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Seaver knew she wasn’t as experienced a profiler as the other members of the team. It was simply a fact- they had years of practical experience whilst she only had the basic training. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t observant.
The team was like a family. Found families were always closer than blood, something about the reasons they came together kept them together. It meant it was more difficult for her to connect with them. They were all friendly enough, but they were all so close. So, she watched. She noticed things that were kept in the shadows- things that you either discover yourself or you never know.
Hotch was softer than he let on. She knew something awful had happened to his wife. It was an unspoken thing amongst the team. She could see it in his micro-expressions, the way he kept up a wall between work and his emotions, a protective front. She knew he had his first coffee when he arrived for work, at exactly half eight in the morning. Seaver suspected it was because he wanted to spend more time with his son, cherish small moments of happiness before returning to the horror of their job. The wall he had erected was a way of separating his home from his work, but with his wife’s corpse barely cold and the ink in the case file barely dried, and his son, a living reminder of his self-perceived failure, she imagined it would be hard to draw the line between the two.
Rossi knew more about her father’s case than he let on. It's the way he looks at her. A deep sadness, permeated in his skin. Knowledge does that to you. Some days she's glad she doesn’t know. Others, she wants to shake it out of him. There's something else in his eyes too. Something she cannot place. She hopes it’s a promise of sharing those details with her someday. In the meanwhile, she’ll enjoy having him as a mentor.
Prentiss is scared. Something is haunting her, something large and inescapable, something she’s trying to outrun. Seaver knows the feeling. She acts tough, pretends to be solid stone, that everything is fine, but sometimes, just for split seconds, she looks like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. Like her world is falling apart. Seaver hopes that she’s wrong, that her lack of experience will work in her favour, but deep down she knows she’s right. It’s a feeling she knows too well to identify incorrectly.
Morgan was tricky. He had perfected his playboy persona through years of practice, but she knew that was all it was. A persona. Seaver thought she knew had figured him out- she knew from her first day that there was a man who cared behind the façade. It took her more time to see, but there was something dark about him. His past. He lost someone, or something, important. Maybe both. It took her even more time to see it, but he was hiding something, or someone, else too. This one though, this was not a tragedy. It was something good- something he didn’t want to ruin. She hoped it worked out. If she was right about his past, then he deserved some goodness.
Reid is... strange. It was the only word she could think of. His knowledge was invaluable to their cases, the success rates of the team had gone up by 20% when he had joined, and he could tell you at least three facts about anything- anything. It was easy to profile his low self-esteem (the way he stood, shying away from any confrontation he could avoid) and his trust issues (the surprise that still graced his face when the team invited him out to group activities, despite them all having known each other for years) among other things, but it’s the way he spoke that she found most interesting. So fast, each word rushing out like a rapid flowing waterfall of information, no time for oxygen as the air around him suffocates in statistics. Like he doesn’t realise that he no longer has to struggle to be heard.
Occasionally, he had quiet days. Days where he hardly speaks, avoids eye contact, forgets to eat without prompting, uses a cane. The others seem to know what it’s about, like some family secret that they don’t directly address. They don’t coddle him, but they do look out for him, more than usual. They keep him on paperwork during cases, refill his coffee, make sure he doesn’t have to speak more than is necessary. The cases affect him more, during these times. They keep him from the pictures as much as possible- especially during cases that concern woodlands, or drugs. (There’s a story there, she knows, but the tragic expressions the team shoot him when they think he’s not looking stop her from asking.)
(She’s ashamed to admit it, but he’s the type of kid she would have bullied in school- lanky nerd, too smart for his own good. Sometimes, when she looks at him, she can’t help but think that there’s something wrong with him.)
She doesn’t speak to Garcia much, leaving communication with the technical analyst to her teammates. She tries to speak to Morgan, and he says that if Garcia wanted to speak to her, she would. That maybe she should try being shot, or stabbed, or blown up. Which was harsh, but to the point. A phone call interrupts their conversation and anything that might explain the subject, but she suspects it has something to do with Reid’s occasional use of a cane, the way Morgan gets injured so often on cases. The way Garcia seems to smother them when they close particularly hard cases. What she can tell from their brief interactions, Garcia is afraid of losing herself to the horrors of the job. That she surrounds herself with constant reminders of who she is to prevent just that.
She noticed something else too. The way Morgan and Reid interact with one another. The dynamics between the two of them are different than to the rest of the team. How Morgan’s eyes always follow Reid, making sure he’s safe; how, on the jet, they always sit close, and how Reid’s sleep is less fitful and more relaxed with Morgan nearby; how Reid looks away when a woman flirts with Morgan, and how Morgan grits his teeth when someone flirts with Reid, how they always bring each other coffee after; how Morgan teases him but softens it with a smile; how they often arrive together when they’re called for an urgent case, even on weekends or in the middle of the night; how they always seem to be touching, and yet always seem to be holding back, controlled.
It plays at the back of her mind for a while, the answer there but evading her, just out of reach. She gets it, finally, in September 2011.
The repeal of “Don’t ask, don’t tell” had been in the news for weeks. It didn’t affect her; she wasn’t particularly bothered. It was outdated, and as long as they could do their jobs, why not let homosexuals join the army or the FBI?
About the same time, Morgan and Reid had become more jittery, the latter more so than the former. Reid was more tense, as if anticipating something, and Morgan was more cheerful. They smiled at each other more, Reid was responding to Morgan’s teasing, and they touched more (Morgan led Reid by the small of his back, Reid clasped onto Morgan’s arm, Reid fell asleep on Morgan’s shoulder). They seemed more confident.
On the twentieth, they came in together, holding hands.
They had little pins, stuck to their lapels- pink, purple, and blue stripes for Reid, and a rainbow of colours for Morgan.
The team smiled at them as they entered, which they returned with blinding grins. She thinks she's missing something, but then she walks past Morgan on the way out of the room and smells Reid’s shower gel on him, taking note of the way Reid tucks himself into Morgan’s side, the way Morgan wraps an arm around his waist like it’s second nature.
They aren’t just co-workers, and they aren’t just friends. They're in love with one another. They’ve been together for God knows how long.
Hotch must have seen her staring after them, because he came up to stand by her side.
“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner. They aren’t as good as they think they are at keeping it secret. Or weren’t, I suppose. They're out of the shadows now.”