couldn’t help but watch Reid’s hands as he wrote. He’d never seen anyone else hold a pencil how he did. The pencil was a bit shorter now. The length of a pen now. His thumb rested under the green and yellow metal holding the heavily used errasser. The tip of the pencil was balanced between his middle and ring fingers.

The hand he wasn’t holding the pencil with would occasionally reach up to tuck the strand of hair behind his left ear when it slid down in front of his eyes. The same hand would return to the bottom left corner of the page.

Morgan looked away when Reid’s head shot up and he pushed the mass of his hair back, the pencil over his thumb and pinky but under his three fingers. The doctor tapped the spacebar on his keyboard before his eyes danced over the screen and he went back to the notes.

*****

It wasn’t uncommon for Reid to get coffee for himself and whoever he was sent to do his part with. Reid and Morgan were sometimes sent to check out a victim’s home together. It was very rare Morgan was instructed to stay back with Reid to work on the victimology. It was usually JJ or Prentiss who stayed and helped the doctor.

Yet, like JJ and Prentiss told Morgan, Reid strolled into the room where they’d be working with a folder under one arm, two to-go cups of coffee on top of eachother in the other hand.

Reid’s left hand was stretched so he could walk without worrying about dropping either cup. The doctor stopped next to Morgan and slowly extended his hand. “Top one’s yours.”

“Thanks, Pretty Boy.” Morgan carefully took the top cup, but Reid didn’t seem worried. His pinky and ring finger tightened around the bottom of the cup, the flesh under his weirdly short fingernails going white from the pressure.

The doctor took a sip of his own coffee before placing it on the table and turning to the dry erase board.

“Reid?” Morgan watched the younger man uncap the Expo marker. The doctor hummed as he started on the map for his geographical profile. “Why are your nails so short, man?”

Reid shrugged and went back to the board. “I chew my nails. Nervous tic I picked up at 15. I never really give them the chance to get long enough to trim.”

“You ever wanna stop?” Morgan sat himself on the table, watching Reid work.

“It’s not hurting me,” Reid dismissed. “If it was, I’d redirect.”

Morgan wasn’t 100% sure what that meant- redirect. He figured it was something to do with the Autistic stims Reid felt he had to mask that Hotch told him about. But Hotch wasn’t the only one who put the pieces together and did their homework.

*****

The odd little sculptures- if one could call them that- was another thing. Morgan couldn’t stop himself from watching Reid make them. The young doctor would sit in the back, quietly, during their group debates and make odd figures with whatever was laying around. If he didn’t have anything in his pockets, then he’d play with his handcuffs.

Playing with his handcuffs was something Hotch tried talking to Spencer about. “They’re to help us apprehend an unsub, not reverse engineer.” That talk happened after the second time Spencer locked his left wrist in the cuff.

The first time, he tried picking it without drawing attention to himself. After three minutes of pretending not to notice, Morgan unlocked the cuff and patted the heavily blushing doctor twice on the head without a word.

But the sculptures Reid made… He’d give them- randomly- to members of the team. Garcia had two in her collection of happiness reminders. Hotch had three in various places around his office. JJ had two, Elle had one or two, Gideon had two or three. Morgan himself four: two on his desk, and the other two were in his apartment.

*****

Reid holding a gun was something of a foreign concept and one Morgan had mixed feelings about. The older SSA knew Reid could use one. Everyone in the BAU knew that. They’d seen how deadly the doctor’s aim was when it needed to be. First with Dowd, then again with Hankle.

Reid was careful: he held the pistol with steady hands, and his hands were unwavering as they took aim. Even with the pain (mental and physical) of being kicked by Hotch as he yelled; even with the pain of beatings and drugs in his veins, Reid’s aim was deadly.

But that was Dr. Spencer Reid. One person- one kid- being so different while being the same person. Author and essayist; coffee guzzling, Autistic, and superstitious, profiler, sculptor, and doctor.

**********

@chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @stxrryspencer @the-need-for-reid-speed @prettyboy-reid @reidecorating

#read your imagines #combefere's journal #pre slash #moreid #moreid imagine #derek morgan #spencer reid #penelope garcia #elle greenaway #jason gideon

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