A/N: So. I wrote this in response to a challenge over in a JJ/Reid lj community (write a fic about JJ and Reid going undercover together), and I have yet to decide how many chapters there will be. But fear not, there shall be a fair bit!
The whole thing operates under the idea that The Big Game/Revelations never happened and that Reid already has a big bad crush on JJ (even though he totally does, it's never really explicitly stated.).
I know some of this probably seems out of character on Reid's part, but I really think there's more to that whole dynamic than we get to see. Enough to be the foundation of some deeper emotions, perhaps.
And yes, I know the whole concept of this fic is incredibly far-fetched and would never ever work on the show.
(I don't really think they would use BAU members as bait, but for some reason I feel like pointing out the implausibility makes it somewhat better. although, they can still work on the case from home, still communicate with the team and whatnot. but still.)
But that's not the point of this.
I think if we can all just conveniently forget how unlikely the situation is, the rest should be fairly realistic and chock full of tasty JJ/Reid goodness!
I'm not completely satisfied with how it turned out, but this is only the prologue!
I've got chapters to make up for this.
Beware the run-on sentences!
"Oh, tie me up tightly by your side
So I may go with you where ever you reside"
Rosie Thomas -- Kite Song
"Well I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with pride.
Like some empty dress on the bed you've laid out for tonight.
Maybe I'll tell you sometime."
Band of Horses -- I Go To The Barn Because I Like The
Dr. Spencer Reid's fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles fading to white and his fingernails pressing tiny crescent moons into the dark leather. He trained his eyes straight ahead, trying to focus on the steady rush of the pavement under his tires or the guttural exhale of the engine or the splintering crack in the corner of his windshield, anything but the dread that situated all of its warm, thick weight upon his chest.
Or rather, his passenger seat.
The woman herself, one Miss Jennifer Jareau, was sitting there unassumingly with her legs crossed gracefully and one hand twisting and untwisting a haphazard knot in her hair, half intelligent poise and half wide-open energy. She was small and carefully cambered and not at all intimidating, save for the fact that she was supposed to be his wife.
It had been three days, three days of awkwardly edging around each other's desks and quietly jingling who are you, really? small talk in the break room, since they had been informed of their mission. The images illuminated his mind like a slideshow of sepia photographs: the way the stiff, closely arranged chairs of Hotch's office had dug into the backs of his knees; the way her forearm had slipped over onto his armrest and the pointed heel of her shoe had brushed against the hem of his slacks; the way her hands had curled around the case file in her lap as her mouth took the loose form of the word "married."
It had been Gideon's idea. For several months, they had been investigating the case of a serial killer who seemed to be targeting newlywed couples in rural Pennsylvania towns and finding nothing countless bad leads and dead ends. The murderer's recent claiming of a forth couple had spurred the team into a renewed sense of action, but the evidence (other than the bodies) had been virtually nonexistent and once again they were running in circles. So, while the investigation continued, JJ and Reid had been assigned the task of temporarily moving to Pennsylvania and posing as newlyweds in an attempt to lure the killer into their intricately secured home.
Or at least that was what Reid was able to make of it. Judging by the distant ringing in his ears, his train of thought had derailed, rolled over, and exploded in a giant fireball of doom somewhere between the words "JJ" and "wife." That had been when it had dimly registered that he would be moving in with JJ. Gorgeous, lively, unattainable JJ. The one who flirted harmlessly (or so she thought) with him every day but never really knew him. The one who had sent him reeling end-over-end into everything he had always been afraid to feel, had never really had a chance to feel before.
Holy Mother of God.
He had packed up boxes in his drab, empty apartment, pretending to shove all of his anxiety and breathlessness in with his old socks and sweaters and sealing them shut with thick, wide strips of tape and untils and maybes that masqueraded as determined finality and resolution. When he had cleaned out his car and loaded the boxes into the back, he carefully left more than half of the space for her and hoped that maybe she would notice.
Then again, it wouldn't be the first time she had overlooked all the places he was saving for her.
And now, here he sat, his toes twitching on the gas pedal as he drove the two of them to imaginary wedded bliss, and never in a million years did he imagine it would be this way. He had imagined the tarmac by the steps of the plane and her hair blowing in the wind like a scene from Casablanca; the elevator of the BAU and his fingers snapping the emergency stop button; the side of a patrol car and both of them grasping at the door for support. But never, not once, not ever, anything like this.
Sure, it was a lovely concept in theory – living with the woman you want more than anything. But his mind, so keen when it came to statistics and patterns and theorems and clean, straight edges, had a horrible tendency to sputter and stall when it came to pretty girls; much less when he was thrust into this tantalizing world of hypothetical questions and live-action metaphors, where the very thing he desired most was the one thing he wasn't actually meant to have.
He was trapped as a man pretending not to love the woman he must pretend to love.
The irony was a bit too much even for him.